Brighton & Hove Remembrance Sunday

Brighton & Hove came to a solemn standstill this morning for the city’s Remembrance Sunday event at The Cenotaph, Old Steine. The service included a procession from Madeira Drive. Then hymns, prayers and a two minute silence, followed by the wreath laying of wreaths to remember the dead, and a reading from Laurence Binyon’s poem, For the Fallen.

Billie Lewis, Chair of the Brighton & Hove LGBT Community Safety Forum joined the Mayor, The Royal British Legion and other civic leaders in laying red poppy wreaths to honour the dead and remember the sacrifice of service men, women and people who died during the war, and those who died due to persecution from fascist regimes during the second world war.  A second wreath was laid by the LGBT Safety Forum to honour & remember disabled people, including children who were tortured and murdered by the Nazi regime and other fascist regimes during the second world war.

Billie Lewis said “It’s important to remember the sacrifices of all service people, over the last 100 years of war and also of those who, through no fault of their own were persecuted, tortured and murdered by intolerant and genocidal regimes intent on eradicating anyone who their twisted ideas said were unworthy of life.  We bear witness today to their loss, to the loss of brothers, sisters, parents and children who fought for liberty and justice during two world wars, and died  fighting for their beliefs and way of life.

We also bear witness to lives and whole communities lost in the atrocities of war.  ‘Lest we forget’ is not just a meme, it means something, it means we remember not just to honour the dead, but to remember why they died, in the pursuit of defending a way of life that was fair, inclusive and respectful of all types of people. We stood today, with the rest of the City, in silence. in respect, in remembrance. ”

Remembrance does not glorify war and its symbol, the red poppy, is a sign of both Remembrance and hope for a peaceful future. Find out more.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain.