Remembrance, UK Armed Forces and Society

Ed Davey Excerpts

Wednesday 11th November 2020 Commons Chamber

[Ed Davey (Kingston and Surbiton) (LD)]

Our annual remembrance services and traditions, from the laying of wreaths to the wearing of poppies, must be permanent in the life of our nation, even as those who lived through those wretched times leave us, for we must continue to remember—remember what prices were paid and remember what sacrifices we still demand of the men and women of our armed forces.

Like other Members, I see these moments through the stories of those from my constituency who died, including the 623 men of Kingston borough who died in the great war, the 6,000 officers and men of our former local regiment, the East Surrey Regiment, who were killed, and Squadron Leader Ian Bazalgette, a Canadian-British pilot who grew up in New Malden in my constituency. His Lancaster bomber was severely damaged by anti-aircraft flak prior to arrival at his target on 4 August 1944, but he nevertheless continued to the target and completed his task before ordering his crew to bale out. When he found that two of his crew were too injured to bale out, he attempted to land the burning plane to save the crew members rather than baling out himself. He died in the attempt and was awarded the Victoria Cross posthumously. So when I deliver my election leaflets in Bazalgette Gardens, New Malden, named after that brave pilot, I think of him and thank him for his sacrifice for democracy. I thank them all for their sacrifices for our freedoms.

There have been many wars in our country’s history, across many centuries, but the first and second world wars stand out for the dreadful death tolls and for what was at stake. They also stand out for another reason. Those wars touched the lives of every non-combatant: not only the families who were bereaved but the whole country, whose lives were on hold for the duration of the conflict. Whether or not they were directly involved in the war effort, they had to live with the restrictions, the rationing, the lights out and the wide-scale suspension of liberty as people collectively fought to preserve their freedoms.

It would be crass and wrong to draw direct parallels between the deprivations we are now suffering during this pandemic and the sacrifices and hardships that those millions suffered for years during those bloody wars, but we can learn lessons and perhaps draw some comfort, even inspiration, from them, not least because this pandemic is also affecting everyone. It has forced millions of people across our country and across our world to take a stand and do their bit, and while this pandemic is different in so many ways, we need that collective courage and discipline to beat the virus.

Today, we rely especially on people serving on the modern frontline: those working in our hospitals and the careworkers in our care homes. They are today’s civilian heroes. We also rely on some very clever people, such as our amazing scientists, to find a solution. They are part of the amazing international effort to find a vaccine to shorten the life of the pandemic, like some modern-day Alan Turing and the amazing people who served at Bletchley Park who shortened the second world war. Today’s enemy may be invisible, but it is deadly and it is impacting the everyday lives of millions.

Over the years when I have paid my respects at war memorials, my own personal thoughts have been influenced by my nana’s wartime stories. It was my granddad who went to fight in the Army, driving lorries in north Africa and Italy, but my nana, left at home to look after my mother, was also profoundly impacted by the war. It is her stories of looking after evacuees from London’s east end that have, for some reason, always stuck with me. She told stories of how she had to give up her own rations to feed and care for not only her own children—my mother—but the children of strangers, of how she took up smoking to calm her nerves and of her 10-mile cycle ride to the factory making radios for the submarines her younger brother, my Uncle Sam, was serving on. When my grandmother died, aged 90, I was so proud that in the congregation of 12 were two of her evacuees, who had come to say thank you. We are inspired by all their service.