Cynical reflection
That song and video, by the Ennis Sisters: gets me every time. I’m far too young to have experienced either the first or Second Wars, but I know that I met elderly relatives that had gone into uniform, from here, over a century ago. They came home, obviously. So many others didn’t.
An online audio clip from November 11, 1918 is circulating on social media. In it, the timeline has been matched to the final couple of minutes. The guns fired, continuously, until the agreed upon moment arrived. Hard to understand what kind of commanding officer kept the pressure on until his pocket watch clicked on the new hour. Suddenly, silence; the sort that hadn’t been there in the minute before. Nor in the months and years leading up to that hour, in certain areas. And as if a switch had been thrown, the sound of songbirds.
I took a few minutes to ask the question (to Google) about what the soldiers in the field (mud) knew about meetings to arrange for an armistice. At a guess, nothing. The military doesn’t play that game. Easier to keep loading and firing. This one article surmises that the people at the top had been advised, but war was a game. They continued, until the bitter end, trying to assure better field position. Hard not to be cynical, even a century later.
I am glad that my own level of cynicism, elevated by nature, allows me to listen to the Ennis Sisters and give thanks. None of my immediate family have had to stand in harm’s way, on behalf of commanders that lack the common sense to stay out of the rain. No points given to the Orange Blob, who did just that, today in France. Not the same.
