Remembrance

Yesterday I was minding my own business, driving along, listening to BBC Radio 1 - which, btw, is fab - when Big Ben started chiming. I glanced at the clock - 10.57am - well I know the car clock is perpetually wrong so I rounded up to 11am. I felt bad 11/11 11am. I am out of my element living in this country for so long. The minute of silence. As the tones of the hour chimed from London (on a convenient five hour delay of course) a chill ran down my spine.

Now folks who know me will know that I am not excessively into all things military but there is something else going on in a country where all the major radio and TV stations stop broadcasting and go silent at the same time each year. As I felt guilty that I could not just pull off the road and then actually grateful for the tour bus which was ignoring the "No Unloading" signs outside Mount Vernon and forcing me to sit still during the silence, I thought about what that meant - just to stop and remember.

When I was a child we would all stand, every year, at 11am behind out desks, with our red poppies pinned to our school sweaters for two whole minutes. There was no excuse - everyone had to be still and quiet. I remember as a wiggly, small child how long that silence seemed but also how dreadful was the thought of breaking it.

I am not sure whether the silence yesterday was two whole minutes but we did remember. I know we do not all remember the same thing - but that is not the point. The point is that at the end of the Great War - the war which was slated to end all wars - this silence was introduced as a memorial - perhaps now for Christians this silence is penance and a prayer. Penance that ninety years later the legacy of that First World War is a world still riven by war, prayer that somehow we can find a way to peace and gratitude for the blessings we have and those who seek to answer the hard questions of defense and stewardship in the military.