One Minute's Silence

Today was July 3rd 2015.  At 12 noon, everyone stopped what they were doing and stood for one minute, to remember the fallen from last Friday's massacre in Sousse, Tenerife.

So, why did we bother?

Over the past century, as a nation, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland has been getting better at valuing life.  It began after The First World War; instead of dumping into mass graves the carcasses of soldiers slaughtered in battle, each was afforded his own individual plot and headstone. Fabian Ware and Neville Macready, after pointing out the blatant class distinction, when fallen officers were repatriated yet other ranks were buried unceremoniously in unmarked graves, founded the War Graves Commission.  For the first time, each life lost was counted, documented and respectfully buried.  At the end of the war, the Unknown Warrior was repatriated to represent all those fallen who could not be identified, and a day was set aside, each year, to remember them.

And so it continued, right up until the Falklands War in the early 1970s; British soldiers killed abroad were buried in military cemeteries, often created for the event.

Maybe it was the Northern Ireland conflict that changed this habit; soldiers were close enough to home to be repatriated.  Whatever the reason, at major conflicts thereafter, those killed were repatriated, their deaths medically and forensically investigated, and their military graves began to appear in the churchyards of The United Kingdom, not on "some corner of a foreign field".

The loss off life became personal and public when, because a runway was being resurfaced, the fallen from the conflicts of the 21st century began to be repatriated through a little Wiltshire town called Wootton Bassett.  Percy Miles, a British Legion member, was chatting with friends on the High Street when they noticed one of the first of these hearses pass by.  They stopped their conversation, turned and stood in respectful silence as the hearse passed; and they decided then and there that they wanted to do more.

It could have been anywhere, but this small town, without a bypass to anonymise the repatriations, became a byword for honour and respect.  Its name spread worldwide, and when the airbase at Lyneham closed in 2012, sending the repatriated coffins on a different route, the town was renamed by letters patent: Royal Wootton Bassett.

A later development has been the appeal from funeral directors for attendees at the funerals of old soldiers who have died with few or no known relatives to attend their funerals.  Hundreds now turn out for these send-offs.  Why, you might ask?  Because those still living, whose lives are similarly adrift from all they once knew and loved, know that their kind are respected and honoured.

A belated, yet heartfelt review of other tragedies follows. Those whose lives were lost in a stadium, where careless neglect or ignorance of risk ended the lives of many and who were denied full closure, because of the fears of those responsible for their own well-being.  We are learning, slowly but surely, that every life has incalculable worth, and where they are put at risk, or lost, answers must be given.

And now, to those who chose to go and fight, we add the hapless victims of conflict: targets, mown down on the beach where they were enjoying a much looked forward to holiday. Their families are changed forever. Their futures have been stolen; but the ripples of their existence will continue to touch lives for many years to come.  Every single one is precious; and the World knows that we care.

And this is why, at 12 noon today, everyone stopped what they were doing and stood silently for one minute; because we will never be able to calculate the loss of these lives, to families, to communities and to the world.

The Beautiful People

We see them every now and then, here in Wiltshire: The Beautiful People. They are the ones who, if they populated the whole Earth, it would be safe.

Link: How many Earths would be needed if everyone had your lifestyle?

You can't recognise a Beautiful Person just by looking at them.  Yes, many of them dress in a bohemian style, wear their hair at lengths that would get them on the 'reject' pile for many office jobs, and would have no idea what's in fashion this season; but there are too many imitators to be sure that the person you are looking at is One of the Beautiful People.

You will find both The Beautiful People and their imitators: The Ugly People, at Druidic High Holidays,such as the Summer and Winter Solstices, Beltane and Alban Elfed. The Beautiful People and The Ugly People will wander together around the stones of Stonehenge and the fires of Beltane, indistinguishable.  But if you watch closely, you will soon see which is which.

The Beautiful People will stow their empty water bottle back in their bag. The Ugly People will toss theirs aside once it's empty.  The Beautiful People will walk away and you will not know they have been.  The Ugly People will walk away, leaving their trail of litter behind them. For the Ugly People, it's someone else's job to clean up after them.

After all, these places are for everyone. Many just want to say they've been there, to witness The Summer Solstice; to see The Northern Lights; to watch the total eclipse of the sun; and that's fine; if they can learn to behave like The Beautiful People, or already do, then they are not The Ugly People.  If they let go of so much as a toffee wrapper at one of our precious, ancient sites, then walk away leaving someone else to pick it up, they are, most definitely, one of The Ugly People.

When the festivities are done, many of The Beautiful People will stay behind, to help clean up the mess left by The Ugly People, even knowing that The Ugly People will turn up again, next time, to soil and pollute the sacred sites again.  The Beautiful People don't complain; they are too busy caring.

I love The Beautiful People.

I just wish that The Ugly People wore their ugliness on the outside, so we could bar them at the gate.

Link: Litter at Stonehenge