Today, Remembrance Sunday, Her Majesty the Queen and senior British Royals, politicians and military men of all ranks lead a two minutes’ silence at 11am British Standard Time at The Cenotaph in Whitehall, London.
The actual commemorative date is November 11, the day of the signing of the armistice between the Allies and Germany at 11am on November 11, 1918.
There is a two-minute silence held to mark the occasion on the eleventh hour of the 11th day of the 11th month to remember those killed in the two World Wars and wars since including those from the Commonwealth and other British protectorates including Malta.
This armistice agreement ended four years of fighting in World War I.
The reason for poppies is they were the first flowers to appear in the blood-soaked battlefields of Northern France and Flanders.
The idea of the poppy is also meant to be a symbol of hope for no more wars, encouraging people to look forward as well as remember not only the dead but also those who fought and survived.
The facts are sobering.
Historians vary in their estimates of dead in the 20th century and the early 21st century, so far, as best as it can be estimated, the conventional wisdom is that, assuming the highest war dead estimates figures, it is in excess of 150,000,000.
This would mean that war in the 20th century alone, including related famine and diseases, and including genocide and mass murders, caused deaths estimated at approximately one in 35.
One can I think only end this reflection, pondering these awful numbers of deaths, by quoting one of the more poignant poems ever written by a soldier, and an unknown soldier at that.
The final inspection
The soldier stood and faced God,
Which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining,
Just as brightly as his brass.
‘Step forward now, you soldier,
How shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek?
To My Church have you been true?’
The soldier squared his shoulders and said,
‘No, Lord, I guess I ain’t.
Because those of us who carry guns,
Can’t always be a saint.
I’ve had to work most Sundays,
And at times my talk was tough.
And sometimes I’ve been violent,
Because the world is awfully rough.
But, I never took a penny,
That wasn’t mine to keep...
Though I worked a lot of overtime,
When the bills got just too steep.
And I never passed a cry for help,
Though at times I shook with fear.
And sometimes, God, forgive me,
I’ve wept unmanly tears.
I know I don’t deserve a place,
Among the people here.
They never wanted me around,
Except to calm their fears.
If you’ve a place for me here, Lord,
It needn’t be so grand.
I never expected or had too much,
But if you don’t, I’ll understand.’
There was a silence all around the throne,
Where the saints had often trod.
As the soldier waited quietly,
For the judgement of his God.
‘Step forward now, you soldier,
You’ve borne your burdens well.
Walk peacefully on Heaven’s streets,
You’ve done your time in Hell.’