As part of Ocean’s ongoing support of the Royal British Legion’s annual Poppy Appeal, Ocean held a ceremony on 28th October to illuminate a giant printed version of the poem ‘For the Fallen’ to help launch this year’s appeal.
The poem proudly appears on the front of Ocean’s office, displayed alongside our now familiar giant poppy which was made by Ocean’s apprentices 2 years ago.
The famous words were written by Robert Laurence Binyon, in September 1914 , just a few weeks after World War One broke out, and have been adopted by the Royal British Legion to remember those who have ‘fallen’ in combat.
David Renwick, Ocean’s Group Chief Executive, said,
“We are delighted once again to be involved in this important remembrance and fundraising event.
We are extremely grateful to those men and women who fought for our freedom in past and present conflicts.
We all must be mindful of those powerful words ‘Lest We Forget’ and continue to honour those who have fallen, and provide support for those who survived but are in need of our help.”
A commemorative plaque of these immortal words is located on the edge of the cliff at Pentire Point, Polzeath (on the North Cornish coast), where it is believed the poem was composed.
For the Fallen
Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21st September 1914.
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.