Remembrance For The Fallen And Those That Remain

We are approching Remembrance Day on the 11th of November. For veterans (and their families) this is a period of mixed emotions and often a stressful time. We that remain are thankful we returned, but we remember those that didn't and the many that carry the scars, physical and mental that can lead to tragic consequences many years later after returning.

For many who have not served, they see Remembrance through the lens of conflicts fought long ago and the last few survivors of World War 2. They see the few that remain, but may feel detached emotionally, because it was a long time ago. Who can blame them, it is hard to relate in a modern world to a time before.

But if you are attending a service, don't just look at those standing or sitting by the Cenotaph or War Memorial taking a more active part in the service. Cast you eyes into the audience, and you will see younger men and women, some with a tear in their eyes, or perhaps look for a partner who is stroking an arm or squeezing a hand in quiet support. Some will not look as fit and perhaps untidy, it might be hard to make out their past service, but they will be there.

When we who remain, standing in the audience alongside you, 5 rows back, hear the words of "For the Fallen" by Laurence Binyon now read each Remembrance day, on a cold wet day in a local village, town or city, we are taken back to when this was a weekly event, held on a dusty parade ground, surrounded by tents with the constant drone of generators and helicopters, with the smell of aviation fuel in 50 degrees of heat.

For me I can still hear those words read by the Regimental Sergeant Major of the fallen soldier, said in a deep voice and tones as soft as corse gravel. I remember the words of his Comanding Officer who recalls a soldier of unfulfilled promise and potential, with a bright future cut short. I remember the words of his friends, who recall the day the soldier arrived in the unit, the day he got into trouble for drinking too much before they deployed, the time he cracked a joke or played a stupid trick, the day he celebrated his 18th or 21st Birthday before they deployed to Helmand Province, Afghanistan. They remember the person, not the name, rank and number. Those that remain, in their thousands remember him or her still to this day.

I remember nearly fainting with the heat, and watching others that did and were carried to the ambulances to recover with cooling water. I remember physically 'jumping' on my first such ceremony when the two artillary guns fired the blank charges to mark the start and end of the minutes silence... I remember (with some shame) watching others jump at the subsequent too frequent occasions at their first sound of the guns. I remember the bugle playing the Last Post, sounding clear despite the background noise.

Then we would disperse, back to working long days and nights, trying to prevent future deaths of soliders just like the one who had joined the fallen and trying to build a better future for the people who we sought to protect, buying them the time to see a path to a better future.

I also remember waiting for a helicopter flight during a time when new troops arrived and those at the end of their tour were leaving. Those 'young' men and women who were leaving after six months in Helmand, their uniforms often ripped and patched, hanging from them as the physical work of solidering in the heat had made them leaner than when they arrived. But their faces, eyes and conversations told a different story, you could see the mental scars were already building, layer on layer. These were people who saw more than I would ever want to see and they cannot unsee it now!

Those cuts and scars are still being made. The footage of the extraction of Kabul in 2021, the choas, the noise, the gunfire and the deaths, the making hard choices of who made it through to a waiting aircraft and the guilt of those turned away. Some of these soliders are now the veterans of today, stood alongside you five rows back in the audience. Many of us will feel that our mission failed, that those who died (including the many civilians) was in vain. That is a tough pill to swallow. Pride is often hard to build but easily shattered by failure and it can happen years after the event.

So during this period around Remembrance, if you know someone who served, give them a call, drop them a text, invite them out for a chat. Go for a drink (but don't let them drink too much), be friend, be an ally, be their family, be there for them. They will have pride, but they might also have guilt, they might have memories that have come back to the surface, they might be struggling to cope. You don't need to understand, you just need to listen and and allow them to share their emotions and their stories. Talking helps, so let's keep talking.

So if you see me, or one of the many, five rows back at Remembrance, who stand a bit straighter when the Last Post plays, come and say hello, and please do thank us for our Service, it means a lot to us at this time.

"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"

For the Fallen, by Laurence Binyon