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On this Remembrence Weekend....


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For the fallen. 

Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21st September 1914.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

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Anthem for Doomed Youth


What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? 

      — Only the monstrous anger of the guns. 

      Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle 

Can patter out their hasty orisons. 

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; 

      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,— 

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; 

      And bugles calling for them from sad shires. 


What candles may be held to speed them all? 

      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes 

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes. 

      The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; 

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, 

And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Source: The Poems of Wilfred Owen, edited by Jon Stallworthy (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1986)

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In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

John McRae


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I'll be remembering all of them, in particular one granddad and two great uncles who lost their lives. 

The great uncles told their younger brother to join the navy as they thought they would not survive.  One was killed in 1917, the other died of his injuries in 1919 after the war had ended.  He followed that advice and served through both world wars to become the only granddad I knew.

What staggers me is their age and the knowledge they could be going to their deaths.

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Beautiful poems, brought tears to my eyes. I love learning about the wars, I think the younger generation really don't appreciate what we have sometimes and what really gets my back up is the hollywood movies that come across as if everything was fine and dandy, when, in reality the suffering, the loss of life was unimaginable, I personally don't think we should ever forget.

The thing is, what's going on in the rest of the world is equally as bad, it seems we never learn

God bless them and their families, without what they sacfificed we wouldn't have our freedom and us and our children, heaven forbid, wouldn't have the wonderful things we have today, Xbox's, cars and boats etc, we've got it made in comparison


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We watched the Festival of Remembrance programme from the Royal Albert Hall last night. And I was so moved by the bravery and courage that came across from all the stories that were told. There were people in the audience with tears in their eyes ... and I felt the same.

My dad served in WWII but he died when I was young so I never got to talk to him about it. I have his discharge document from the army and must get the forms sent off to try to find out more about where he was. I've pieced some of it together but I think there's more than I've found. 

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I watched that too Jean as well as the Cenotaph Parade this morning.


Very moving events.

It is so sad that our young people still lay down their lives in foreign fields.

When I first saw the Festival of Remembrance broadcast from the Albert  Hall. The oldest of the Chelsea Pensioners were from the 2nd Boer war and most were from the Great War of 1914 - 1918

There are now even fewer from WW11

My Grandfather served with the East Kent Regiment during The Great War.

I never recall him ever speaking of it and it was not until he died in 1964 and i got to see his medals that I realised just how many horrors he must have witnessed.

He was one of the lucky few to have survived the terrible conditions of the Somme.

I do recall though that he always seemed to get very emotional on hearing the hymn  "Oh Valiant Hearts". to the tune Supreme Sacrifice.

I recall my Grandmother referring this as "his Hymn".

Even now It brings back a lot of emotion when I hear Oh Valiant Hearts on Remembrence Day.


O valiant hearts who to your glory came
Through dust of conflict and through battle flame;
Tranquil you lie, your knightly virtue proved,
Your memory hallowed in the land you loved.

Proudly you gathered, rank on rank, to war
As who had heard God’s message from afar;
All you had hoped for, all you had, you gave,
To save mankind—yourselves you scorned to save.

Splendid you passed, the great surrender made;
Into the light that nevermore shall fade;
Deep your contentment in that blest abode,
Who wait the last clear trumpet call of God.

Long years ago, as earth lay dark and still,
Rose a loud cry upon a lonely hill,
While in the frailty of our human way,
Christ, our Redeemer, passed the self same way.

Still stands His Cross from that dread hour to this,
Like some bright star above the dark abyss;
Still, through the veil, the Victor’s pitying eyes
Look down to bless our lesser Calvaries.

These were His servants, in His steps they trod,
Following through death the martyred Son of God:
Victor, He rose; victorious too shall rise
They who have drunk His cup of sacrifice.

O risen Lord, O Shepherd of our dead,
Whose cross has bought them and Whose staff has led,
In glorious hope their proud and sorrowing land
Commits her children to Thy gracious hand.



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I have spent this weekend in Norfolk,  sadly writing the funeral service for a dear old friend who lived in Norfolk.  

Remembrance Sunday always make me a bit maudlin,  they only time I remember my Dad crying,  silent tears,  was during the Cenotaph service.  He was a Royal Marine and served throughout the world,  from the Pacific to the Far East. He earned an impressive array of medals but never spoke about his service career. 

A thoughtful weekend  

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My Grandfather and some of my Great Uncles /  Uncles from the family served in ww2 ( And others WW1). I have my grandfathers records and they are difficult to read and decipher. But without those I knew anyway he was at Dunkirk coming off the beaches on the 29th May 1940. also he was in the Siege of Tobruk as RSM of the 7th Royal Tank Regiment. He survived the war as a POW but sadly he died 1956 the year before I was born.

I  lowered the flags at 11am on Remembrance Sunday at Snowflake Sailing Club, with the rest of the club in attendance as we do every year. Sailing being postponed till after the Silence.

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