Remembrance Day: the Eleventh Hour


For the first time ever, on November 11th, 1919 at precisely 11am, the entire island of the United Kingdom (and many other countries in the British Empire called on by King George V) came to an abrupt stop. For two full minutes even the horses who had pulled the carts of people and supplies through the streets, took part in the collective silence that had fallen over the cities and countryside. A sacred tradition began, performed by nations across the modern West, thenceforth committing the "the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month" as a solemn communal moment for reflection on soldiers who lost their lives in The Great War.

These men, gallant soldiers they were, knowingly risked their lives. The ones who never made it back, did not plan in that way. I see the tragic death of every soldier as theft, not sacrifice. And I vow, for as long as I live, to honour those fallen soldiers who carried out that awful but essential service which can never be remunerated. Glory to the warriors who, in protecting the peace and prosperity of the free loving world, did not give, but lost their lives. Lest we forget.

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