by Patrick Astill
Tomorrow the nation will come together in an act of remembrance.
Some people might not agree with what they see as glorification of war and a celebration of conflict.
But that’s not why we stand in silence to remember the millions who perished in two world wars and many subsequent conflicts.
We wear our poppies not just an act of remembrance – but as a warning, to ourselves and our politicians to never let the horrors of warfare be repeated.
Our future leaders are the children of today and they should be aware of our nation’s past, and how it shaped the people who live here today.
For instance, on July 1, 1916, the British Army sustained 57,470 casualties, 19,240 of whom were killed. Yet that is a pinprick in the the 885,000 military deaths among UK forces from the First World War, or the 382,000 from the Second World War. Many more millions died, especially among Russian soldiers, while in Japan, 120,000 people died in the four months after the Hiroshima atom bomb was dropped.
Often, children do not know any of this. For most, history is not an option to GCSE level because it is such a dry subject. There are few parents and grandparents who have direct link to wartime - many people’s memories now may only be of past-war rationing.
There has to be a place for it in the curriculum so that young people can learn of the horrors of the Somme, Ypres and countless battlefields across Europe.
If they can see, hear and understand where the politicians went wrong, perhaps we can avoid future bloodshed and ensure it never happens again.
Our troops continue struggle to help bring democracy to the world today, and whether or not we agree with the individual campaigns, the poppy is a symbol for those who wish to show their appreciation for all who have fallen in the past, whether or not you agree that Britain today is a country worth dying for.
So there will be a poignant moment tomorrow when a hush falls over small groups of people dotted around the country.
We too will stand at a war memorial tomorrow, with our children, aged seven and five, and tell them – as we do every year – that we’re thinking of the daddies who never came home.
First published in the Lincolnshire Echo.
