As per request: My Annual Remembrance Day Speech

If I could put my ear to the rippling shadows and hear the whispers of the “…millions of mouthless dead…” who died “…pro patria…”  in that far away time.

In those far away places –

What would they tell me?

What would they tell me to tell you?

They would want you to know that the Earth is cold

And Death is lonely –

Even though there are so very many of them,

The “…mouthless dead…”

And it never seems to stop –

Even though their war.

The Great War,

Was supposed to be the war to end all wars.

They would tell me:

The Earth is cold

And Death is lonely.

They chased Honour

And Glory

Like Rainbows

And Wishes

And when they grabbed at any of them,

Came up empty handed.

They would tell me to tell you why we do this now:  this act of collective, ritual grieving.

Grieving for the old dead -

The Dead who lie in foreign fields.

We do this because those deaths matter.  They had wives, mothers, sisters, fathers, brothers, sons, and daughters.

This point is brought home to me everyday when I see my 22 year old son, my husband, and my 19 year old daughter.  One hundred years ago, they all would have enlisted – my husband and son as soldiers and my daughter as a Nursing Sister.

This point is brought home to me when I look into the face of my 12 year old son who, 100 years ago, would have watched his family march off to war only to join them in a few years.  He, like many boys his age, would lie to join his family overseas.

I often think of all of those things these days and the point of all of this ritual is brought, quickly, home to me. 

In 1917 or 1918, a German couple travelled, by train, from the small town near their farm to the city nearby.  They were not rich people so they were not able to afford a cabin of their own.  Soon it was clear to all those who sat near them that the journey would have been more comfortable for all concerned if the farm couple could, indeed, afford a cabin of their own. 

You see, the woman kept counting: 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5, 1-2-3-4-5.  She would pause for a moment and start again:  1-2-3-4-5.  The counting continued hour after hour.  Finally someone nearby snapped at the husband:

“Can you not quiet your woman?  Her counting makes the rest of us uneasy.”

The husband turned to the angry passenger and quietly said:  “I beg your pardon, sir. My wife has quite lost her wits.  You see, hour counting 1-2-3-4-5, is the counting of our dead sons.  All five.  All dead.  The last one died in France last week. 

I am taking her to an asylum in the city, for all she does now is weep and count her dead sons.  There is nothing I can do to comfort her.  Nothing I can do to stop her weeping; her counting.”

So many dead mothers.

So many dead sons.

One such mother’s son was Charles Hamilton Sorley; a 19 year old British Officer.  Sorley had no interest in fighting the Germans in the Great War.  He had just returned to England from studying in Germany.

Charles got home.

He enlisted.

And he fought and died on the Western Front.

He died on the Western Front – 19 years old –

A poet who did not want to fight or kill someone who may have been his friend from the university in Germany in which he studied.

A poet sceptical of those who tried to sell the war under the guises of “glory” and “honour.”

A poet who wrote about the “…millions of mouthless dead…” as a way of dealing with his anguish, anger, and angst.

When You See Millions of the Mouthless Dead'

BY CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY

When you see millions of the mouthless dead

Across your dreams in pale battalions go,

Say not soft things as other men have said,

That you'll remember. For you need not so.

Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know

It is not curses heaped on each gashed head?

Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.

Nor honour. It is easy to be dead.

Say only this, “They are dead.” Then add thereto,

“Yet many a better one has died before.”

Then, scanning all the o'ercrowded mass, should you

Perceive one face that you loved heretofore,

It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.

Great death has made all his for evermore.

How freely we gave our sons.

How freely they died.

If, 100 years ago, my son or husband were among the “…millions of mouthless dead…” I would listen carefully –

So carefully –

To the rippling shadows –

Waiting to hear their voices

And to tell you to simply

Remember.

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The above was my speech at the annual Remembrance Day assembly.

Here is the video/slide presentation I put together:

Thank you for taking the time to read and view this post.  

It means a lot.