Across Continents

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The Fallen

I’d finally found a suitably quiet spot. Difficult in the bustling city of Xiangfan. A little before eleven in the morning. Eleventh day of November. A moment for contemplation. To reflect on the sacrifices made by others. In wars of national survival, regional conflicts. All individuals who’d lost their lives in the furtherance of a cause.

Last year it’d been the Commonwealth War Graves in Belgrade, Serbia. Joined the Ambassadors and their Diplomatic Staff. Bit inconspicuous in my bright yellow jacket, but I’d at least managed to acquire a poppy. The Consul had likened it to a blob of jam in a bowl of custard. Unfortunately, the nearest War Graves were still well over a thousand miles away in Hong Kong. Out of reach.

But what really mattered, I’d always thought, was the Act of Rememberance. Pausing, just for a few moments, to remember those who’d lost their lives in war or conflict. Not just members of the three Armed Services, but civilians, at home and abroad. Many of those laid to rest in Belgrade were nurses. The Fallen.



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