For the Fallen

_“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.”_

These lines, taken from Laurence Binyon’s famous poem of 1914, “For the Fallen”, are synonymous in our culture with the act of commemorating and remembering those men and women who have died in the line of armed duty since the First World War.

It is a connection not unique to Britannia: each year this Ode of Remembrance is recited at memorial services across the Commonwealth; in Australia’s Returned and Services Leagues, it is read out nightly at 6 p.m., followed by a minute’s silence; in New Zealand it is part of the Dawn service at 6 a.m. Our Canadian cousins also incorporate the lines of verse into their tributes, although they commonly refer to the extract as the Act of Remembrance.

This weekend, on Sunday, the second in November, Britain will hold its own annual ceremony to honour the fallen. At 11am on Remembrance Sunday history and time will briefly cease, bridged for a matter of moments by a unified silence, one of collective focus and considerations. Generations joining together – irrespective of demographics – to remember.

For some, however, it would seem the process has become disassociated from this intended implication. Consequently, a few question the necessity of such an occasion, whilst others wrongfully attach political criticisms. These reactions are symptomatic of the two problems which must be actively challenged in order to preserve the meaning behind both Remembrance Day, on 11 November, and Remembrance Sunday.

Firstly, time regrettably breeds apathy. It is an inevitability borne out by human nature that as memory fades meaning is lost. With each passing year the act of remembering becomes an increasingly difficult one; how are we to connect with those we seek to venerate? It is for precisely this reason that we should redouble our efforts and diligence in preserving memory, in ensuring the link between past and present is maintained.

Failure to do so would constitute a loss of our heritage, a loss of ourselves. After all, no family has gone untouched by war in this past century – everything we are now stretches back in some way to those past human experiences.

Secondly, in recent years protests have arisen in opposition to remembering the dead, largely stemming from discontent with the perceived intention of military initiatives undertaken by British forces overseas. For this to occur on Remembrance Sunday, or any comparable occasion, is indefensible.

Let us make this absolutely plain: protesting against war in general is entirely justified. Similarly, protesting against a specific war due to personal convictions is justifiable. But there is a time and a place to do so. Services of remembrance should be focused upon those who can no longer protest their fate, not distracted by debate. Attempting to attribute a political charge to any occasion of remembrance amounts to little more than event exploitation; the dead cannot hear you, and so your actions pile undeserved indignity upon their memory.

The Boar is not asking you to align yourself with the causes these young individuals died for – either in the recent or more distant past – if you find the forces which compelled them to engage in war disagreeable.

Your own personal views will accordingly determine the stance you take. Yet central to each and every Remembrance Sunday should not be the matter of “why?”, but rather the fact that it happened, it exists, and we live in the shadow of this history, forever.

Whilst we pause to remember this weekend, and in future, at the forefront of our minds must always be the human loss, a loss which far outweighs any other conceivable context, transcending all other discussion. We should remember them. We will remember them.