At the Eleventh Hour

 

At the Eleventh Hour

Often this expression is used to indicate action at the last possible moment, usually before disaster strikes. It’s dramatic, perhaps over-used, but what is its origin?

It comes from the parable of the vineyard workers, as related in the gospel of St Matthew (chapter 20, vv1-6)

It was the custom of landowners to hire workers throughout the day to strip the grape vines. Men could be engaged at the beginning of the working day, but their numbers might be supplemented as the day wore on, even at the end, or eleventh hour, of the day. Regardless of how many hours they worked, all the labourers were paid the same amount. This led to some resentment, naturally.

It led me to ponder, not for the first time, why the eleventh hour was chosen to announce the Armistice in the First World War - it was actually signed at 5:45 a.m. in the Forest of Compiègne. Logistically, hours were needed to allow the news to filter through to the commanders and the troops. Indeed, fighting continued until the last moments.

“The fighting continued until the last possible moment. As a result, there were 10,944 casualties, including 2,738 deaths, on the war’s last day. Most occurred within a period of three hours. The last soldier to be killed in World War I was Henry Gunther, an American of German descent, who was killed just sixty seconds before the guns fell silent.”

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month has a resounding poetic timbre, unforgettable, echoing.

I watched all the hundreds of people marching past the Cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday - heads up, shoulders back, pride in every step, a diminishing number every year, some of their places taken by younger relatives.

I watched and thought of them as young, strong men and women, 'doing their bit.'

I watched and saw the older, sadder men and women they had become, maybe diminished, disabled, disillusioned, but still with a spark of defiance and grit, a belief in their cause and their country, a fellowship with their comrades across the generations and the nations.

How long will this tribute continue? How many decades, centuries, must pass before the memories are consigned to history? We don’t as a country commemorate Boudicca’s revolt against the Romans in the first century, the Anglo/Saxon invasion of fifth century Britain, the conquest of the English by the Norman-French army at the Battle of Hastings in the eleventh century. Yet these were important and bloody and life-changing for hundreds, thousands.

Of course, we must never forget the horror of wars and the misery they inflict on all affected by them, but when and how do we move on from the last terrible conflict? Is it a natural process?

It seems inconceivable that the awfulness of both World Wars and subsequent skirmishes across the world should not be marked in a meaningful way, like the Remembrance Day ceremonies. It is essential to try and prevent such atrocities occurring again, to stop young lives being ended or scarred irreparably.

History is vital and must be taught meaningfully. We must remember, lest we forget.