An Act of Remembrance

[rancegal]

The following is an extract from an account of working life by a dear old friend of mine (reproduced with his permission). He began work in the 1930s in the 'Clicking Room' of a local shoe factory. Clickers were the elite of the shoe trade; they had to cut out uppers from hides of leather avoiding flaws and weak spots whilst getting out as many pieces as possible. The clickers were generally very vocal and political, and arguments frequently broke out, except on Armistice Day.


   
       "On the morning of that day, the clickers would be muted. Little conversation would take place.
          At about a quarter to eleven all the clickers as they worked would spontaneously sing in harmony "Abide with Me". Then silence would fall as the clock hands moved to eleven o'clock. George Pentelow  would pick up his strap-stick, take out his watch, and go over to the great belt. William Alfred would come out of the leather store. He would nod to George who would look at his watch and push the belt on to its free pulley.
          'Brownie' would slow down the diesel engine and the lights would die down. In the November gloom some clickers would stand silent as grey silhouettes; others would put their head in their hands and lean their elbows on their cutting boards. The whole factory would fall silent as we observed the Two-Minutes' Silence. Then slowly the lights would flicker and come on as Brownie opened up the diesel engine. George would push the belt back on to the driving pulley. The rest of the day would pass quietly with little conversation. Any talk was always subdued that day. There would be no arguments.
           I realised that these were men for whom the Somme, Paschendaele and Vimy Ridge were real and terrible places and experiences."

[stoney]

Thankyou for sharing this.

I wasn't at work this morning, but I assume my colleagues will have kept silence this morning. I was able to watch the cenotaph service and this piece of poetry by Siegfried Sassoon was read out. To my shame, I don't recall hearing it before, but thought it spoke aptly that we should remember (and go on remembering) the sacrifices made on our behalf:

Aftermath
 
HAVE you forgotten yet?...   
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,   
Like traffic checked a while at the crossing of city ways:   
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow   
Like clouds in the lit heavens of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,         
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.   
But the past is just the same,—and War's a bloody game....   
Have you forgotten yet?...   
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.   
   
Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz,—   
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?   
Do you remember the rats; and the stench   
Of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench,—   
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?   
Do you ever stop and ask, "Is it all going to happen again?"   
   
Do you remember that hour of din before the attack,—   
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you then   
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?   
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back   
With dying eyes and lolling heads, those ashen-grey   
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?   
   
Have you forgotten yet?...   
Look up, and swear by the green of the Spring that you'll never forget.