Reflection On The Centenary of The Ending Of The Great War

"Ghost Soldiers" Slimbridge, Glos.

I cry. Every year during the ritual two minutes silence, and the solemn recitation: ''We will remember them ...'' The sorrow, the waste. What is there to do, but weep?

I watched the official ceremony around the Cenotaph in Whitehall with my usual mix of immense gratitude for the men and women who died, and disdain for the political leaders who will send more men and women to their deaths, for, what? WE become Terror to subjugate Terror. How's that working out?

We're currently complicit in the slaughter of  civilians in Syria, and Yemen. It's as though, mindful of the political cost of the mass-slaughter of armies, political  leaders have switched to slaying women and children instead. The faceless operator of a drone has replaced the Tommy with his gun.

My war-hero is Harry Patch, who died just a few years ago at 111, the last British survivor of the First World War. He held politicians in even greater disdain than I do. Harry and his four closest comrades made a pact not to kill anyone: they shot to maim. So here's the irony: the political leaders who fawned over Harry every year on Armistace Day, would have shot him as a traitor. Yes, refusing to kill was treason. Probably still is. God help us all.

''Thou shalt not kill..''

Harry Patch Anti-War Hero