In Memoriam

It is November 11th, Armistice day, a celebration of the end of World War I and a moment to remember all those who lost their lives in the Great Wars. I sadly never got to meet my grandfather, but one of the few things I know about him is that he fought in WWI and was decorated for bravery, we have this magnificent picture of him on horseback taken in 1915. However, I know little more than this, unsurprisingly he never really talked about the experience to my father. I also think of the other young men who never returned. Their futures brutally taken away from them, like the Welsh poet Hedd Wyn (born Ellis Evans), who was posthumously awarded the bard's chair (highest accolade for Welsh poetry) at the 1917 Eisteddfod, or Wilfred Owen the talented war poet who died in 1918, who wrote about the horrors of war:

             Anthem for 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 now for them; no prayers nor 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 patient minds,
           And each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds.

                                                                Wilfrid Owen