We have made war a hobby. Arm-chair generals who plan, strategise and theorise ways to destroy our opponents. Reading and reacting to the eb and flow of battle to bring victory to our plastic men (or xenos) for whatever reason. We laugh, we scream and we bite back exasperation as fate deals us mundane dice rolls and we lose ground.
It is easy to forget that 100 years ago War was real. Young, hopeful and talented men, women and children lost their lives and it is very important for as all to remember and acknowledge, in the hope that we never see the likes of it again.
This is one of my favourite War poems and I wanted to share it with you;
"Anthem for a Doomed Youth"
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
--Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,-
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Wilfred Owen - 1893-1918
Tonight, between 22:00 -23:00 GMT, the United Kingdom had a 'Lights out' to mark the centenary for the start of the first Worl War. Drake and I lit a candle and placed it outside our house. We wanted to show that we remember. We wanted to show that we will never forget what those lost lives did for us. But most of all; we wanted to help any lost souls find their way home...
Thanks for reading