On a sombre note

It is sad when something serious becomes so mundane, so normal and accepted - almost anticipated, that it loses its sting, its ability to get us to sit up and take notice.

204...

No, that's not the Ashes cricket score.

That is the number of British troops that have been killed in Afghanistan.
What is really sad is that just a few weeks ago that number stood at 150, but over recent weeks almost like some kind of morbid role call, the daily evening news has informed us of another 2 or 3 troops killed in a foreign land, in some foreign war.
And every night the photograph shown is of a young, fresh faced soldier, cut down in their prime. Another family told that their son or daughter will not be returning home, another gap in the ranks to be quickly filled by another young, possibly fresher face.

I am not advocating one side or another in the war. I am not supporting or arguing against the war.

But every day more and more families receive the devastating news that their loved ones have fallen, have given the ultimate sacrifice for their country, and tragically, as the list of dead soldiers gets longer and longer, that country for which they have fought and died becomes more and more desensitised to their death and less and less appreciative of their sacrifice.

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