11 11 11

I was at home when the clock struck eleven this morning, but I stood up as the Radio clanged out the chimes of Big Ben into my achey head. It made me think of those young men in the trenches, with the constant sound of gunfire following them into their sleep.

Somebody who was outside later told me that the whole village stopped. Traffic slowed, cars pulled in to the side of the road. People in the street stood still. Even the birds stopped singing. On Sunday, there will be wreath-laying at the foot of the War Memorial where a lone soldier stands holding a rifle. He looks so young, about eighteen. He s heart-breaking.

Thank you, all those future past generations. For the sake of the future generations, lets all work to find ways of sorting out aggression without sending our children to war.