TODAY IS REMEMBRANCE SUNDAY. HONOUR THE FALLEN
They sound again, those bugles, and skirl again the pipes: long plangent notes, which haunt the air like a mourning woman’s cry. They sound in sad and misty shires: in villages quiet and cities loud; there where the graven crosses stand. We stand in silent homage, in the damp November air, while the silent minute passes; honouring our dead. We pay homage to the dead, and the shattered limbs and ruined minds of those who did not die. Gazing on the awful lists of names long gone, here in these... Sign in to see full entry.