Some random thoughts about war

I went to a service last night which was held to commemorate the 70th anniversary of what is known as the 'Belfast Blitz', when air raids over Belfast resulted in massive damage and loss of life. The service was really moving, there were hymns and prayers and an Act of Remembrance (which I always find really moving) and a male voice choir. The actor Dan Gordon read extracts from the diary of a man who had worked as a surgeon at one of the hospitals in the area, as well as a list of all those in East Belfast who had died. The music, the readings and the fact that many of the people in attendance would have been alive at the time (including some friends of mine) combined to make it a very moving experience.
A few years ago I was in Belgium on holiday and had the chance to go to the Last Post ceremony at Ypres and to visit one of the cemeteries where those who were killed in the war are buried. It was a very moving experience.

I would never have thought that a visit to a cemetery would change how I viewed my life.
I was on a coach tour of Belgium. We were staying in the coastal town of Ostende and so far we had been on day trips to Brussels, Bruges and the town of Boulogne-sur-Mer, in Northern France. The weather all week had been beautiful and I was really enjoying the holiday. Our next excursion would be to the Menin Gate to witness the Last Post ceremony, followed by a visit to one of the war cemeteries. On a sunny Wednesday evening at the end of July, we boarded the bus to make the short journey from Ostende to Ypres. On the way there, our guide gave us a history lesson on the First World War. There was nothing he said that I hadn't already learnt in school, but somehow being able to look out the windows of the bus and see places where some of the events of the war had taken place brought history to life.
When we arrived at Ypres, I was amazed at how many people were already gathered for the ceremony, as there was over half an hour to go before it would begin. Our guide suggested that we have a look around before the ceremony began, so my friend and I found a little cafe nearby where we were able to have something to drink. When we arrived back at the Menin Gate there was only a few minutes left before the ceremony would begin. We were told that tonight's ceremony would be a little longer than usual, as some of the soldiers' families would be laying wreaths in their memory.
The ceremony began. The buglers played 'The Last Post' , a woman read the famous extract from 'For the Fallen' and then it was time for the families to lay the wreaths before 'The Last Post' was played again. The ceremony, especially the wreath-laying was so poignant. It resonated with so many memories and individual tragedies yet was performed with so much grace and dignity that it was beautiful.
After the ceremony there was time to take a picture of the buglers - one of whom had been playing at 'The Last Post' for over fifty years- before boarding the bus again. Our destination this time was the Essex Farm cemetery which is next to the site where the famous poem 'In Flanders Fields' was written. We climbed off the bus and saw for ourselves the site where over eighty years before so many horrific events were taking place. There is nothing in the landscape that tells this story, apart from the cemetery the only signs of the war are the sandbags and the remains of the bunkers. Of course there is a plaque with the poem on it, which was written by a Canadian soldier after witnessing the death of his friend. Our guide again told us some of the history surrounding the cemetery. He explained that the youngest person to be killed in action in the First World War, a boy of just fifteen, was buried there. The visit to the cemetery had a profound effect on me. Walking through the cemetery and looking at the graves, I realised that most of the men buried here had been younger than I was then when they died. That year I had turned thirty. The youngest person buried in that graveyard was half my age. I felt an enormous sense of gratitude then, and I still do now, for the life that I have. I find it all to easy at times to compare myself to others and to feel that my life lacks meaning because I don't do all the things that they do, but when I find myself wallowing in self-pity and a sense of uselessness I remember standing in the cemetery and how I felt about life then, and once again I feel grateful to be alive.