St Mary’s Church in Ambrosden was full this morning, with representatives of the village and Bicester Garrison gathered for Remembrance Sunday. A much larger gathering was taking place in Bicester itself, where the Lord Lieutenant was taking the salute, but the little church was nevertheless packed. I was grateful to be welcomed as a guest to share in the community’s remembrance.
I attended as a Deputy Lieutenant, laying a wreath on behalf of the Lieutenancy and reading the lesson from St John’s Gospel. It includes the familiar words, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you”; words which carry particular weight in a congregation that includes those who serve, and who understand the demands of military life.
The service brought together the remembrance of Ambrosden’s own war dead and that of colleagues from the garrison who have died in service. Hearing those names in the village church brings the losses close to home. Each belonged to someone whose absence was felt by family, friends and neighbours; each has a place in the story of this community.
I was reminded of the ending of the National Theatre’s stage adaptation of Lark Rise to Candleford, set in the countryside just a few miles from where we were gathered. I was in the production that the National Theatre gifted to Bristol University’s Drama Department, and one moment has stayed with me ever since. At the end, the characters hear the names of those who will fall in the Great War being read aloud. Young Edmund Peverill hears his own name and says, “That’s me.”
We have come to know Edmund as a boy, with his life ahead of him, and suddenly we hear his name among the dead. Having been part of that production, I find it difficult to hear a roll of honour without thinking of his response. Those remembered were once children growing up in places like this, with friendships, plans and expectations of lives they would never have the chance to lead.
For the congregations at the earliest services of remembrance, those connections needed little explanation. They remembered the voices and faces of the people whose names were read aloud. More than a century later, occasions such as this help us hold on to the people behind the inscriptions, even when there is no one left who knew them.
In Ambrosden, the presence of the garrison also brings remembrance into the present. Alongside the village’s history are the experiences of serving personnel and their families, the loss of colleagues, and the continuing consequences of conflict.
My thanks to everyone who helped organise this morning’s service, and for the welcome I received. It was a privilege to join the people of Ambrosden and Bicester Garrison in remembering those who died, supporting those who carry the effects of war, and praying together for peace.
