The 11th hour

It’s when you least expect it when things can suddenly overwhelm you. There I was, wandering round Sainsbury’s having messed up this week’s Morrison’s on-line shop, picking up the items I’d forgotten to order, when a broad Bristolian voice came over the tannoy announcing that there would shortly be a period of silence to commemorate Armistice Day. Of course, I was well aware that we were approaching the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month but with a million trivia thoughts raising through my mind, I hadn’t thought this through and prepared myself. When the voice finished speaking, a bugle played The Last Post. I quickly put my phone on silent, put my basket on the floor and once the the bugle too went silent I stood still. It was then that I felt the tears well up.

Standing, as I was, in the tea and coffee aisle, I noted that everyone else in the store had stopped what they were doing. And there was silence, a golden, beautiful silence as we stood to do whatever it is people do during silences. I closed my eyes and thought about those who had served our country, particularly those who served and died so we would be free. They were the best of us. The senior ex services personnel who were guests of the store represented them impeccably. Then, after the silence, the voice reminded us why it was so important to remember and soon life was on the move again.

Leaving the store, I made my way to the smartly dressed men, proudly showing their medals. I simply thanked them for their service and went home. Heroes, each and every one.

This may sound ridiculous seeing that I was in a supermarket during the silence but it was an incredibly powerful moment in time, as powerful as I have experienced as various cenotaphs and services over the years. Perhaps it was the unity of spirit that moved me. All that broke the silence was a toddler’s talk and an errant mobile phone text tone. Silence, I always say, is far more powerful and respectful than any minute’s applause could ever be.

The final words were, “When you go home, tell them of us and say, for your tomorrow, we gave our today.” I can add no more.