100 years ago, WWI had raged for a year and a half, and would continue for another four years. At the end, it claimed nearly 10 million lives and more wounded than it is possible to fathom. The war chewed up the youth of nations and swallowed them whole or spat them out broken. The First World War was a tragedy. And we must remember.
For all the children who lied about their age to fight for King and Country, and never had the chance to grow up, I remember.
For those who left their loves behind, with broken promises to return, I remember.
For those who went over the top, running headlong into a hail of machine gun fire, I remember.
For those who slept in the mud and rat infested squalour of the trench, battling lice and trench foot, sleeping beside the corpses of their friends, because it was too much trouble to move them from where they fell, I remember.
For those who came home, leaving friends behind, and tried not to grimace when anyone called them a “hero”, I remember.
For those who put on the uniform and marched every November 11 and tried not to weep as the Last Post was played, I remember.
Lest we forget.