Birdsong

All of us are touched by war no matter what your take on it. I have long felt the futility of war and wonder at the reasons and the driving force behind it. I'm likely to cause some offence here, but this is not the intent, so please indulge me for a while.

Many of the wars fought in recent history have resulted in huge loss of life, on both (or all) sides of the conflict. So many young men - so many. The first world war may have resulted in the loss of more young men than ever before or since. I don't have the figures, but I have been to the Menin Gate and seen for myself the endless lists of names of those young men who were never identified. You have to go there to see and feel the sheer enormity of it. 

                                         

Every inch of that huge monument is covered rows upon rows of names.

Then there are the cemeteries, rows upon rows of white crosses, a sea of them, each one representing a life, a lost potential of the person and a lost potential of generations that will never be. 

                              

Just before I had the opportunity to visit Ypres I had, quite by coincidence listened to Sebastian Faulkes' Birdsong. The central character is an unhappy young man who finds himself caught up in the first world war. The horror of the conditions and the terrible loss of life and limb are seen through the eyes of Stephen who, in spite of his best efforts to the contrary, survives the conflict.  When I stood in the cemetery overlooking the killing fields of the first world war I was transported back in time. I could almost hear the sound of gunfire and the cries (in battle and in pain) of the men who were fighting a war for who knew what purpose. They fought on both sides with a patriotism that told each side that the other was the enemy and must be eliminated. This happens in all battles, skirmishes and wars. I wonder at the fervor and absolute patriotism of these soldiers. So much so that they rush toward their own death with enthusiasm and even joy so it seems. We don’t know what the last thoughts are of those men and women. I think of the Kamikaze pilots of the Japanese air force and even those who forced the planes into the twin towers. 

While standing in that cemetery  I could also hear the songs of the birds, songs that would have in all likelihood not been heard during the noise of battle. However, when the guns stopped I imagine that the birds would have sung out in relief and celebration that the fear, anger despair and death were - at least temporarily - over.

This year, I was privileged to be able to take part in the remembrance parade at the Cenotaph in London. I suppose most of us have watched it on television at some time in our lives, but to be there is a different experience. The atmosphere cannot be captured by the cameras, and no commentator can possibly describe with adequacy what is happening  down there among the men and women who have experienced and survived the horrors of battle. If you have the chance, look deep into the eyes of one of those veterans and you may glimpse it, but largely they cover it up with banter and friendly jesting.

The day was lovely, unseasonably warm with clear blue sky contrasting beautifully with the deep gold of the autumn leaves. We waited and chatted for what seemed an interminably long time, the atmosphere was almost party like and we spent time watching and identifying the various veterans from different battles long past. 

Then Big Ben took over and informed everyone that it was time - the 11th hour had arrived and the whole company fell silent. It was absolute silence. Then, something that Londoners don't hear in the centre of that noisy busy city, a city that never stops, apart from that 2 minutes once a year ............. Birdsong. 

They sang and chirped with some triumph that they could be heard, an almost prayer like chorus, reminding us that in such silence, such respect for the fallen, lies peace.