Sunday, 8 November 2015


This morning I awoke with a song in my head - one that I had not thought of for years.

I racked my brains, whose was that haunting voice whose plaintive lament stirred memories from the past?  In an instant I knew.  It is strange how the past remains deep within us, in a filing cabinet within our memory storage, waiting for the day when it might be required!

We pinned on our poppies and headed off for the Brigades service at a nearby church. We were were reminded that responsibility for war cannot just be pinned on the politicians, and that the origins of war lie deep within all of us, the attitudes we take, and the prejudices we permit to perpetuate.

On Saturday night my daughter and I watched on iplayer part of the annual Festival of Remembrance from the Royal Albert Hall. We admired the precision marching, tried to identify the people the cameras thought were important. and heard of sacrifices given and lives changed for ever.  

Every November, we remember those who laid down their lives for others.  We have no idea of the horrors and fear they faced. My parents having lived through the Second World War, saw no glory in conflict, in lives cut short, at the whim of those well away from danger.

Each December we celebrate the birth of a baby, born to bear the burden of our wilful sinfulness.  A fact we conveniently forget in our tinsel-embellished extravaganza of excess.  There is a part of me that wishes that Jesus did not have to be born, was never required to bear the burden of our greed and failure. I wish that we had all been perfect.

What was that song I awoke to?

No More War