It's getting close to 11 a.m. on November 11 - the day the guns fell silent. I will be silent also.
I remember my grandfather, who fought in Belgium, and who lost his brother there. It was called the Great War, and no one ever thought that it would be necessary to put a number to it. But then came the second one, and my father and my uncle went overseas. They were fortunate; they came home.
I stand silent for another aunt, who waited for a husband who never came home. And there was far more to the war effort than those who went over to actually huddle in the trenches. Another aunt stayed here, working in the factory, making the bullets and the shells that got sent over. She worked long hours - long shifts, sometimes double shifts, because the work had to be done, and because she had to support the household while my uncle was gone. Without the men and women who stayed behind, to build the supplies, to grow the food, to keep the home country going, victory could never have happened.
At the cenotaphs across the country today, the men will march in their uniforms and their medals. Honour them, but remember everyone who worked together in those horrible days so long ago.
