#RemembranceSunday
It always gets me when they read the list of the names of the fallen. Ours is a small town and the list is not very long. For some letters there are only one or two names, for others many. These lists only give initials before the family name, as was English custom until quite recently; my college yearbook still did it 30 years ago. Thus we hear the names in semi-anonymity, A. Smith, A.S. Smith, B.K Smith, D.M.B. Smith, E.T. Smith, ..., images of unknown lives flash before us, one after the other. The lists are read by older pupils from the local school, fine young voices, confident voices, the fallen were of their age. The readers normally stay cool, but today one of them comes close to tears, perhaps a sense of the endless waste of life, perhaps just nervousness. Either way, she carries on with clear but trembling voice. Halfway through the names it starts raining. I keep my hat off until we've reached B. Yeo, the last on the list.
[No actual names quoted.]