Remembrance service.

 Remembrance service.

The red poppies fluttered down from the historic roof of the Royal Albert Hall, and, to quote that famous cliche, you could hardly hear a pin drop although that may be stating the obvious. But last night was never about cliches rather the genuine outpouring of painful reminiscence, harrowing grief and a ever present sense of grave introspection, rather like one long, sombre funeral service where the thoughts of those gathered together reminded you of the familiar, the harsh reality, mourning on a monumental scale. 

Last night we remembered and lest we could ever forget, we bowed our heads thoughtfully at the Remembrance service for those millions who lost their lives on the military battlegrounds and wartime killing fields of human conflict. Then there were the inevitable rivers of tears that none of us could hold back. And yet privately they were deep in sorrow, stern, phlegmatic faces who just wanted to be with their innermost feelings. The suffering in the aftermath of too many wars was there for all to see, thinking permanently about their loved ones, trying desperately to make sense of it all.  

The yearly Remembrance service at the Royal Albert Hall in London once again emphasised the unnecessary heartache, the barbaric savagery of war, the horrific repercussions of war and particularly the soldiers who sacrificed their lives, putting everything on the line because they had to whether they liked it or not. They were all there last night as is always the case, to shut their eyes, standing respectfully and then sitting down in a kind of religious obeisance, singing powerfully from the bottom of their hearts. 

We all know about the First and Second World War, the shocking abominations and cruelties inflicted on ex servicemen and women who fought bitterly on our behalf so that we could live our lives and be grateful for our blessings. We were never there to witness the excessive bloodshed, the apocalyptic deaths, the six million Jews who were tortured, tormented, pushed from pillar to post and then sent to the gas chambers because they were Jewish. The Jews represented a real threat to Nazi stormtroopers who shot down the Jews for reasons that none of us can ever quite comprehend even in hindsight. 

But last night was much more than a simple ceremony to acknowledge those who were callously beaten, shoved and kicked, provoked, beaten black and blue before being dragged towards the firing squads. They were all both young and old, children and adults, families from every corner of the universe, indiscriminately murdered because the Germans simply wanted to assert Aryan supremacy and then bring about the violent assassination and elimination of the Jews completely. 

Of course there were those in the audience at the Royal Albert Hall who just needed to be with themselves in quiet isolation, weeping copiously and trying to rationalise the events of over 80 years ago when the entire world went to hell and back before meeting a fate that none could have anticipated. Both the First and Second World Wars are still graphically, vividly and hideously engraved on our minds. For those of us who were born 17 years after the Second World War it still feels as if your late and lovely mum and dad could never quite come to terms with what happened and the recollections were far too bitter to relate. 

And so gradually, while growing up, you were told about the mass fatalities, the severities, the humiliations, the degradations, those who left on a train and never came back. You try to imagine the horrendous magnitude of the First and Second World War and the imagery conveyed in countless TV documentaries grows heavier with poignancy every time you see it. We discussed it as a family and you  were somehow dumbfounded because the present day generation can never give you an answer. 

But at the Royal Albert Hall, they were united in their collective thought patterns, applauding movingly and touchingly those whose grandma and grandpa, great grandma and great grandpa escaped from persecution, the guns, bombs, rifles, the explosions that psychologically scarred so many who followed them immediately. You can't deny that 80 years later, those memories are still branded in our heads, still stirring the wrong kind of history, hurting, still evident, crying out for a justice that may never be delivered. 

They came from every direction, the Royal Navy, the Royal Air Force, the Royal Marines, the Royal Military Police, the Paras, men and women in stiff grey uniforms with berets on their heads, thick black busbies on their heads, standard bearers, tartan kilts and all manner of military experience and knowledge. They marched into the main arena, heads held high, dignity personified, pride on their lapels and collars, swollen with pride and lumps in their throats. There was a righteousness about the people who deserve to be recognised and never ignored or simply taken for granted. 

Then as if determined to be heard in every conceivable corner of the world, the bands and orchestras struck up their rousing sounds, violins and pianos tuned to impeccable perfection, guitars, harps, trumpets and trombones, emphatic cymbals clashing dramatically at the right time. There was a nobility about last night, everybody in unison before, towards the end of the service, a wistful glance up at the Royal Family in the Royal box.  King Charles the Third was accompanied by Queen Camilla, the Prince and Princess Wales commendably and appropriately smart. 

You wondered what exactly must have been going through their minds and knew instinctively that Her late and much loved Majesty the Queen and husband Prince Philip would have stared across the Royal Albert Hall as if royalty had always been there for us. The Remembrance service is a sad and tragic yearly event that induces the same emotions, the same unspoken feelings. There is still an air of sensitivity about the whole occasion as if we should always be reminded of where we are in the moment. Lest we should ever forget and pray should never, ever happen again.