There’s a lovely tradition in the UK and Commonwealth countries that either never made it over here, or never lasted: Two minutes of silence and reflection on the 11th of November at 1100 to honor those who fought and those who died to keep us free. Americans tend to be too busy for such ceremonies. Two minutes is an awfully long time in New York, but then London can be a busy place too:
People across the UK have observed a two-minute silence to mark Armistice Day, the start of a weekend of events honouring Britain’s war dead.
In London’s Trafalgar Square crowds paid tribute to the fallen by placing poppies in the square’s fountains.
And thousands of UK troops abroad, including in Iraq and Afghanistan, held services to remember past and present colleagues who have died.
Later, the Queen will dedicate a memorial for New Zealand’s war dead.
Australia hasn’t forgotten. Neither has New Zealand. They “get it” up in Canada too: This link (right click and “save as”) will send you to a 4.8 meg wmv file showing a country-esque singer asking his compatriots to spend a “pittance of time” – two minutes – remembering the sacrifices of those who paid for their freedoms. It’s almost precious, and you find yourself squirming for a moment. You do that is, until the “boys” file by in wearing their regimental tams and their medals purchased in blood and the kind of dignity born of shared hardship, the kind you can’t fake.
A common holiday across the anglosphere then, celebrating at first the end of World War I, and then all the rest of them after the that struggle proved not to be the “war to end all wars” that everyone hoped it might. In the US, the Commonwealth function of “Rememberance Day” is more closely aligned to Memorial Day – the day we mourn our dead. For us, Veteran’s Day is a day to remember those we lost of course, but also those who returned – none of whom came home as they had left, and to all of whom we all owe so very much.
If you can’t spare two minutes, spare what you can. We cannot repay the debt we owe, but we can honor those who paid it for us.
And if time is too precious, there’s no better way to thank our troops still serving than to head on over to Blackfive’s spot, check out the vid that Bloodspite did for him, and throw a fin in the Valour-IT can for Army, who can still use the help. I know I asked you to help out Team Green, but Cassie got the Corps over the bar yesterday during the birthday blowout, and like the typical over-achievers they are, the Marines kept on pushing even after they crossed the finish line.
Lex-
It is general practice to have an assembly on the 11th down here, complete with two minutes silence and, of course, the reading:
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.
Add a couple of examples of sacrifice in the address beforehand and you could feel a shiver through the student body, even if we were too cool to admit it.
Ahh screw it, here, you can cop a couple more posts on the topic.
Keating at the internment of the Unknown Soldier:
We do not know this Australian’s name and we never will. We do not know his rank or his battalion. We do not know where he was born, or precisely how and when he died. We do not know where in Australia he had made his home or when he left it for the battlefields of Europe. We do not know his age or his circumstances – whether he was from the city or the bush; what occupation he left to become a soldier; what religion, if he had a religion; if he was married or single. We do not know who loved him or whom he loved. If he had children we do not know who they are. His family is lost to us as he was lost to them. We will never know who this Australian was.
Yet he has always been among those we have honoured. We know that he was one of the 45,000 Australians who died on the Western Front. One of the 416,000 Australians who volunteered for service in the First World War. One of the 324,000 Australians who served overseas in that war, and one of the 60,000 Australians who died on foreign soil. One of the 100,000 Australians who have died in wars this century.
He is all of them. And he is one of us.
This Australia and the Australia he knew are like foreign countries. The tide of events since he died has been so dramatic, so vast and all-consuming, a world has been created beyond the reach of his imagination.
He may have been one of those who believed the Great War would be an adventure too grand too miss. He may have felt that he would never live down the shame of not going. But the chances are that he went for no other reason than that he believed it was his duty – the duty he owed his country and his King.
Because the Great War was a mad, brutal, awful struggle distinguished more often than not by miltary and political incompetence; because the waste of human life was so terrible that some said victory was scarcely discernible from defeat; and because the war which was supposed to end all wars in fact sowed the seeds of a second, even more terrible, war – we might think that this Unknown Soldier died in vain.
But in honouring our war dead as we always have, we declare that this is not true.
For out of the war came a lesson which transcended the horror and tragedy and the inexcusable folly.
It was a lesson about ordinary people – and the lesson was that they were not ordinary.
On all sides they were the heroes of that war: not the generals and the politicians, but the soldiers and sailors and nurses – those who taught us to endure hardship, show courage, to be bold as well as resilient, to believe in ourselves, to stick together.
The Unknown Australian Soldier we inter today was one of those who by his deeds proved that real nobility and grandeur belongs not to empires and nations but to the people on whom they, in the last resort, always depend.
That is surely at the heart of the Anzac story, the Australian legend which emerged from the war. It is a legend not of sweeping military victories so much as triumphs against the odds, of courage and ingenuity in adversity. It is a legend of free and independent spirits whose discipline derived less from military formalities and customs than from the bonds of mateship and the demands of necessity.
It is a democratic tradition, the tradition in which Australians have gone to war ever since.
This Unknown Australian is not interred here to glorify war over peace; or to assert a soldier’s character above a civilian’s; or one race or one nation or one religion above another; or men above women; or the war in which he fought and died above any other war; or of one generation above any that has or will come later.
The Unknown Soldier honours the memory of all those men and women who laid down their lives for Australia.
His tomb is a reminder of what we have lost in war and what we have gained.
We have lost more than 100,000 lives, and with them all their love of this country and all their hope and energy.
We have gained a legend: a story of bravery and sacrifice and with it a deeper faith in ourselves and our democracy, and a deeper understanding of what it means to be Australian.
It is not too much to hope, therefore, that this Unknown Australian soldier might continue to serve his country – he might enshrine a nation’s
The calibre of men we remember.
Lt. F P Bethune, ordered to hold his machine-gun position at all costs. His direction:
Special Order of No 1 Section 13/3/1918.
* This position will be held and the Section will remain here until relieved.
* The enemy cannot be allowed to interfere with this programme.
* If the Section cannot remain here alive it will remain here dead, but in any case it will remain here.
* Should any man, through shell shock or any other cause, attempt to surrender he will remain here dead.
* Should all guns be blown out the Section will use Mills bombs and other novelties.
* Finally, the position as stated, will be held.
Ack, the speech got cut off: last bit is:
“love of peace and remind us that, in the sacrifice of the men and women whose names are recorded here, there is faith enough for all of us.”
That vid has been going around our e-mail this week. It’s good. Surely, none of us are so important we can’t take that two minutes today, or maybe five…
I thank y’all for what you’ve done, are doing, and will continue to do for our blessed USA.
A friend just sent me the Terry Kelly video. After I watched it I came here and found it again. Terry is very well known in Nova Scotia, for two reasons – he’s a great singer (and I don’t even like country music) and he’s blind. Practically a legend around here.
After I watched it with my youngest daughter, it was a great opportunity to explain again what it’s all about. Why even though two minutes can seem like a long time at the time, its really nothing. Beautiful song, wonderfully makes the point.
I was in the greengrocers at 11am yesterday when the store owner put on the radio with the Ode for the Fallen, the call for silence and then the Last Post. Everybody inside and out in the carpark stopped what they were doing and paused to remember; even the kids were encouraged to be quiet.
The silence that descended over the neighbourhood was eerie but quite beautiful – it seems this tradition is still holding strong, even amid the ‘troops come home’ calls.
Michelle,
I’ve seen the Terry Kelly video about a dozen times; and it still gives me chills. Some of the lyrics, “..never forget how our youth become Vets” and “..even in peace our best don battle dress.”
Strong stuff!