Sedentary, listless, swathed in black, they stand. Heads are bowed, some in respect, others in lackadaisical apathy. Is it wrong to ask whether half of the poppy-adorned congregation understand?
A trumpet marks the beginning. Thirty veterans stand to attention, tunics emblazoned with medals. The atrocities of war are long forgotten, and so the glorification begins. We praise them for their determination in the face of adversity, their ability to forge a path away from calamity. We will never truly comprehend, but at the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.