Last week's column was about walking for remembrance, to come together and get the community fit, but this week is about standing still to honour and take time to reflect.
There’s something uniquely humbling about standing in the crisp November air. Surrounded by the silence of a community united by reverence. This year, my sash firmly in place, I joined my local remembrance parade as Miss England, but I came not just as a titleholder—more importantly, as a member of the community. As, Milla, paying tribute to those who gave everything and received nothing in return, not even a name on their final resting place.
At the core of this day, of course, lies the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior—a stark, yet poignant emblem of sacrifice. You see, this tomb is more than just a slab of stone buried deep in Westminster Abbey; it’s a powerful reminder of the countless stories left untold, the young faces who vanished into battlefields, and the families who received not a hero’s welcome but silence. It’s as if every clanging bell and rustling wreath whispers their silent legacy: “We fought, so you could stand here today.”
Standing there in my local church shoulder to shoulder with veterans, decorated with medals and children holding red poppies taller than their arms, it hit me that remembrance isn’t just an annual ritual. It’s a heartbeat, an anchor in our history. I wondered about the parents who saw their sons march off, their pride masking the gnawing fear that they might only return in name. I thought of soldiers who fought anonymously, so that today, we can argue politics, love freely, and hold parades without a second thought about the peace we’re wrapped in.
Joining the parade as Miss England was an honour, but it was stepping into that crowd, just a woman among others, that carried the real weight.
The Tomb of the Unknown Warrior serves as an eternal reminder that the freedoms we enjoy come with an unseen price. Each faceless hero, without name or personal glory, laid down the most precious thing they had. And we, as the privileged heirs to their sacrifice, owe them more than just a pause in our schedule once a year—we owe them our utmost gratitude, always.
So, if you ever find yourself passing the marble tomb, pause for a moment. Remember, it’s more than stone; it’s the silent tribute to courage so great it doesn’t need a name. And, sometimes, standing in that remembrance is the loudest “thank you” we can give.
Peace and love xx
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