For a people and a nation with so much to be grateful for, gratitude is in very short supply.
I for one am eternally grateful that, unlike my father and my grandfather, I did not have to fight a war in Europe where our very survival was at stake. My paternal grandfather, a serving soldier when the First World War broke out, quickly married his then girlfriend and went to war. Hearing soon after that his wife was pregnant he did not know whether he would ever see his unborn child.
My father, signing up as soon as the Second World War broke out joined the RAF. His parents were informed months later that he was missing believed killed, only to receive a telegram two days later that he was safe and well. Just imagine how they spent the rest of the war, not knowing where their son was, dreading another telegram, this time without the subsequent apology. Yet they both came back, albeit that my grandfather's health was never the same.
Others were not so lucky, including Sergeant R.L.J. Edmonds, aged 19, of the RAF whose grave is in Addington Village Churchyard. I find the inscription on his gravestone heart-rending on any day, but on Remembrance Sunday especially so "What he had, he gave".
We should be grateful for his sacrifice and the sacrifice of so many millions of others. But we should also be grateful for our many blessings that had things turned out differently we would not enjoy today. We owe it to Sergeant Edmonds and his comrades.
