On Wednesday at 11am, the whole country will be quiet for two minutes. This week, we’re going to learn what we’re remembering — so when our two minutes comes, every one of you will know exactly what they’re for.
Let’s beginIn a place called Flanders, after the First World War ended, soldiers returned to fields full of mud and craters. One flower grew through the ruined earth. The poppy.
The eleventh day, of the eleventh month, at the eleventh hour. The exact moment the First World War ended. So that’s the moment we stop — every year, since 1919.
Two minutes is a long time. In that silence, we’re thinking about people who never came home.
Courage isn’t just on the battlefield. It’s also going to school the next day.
The story of the war isn’t one story — it’s thousands. Here are four people who almost never make the textbook.
Every part of our country, every part of the Commonwealth, every kind of person, was in this together.
Quiet, clever, careful work matters as much as anything loud.
A clever, kind person can save millions of lives — and a country can say sorry, even years later.
The war ended a long time ago. Why do we still remember? Two reasons.
Each day this week we’ll learn one thing. By Friday, every one of you writes a quiet promise on a paper poppy.
On Wednesday at 11 o’clock, when the silence falls in this hall, you’ll know what it’s for. You’ll know about Flanders. About the Blitz. About Walter Tull and the Land Girls and the codebreakers. About Alan Turing on the £50 note. The silence won’t feel empty — it’ll feel full.
Right now, before you go back to class, think of one quiet, kind thing you’ll do for someone this week. That’s your poppy promise. That’s how Remembrance starts.