Update 11 Nov.
On the London nightly news on some channel they had the following:
A report of an old geezer from Croydon, with his great-grandaughter, and his medals, talking about himself having flown these cute ancient bi-planes and strafing the Gerry boats. IMMEDIATELY afterwards, the talking head says something like 'all of this talk of glory, queen and country has increased the intake at the MoD'. They showed a couple of numb-skulls pledging their bodies to their queen, in real time. The first thing one of those boys says is 'the chance to travel'. He's already a t.v. star in his own mind, whilst attracting even more cement-heads. I rest my case (see below). It was all staged perfectly. BAFTA, I say!
As a child, when I was shown reels of fighting on the front in WW1, during our remembrance ceremonies at school, I was probably one of the few who realised that this was not a Hollywood flick. Every man falling down represented a life being snuffed out... for no good reason. I was probably one of the few who knew where the nuke bomb shelters were in my area, and often noticed the air-raid sirens and would think 'what if..?' I've even been to the Canadian government's bunkers.
When I was trained as a soldier, I was shown MY beach-front dugout and the hole into which my sacrificed body will be planted, if they find my remains of course.
The rest of you have probably rejected all such thoughts because they would pain you. You stop for a minute a year, and think, or maybe not, but the thoughts of avoiding further bloodshed are likely rejected as too hypothetical, unlikely. Unfortunately, the government counts on all this when they send paid soldiers to the front, and so not enough pressure is brought to bear on the government. We are safe at home, so we don't care. If we feel anything it is nationalism, love of democracy, support for the poor buggers at the front, hatred or fear of and disdain for a particular national/religious group (brought to you by the government's Hate Ministry), and, the perennial whitey's burden.
I must admit the letters from the WW1 front read on another show tonight, aided by pictures, was more like it. Pictures of fly-covered bodies and how those flies would land on soldiers and their food; stories of massive rats and bloated cats feasting on bodies and faces; blanched skeletons; soldiers instinctual fear of bombs slowly taking over their rational minds. Gassed boys spewing up green bile. 1500 dead per hour. Now, that's war! Bon appetit.
Running out of soldiers. Comfortable London politicians throwing more men into the fray with conscription. Absolutely mental situation.
Someday, I'll explain what I mean by 'for no good reason.' Any guesses?
