This year marks the 100th anniversary of the beginning of the First World War. Commemoration takes various forms. News media are featuring retrospective reports. Museums are providing timely exhibits. War records are being made available on-line. Despite all the exposure, this long-ago conflict can seem far-removed from our lives today.

After all, the loss of innocence it created with its brutal new form of warfare, that consumed a generation of men, is long past. Today we are saturated by daily accounts of terrorism striking down the innocent the world over. Despite our cynicism, maybe because of it, I think it is important to remember the tragedy of the Great War.

By remembering those who experienced The War To End All Wars and honouring the losses they suffered, maybe we can also recall their ideals, their unhesitating loyalty to each other and their willingness to serve their country. We can also see, with the benefit of hindsight, their foolhardy overconfidence in their rush to join a fight that ‘would be over by Christmas’ but dragged on for tortuous years. Soon enough they were sobered by the terrible reality of a world at war.

I struggled with what to contribute to the Bergen News this month, as there was nothing profound or original I could say that had not already been discussed in some other form of media in the last month or two, let alone the last century of analysis. So I thought about how my life had been directly touched by the First World War. I have no known ancestors who served; my family were all poor immigrant farmers eking out a living supplying food for the war effort. However, I have researched several veterans and their families. It was through this work that I had a unique opportunity to contemplate WW1.

I was given the gift of being able to handle and examine personal relics of the war and remnants of lives changed by it: the shiny brass shell casings engraved with intricate swirls to commemorate the battle of Ypres, the service medals of the medical officer whose own health was crushed by the harsh conditions, the love tokens sent home to fortify those left behind, and the worn photographs cherished in remembrance of better times. One of the most moving objects was a small greeting card from Christmas 1916. It was sent from Cochrane by the wife of the medical officer. The gray cardstock was embossed with gold ‘Best Wishes’ and tied with a simple little brown velvet ribbon. The message inside read ‘When you look into the times to come / May you discover golden gleams of hope.’ I could just picture her addressing these cards, her three year old daughter playing at her feet, while she bravely brushed aside a tear for her husband far away.

It was spending time with these objects, feeling their weight, both physically and symbolically, that made the First World War real to me. I held my breath as I unwrapped each item and time seemed to stop. I focused on each one and struggled to understand what it represented. In that pause in my routine daily activities, the past, the Great War, materialized. So, that is my suggestion to you this month. Find a moment to pause and truly reflect on the War That Didn’t End All Wars. In the absence of a personal relic to tie you to this conflict, let your symbolic poppy be your touchstone. Imagine its petals fluttering in a breeze that whispers among rows of innumerable white crosses.

This article was originally printed in the Bergen News and is being reprinted with permission.