Today, about an hour and a half ago, I stood in the kitchen to observe the two minutes silence. It must be the fifth or sixth I’ve done: I was driving in the car on Sunday (intentionally, didn’t want to risk sobbing in Haskins) and have taken part from the settee when various rugby and football games observed a silence before the match.
In each one I find my mind turning over images and words. On Sunday I kept thinking of Wilfred Owen and his poems; sometimes I think of my father and his experiences in WWII. The lives lost or changed forever, the ruin of potential, the waste of generations.
We will remember.