TO REMEMBER

I don't know why it feels more poignant this year. Perhaps it's because we've experienced such dramatic restrictions in 2020, and it's made it all the clearer that we shouldn't take our way of life for granted

It might be because we've seen, or at least some would say we've seen, a rise in fascism around the world. Many of the disembodied evils still swirl around in our world, and it was those things our grandparents fought against.

Or alternatively, additionally perhaps, it could just be that Remembrance Sunday means more to me the older I get. Don't misunderstand me - it was drilled into us as children as a thing of sacred respect, and I agree with that. We must remember. It's just that when you're a kid, church parade with the cub scouts is a sombre affair that you're instructed requires best behaviour. As the years go by, you start to realise that it's less stuffy and much more meaningful. It could have been me, after all, aged 17, sent to Ypres or Flanders. And aged 42, it could conceivably have been my child, my niece, my nephew. I'm not a parent but that is a weighty thought that an eight year-old cub scout might not fully appreciate.

I found out today that the word 'cenotaph' is Greek. It comes from two words, kenos and taphos, which combine to make the phrase 'empty tomb'. A cenotaph is an empty tomb.

The idea is that we build a memorial for those who've died but are not buried inside - in our case, an edifice of Portland Stone some yards away from Downing Street. It's a proxy for a place of death, a stand-in, a substitute. And every year on Remembrance Sunday the Royal Family, the Prime Ministers and leaders, the faith leaders and heads of the armed forces gather together there to salute and remember those who died to protect our freedoms.

I watched online as Prince Charles laid the first wreath on behalf of the Queen. I think there might have been tears in his eyes. Great-coat, cap, gloves, sword. He saluted the memorial. The Queen looked on from a balcony. I can't explain why moments like this make me feel extremely proud to be British.

In remembering, we forge a connection, not just with each other, but with real heroes, real people who lived and died in days that have led hour by hour to our own. As Seigfried Sasson put it, they were:

"Mocked by hopeless longing to regain

Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,

And going to the office in the train"*

The connection matters, and it's always mattered. In this season, when a virus has changed our way of living, and division has swept through our nations, it seems all the more important, and yes, poignant, to be thankful, to be kind, and to remember. 

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*The Dreamers, Siegfried Sassoon: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43169/dreamers