Flag-shaggers claim The Silence is their own:

one such, in ignorance, presumed my guilt,

and sneered: “he is alone”, but knew not why;

“He’s running free”, sez he, “why’s that allowed?”

I say to him: “Mate, you know bugger-all:

five comrades, blown to bits of blood and bone,

must keep their silence now, that of the grave;

the silence that I keep has been dear bought,

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With dinner simmering nicely on the hob,

in comfort and with gratitude, I watched

the ritual enacted on our screen;

a sombre scene, demanding dignity,

respectful silence, mindfulness of grief.

The whistle blown, straight o’er the top they went,

did Tommy Atkins and his brave young pals,

the destiny of most - Eternity.

Two minutes’ quiet, the very least required;

no...

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