Remember
Sun. 12th Nov., 2000

We remember the tragic toll of war on the anniversary of the finish of the First World War. Hostilities stopped at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918, and as well as the two minutes silence at the actual time, on the following Sunday morning commemorative parades are held throughout the land.

Here in Newcastle the war memorial is situated in old Eldon Square, and the limestone plinth supports Hartwell's St. George, patron saint of England, slaying the dragon.

It was once planned to move Grey's Monument here from its position at the head of Grey Street and Grainger Street so it would be less bother to traffic. However, that plan was dropped in favour of the present memorial, built in 1923.

The proud lion walks westward and the side panels extoll peace and loyalty. A wreath of laurel leaves sits on the reverse, topped by an inscription telling us that memory lingers here.

Families and other onlookers lined the balconies of the new Eldon Square shopping compelx, and workers from the nearby shops came out to observe the two minutes silence.

The young ones looked on, hardly able to understand the meaning of the ceremony, but looking on quietly as each branch of the services represented here today laid wreaths at the foot of the monument. The Bishop led the prayers and the Civic dignitaries in splendid regalia joined in the moment when the world seemed to stop.

Here Major Riddell is helped onto the high vantage point by his grandson. He was a  teenager, younger than those strong arms now helping him on the stairs, when the First World War was fought, and the stories of valour in the face of impossible odds encouraged him to start a long and illustrious Army career.

Many other veterans were here today, both in and out of uniform.

Here an ex-commando studies the order of service before taking his place overlooking the massed ranks below.

The cathedral clock bells pealed out at eleven, and a boom rang out from the cannon of a tank, just out of sight near Grey's monument.

Even the birds were still as we paid respect to the fallen combatants and made inward resolve to resist tyranny, yet avoid the hideous excesses of war wherever possible.

In my youth I thought that this was a display of distasteful jingoistic warmongery, but I have since learned that Remembrance Day Parades are quite the reverse.

A second cannon blast signalled the end of the two minutes and a lone bugler sounded the Last Post. Some notes trembled either though cold lips or more probably raw emotion that filled the air.

Soldiers here march along the main road from Ypres to the front in 1917.

This was a one way street for the majority. The fields of Flanders, north west Belgium, were blasted flat by artillery and reduced to a muddy morass.

The famous Menin Road was the last vestige of civilisation and reason that these soldiers would see. Those who escaped the terrible carnage suffered a lifetime of twisted nightmares and buried guilt and terror.

Life returned, the drums beat time, and orders were barked as the parade marched away along Blackett Street towards Grainger Street.

The sorrow still hung in the air as we stepped down to the base of the memorial to inspect the wreaths.

The local Royal Navy Shore Station, H.M.S. Calliope is here represented next to the Gibraltar veterans' wreath.

The inscription tells all.