When will it end?

To those who have and continue to serve our nation,

We are forever
in their debt

We Will Remember Their Sacrifice...

Of those who fought for our country's freedom.

1914 - 1918

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40 YEARS OF PEACE DESTROYED, 4 YEARS OF WARFARE, HOW MUCH LONGER?

Over the past 4 years our population has watched as our loved ones march to the Front line of the Great War.

With high hopes of it being a distant memory by Christmas 1914, here we still are, four years on, praying for our husbands, fathers, sons and brothers to return home.

MORALE SEEMS TO HAVE FADED

As the Germans advance with the Spring Offensive, darker the light at the end of the tunnel gets.

Mass casualties have been reported and it seems we are trapped.

The once powerful spirit of our troops is slowly dying with every soldier’s sacrifice.

Is this the collapse to our Great Empire?

WE CAN’T LOSE FAITH

‘Hell’ will become the fitting word for future generations describing what our troops are enduring at this moment in time.

‘Heroes’ is what they will be known as, therefore we cannot surrender the valiant fight we still have in us.

WE MAY BE WOUNDED, BUT WE ARE NOT BROKEN

Many have fallen but we will not let it be in vain, we will fight on, we will conquer!

For the fallen

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.

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