Lest we forget

Where were you at the 11th o’clock on 11th November this year? Quite rightly, many people were at public ceremonies across the land remembering the armistice. Me, I was in a local nursing home. I had forgotten actually about the significance of the date when I pencilled in the service several months ago. But when I realised the time and the date, I decided to hold a short act of remembrance for the residents.

As soon as I introduced the two minutes silence, one resident burst into tears. At the end of the service, other residents shared their experiences. One explained how she had been bombed out three times, another how she was forced to deal with two hundredweight of fertiliser bags in the factory where she had been stationed. An older lady explained she was a war baby…she meant she was born in 1917. As I went round each resident, all kinds of rich memories were stirred. And yet it seems to me that we so often forget those shut away in homes, unable to attend the acts of commemoration, but for whom the memories of wars gone by are as fresh and vivid as ever. They too need to be remembered, and the price they paid acknowledged.

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