Bill Hornets brings us his final rumination for this year on Remembrance…
Tommy is in a strange place. He is covered in mud and blood.
He is surrounded by shadowy figures. Other soldiers. He knows them to be as he is: dead.
Fritz finds him,
Hallo Tommy, I’m sorry I had to kill you and your friends.
Fritz I too am sorry.
They clasp hands. Their handshake becomes an embrace. Then they laugh. What else can they do?
All the soldiers laugh and through the laughter comes the tears.
They are waiting in this place for they know not what. Every nationality is represented there, every religion; there are no Lords and labourers; everybody is the same. There is only truth.
They begin to talk of what may have been; of sweethearts, betrothed, of lovers, young wives, children they’d never see and their work and careers. What dreams they’d had, now all gone.
Yes remember then today, but more important, promise them it will never happen again, please promise them that.
This is the last day to put money in those poppy boxes. I’m sure you have been very generous, but let’s dig a bit deeper in our pockets and say a big thank you. There are widows, orphans, the maimed the damaged and the loved ones, they all need our help.
Our little soldier won’t be in Hornets window (see yesterday’s post, The Unknown Soldier), we are waiting for him to come home, but there will be other soldiers, flags and poppies out of respect.
At the eleventh hour I’ll be at the memorial outside St Mary Abotts, in my shooting jacket and bowler hat, simply so I can take my hat off out of respect
Oh also my dark classes, when that last post goes I break up. I know I’ve got a big mouth, but underneath I’m just a big softie, honest.