A tribute to the Unknown Warrior From Consett and District

Hark! The steam engines shriek! The whistles ring out on the calm morning air; the moment of the serene silence has arrived. Workmen laid down their tools, clerks their pen; busy mothers, upon whom the greatest burden of the sacrifice had fallen, calmly submitted their pent-up feelings to add to its momentous charm. Remembrance is all that we can give to those who in all truth have preached to us in action, "Greater love hath no man than this that he laid down his life for his friends." In no part of our beloved country was a greater homage paid to our Unknown Warrior than in Consett and District and although a few thought it unnecessary to pay homage to an act that history will make immortal, their indifference is marked by a selfishness we in turn need never expect to receive from them. But the vast majority with heads bare and hearts full, without a word spoke volumes to the general observer. Whilst we were not privileged to visit that sacred shrine or be eyewitness to that august procession our mind's eye followed the scene with awe and reverence. We, as a district, knowing the value of a victory won by a blood desire to add our quota to the noble dead and bow in humility at an "Unknown Warrior’s" grave.

It seemed as if a holy rest
At heaven’s appointed time
Here found response in every breast
Akin to thought sublime
As slowly to the house of God
Went forth that funeral train
And with a measured movement trod
A nation’s steps in pain

An unknown Warrior’s coffin there,
Borne in the midst was seen
While England's bravest, two by two
Walked by with serious mien
Beside the Cenotaph they paused
To wake a nation's thrill
While bands and pipers mingled soft
With music's perfect skill.

Methinks it tenderly implores,
Whilst not a word was said,
Room for another guest to swell
The assembly of the dead
As thro' Westminster's doors they passed
And through its aisles they wound
While peaceful sleep the kindred clay
In consecrated ground.

And then the Archbishop gently read,
As mid the graves he trod
In the deep earnest solemn love
Words from the book of God
“I am the resurrection” saith
The Lord, “Who life can give
And whosoever on Me believes
Though he were dead shall live.”

Beside the open grave they stood
Grooved mid the Abbey's deep
Where kings and princes went to see
Where the Unknown One should sleep
Then sweetly came a triumph strain
As if from heaven it pressed
The welcome of the angel train
To some accepted guest

So, wrapped in melody and love
Our Warrior’s form was laid
Like sculptured marble -cold and pure
Within that hallowed shade
A nation's tears for thee is shared
A mother's heart still bleeds
Long as we live our thoughts are led
To give what England needs.

S. Armstrong, Medomsley