THE GREAT SILENCE
How It Was Observed In Liverpool STATUESQUE CITY Citizens' Solemn Tribute to the Dead

Armistice Day was observed in Liverpool and district with all solemnity. During the two minutes’ silence all traffic stopped and everywhere there was a solemn hush. The members of the City Council went in procession to St Nicholas’ Church, where an appropriate sermon was delivered by the Lord Bishop. In London crowds filed past the Cenotaph, which was unveiled by the King, and everywhere in that vast capital of the Empire tribute was paid in solemn silence to the nation's fallen. The interment in Westminster Abbey of the unknown warrior was the occasion of one of the most impressive scenes ever witnessed, even in that historic edifice.

So sacred was the impressive scene in Liverpool that it seems almost a desecration to attempt to describe it. The city stood still, stood to attention, united in a grand salute the like of which history cannot show - a salute that was reverence, homage and love combined. The impressive feature of the great silence as it was observed in Liverpool was its extraordinary universality. There was no doubt, no hesitation, no abstention. Every citizen, no matter what his or her station in life or the age, at that magic moment agreed upon by the nation was mute and motionless. No more striking example could be cited than the main streets, where traffic throbs throughout the day and where the pulsations of city life are most strikingly reflected. Here, then, what happened at this eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month this morning? The policeman stands at point duty semaphoring traffic this way and that. Tram-cars, motors, lorries, handcarts are all pressing their way, and in between them one sees pedestrians shouldering and threading a passage across the road. There is a report. It is the promised maroon[rocket] from the neighbouring police station. Everyone knows what it is, but nobody says so. The policeman has now held up both his hands, a signal that is evidently well understood by those drive, for every vehicle instantly comes to a standstill. All motor engines are stopped, and the horses in the shafts look wistfully, almost sadly, around. We do not forget that they too had their comrades in the great war who made the supreme sacrifice as heroically as any. And one can but admire these great muscular animals as they stand to the grand salute along with the rest of us.

ALL HEADS BARED.
The two minutes' silence is touching all our hearts.

Every human head is instantly bared. And a great paralysis comes upon us. In the very centre of the road is a boy between the shafts of a handcart with bowed head, and a ragged cap gripped tightly in his hand. The pose is natural but fully picturesque. On the pavement edge stands a crippled soldier handing out leaflets. His hand is extended offering one of the sheets and the man approached stands facing him, waiting for the two minutes' silence to elapse - a perfect little tableaux. Lost in the crowd whose progress had been suddenly arrested is a lady, young but fragile looking, dressed in black. She is on one knee. One is ashamed to have noticed this poor soul, typical, alas, of so many thousands whose lives have been seared by the tragedy of the European cataclysm. Flag-sellers on the pavement have suspended their operations and become living statues. Acquaintances who have just met and are having a chat instantly have ceased speaking, and two such men stand there at hand grips. There may have been a deeper meaning behind the handshake than appeared on the surface. Not a sign, not a sound marred the salute of silence. And when all was over, and the maroon again broke the spell, one could but notice the impression had been made on all sides. The stirring of deep and sacred memories was reflected on every countenance. The poet tells us that it is women's part to weep. To-day many men in the streets of Liverpool were weeping too.

IN THE WORKSHOPS.
As soon as the maroon sounded at 11 o'clock all departments of the “ Courier ” and “ Express ” staffs ceased work, remaining in silence until the allotted two minutes had elapsed. As in the streets, so in the workshops, the business houses, the schools, and indeed at every place where human beings were assembled. Even the railway stations, where hustle and bustle are fundamental, there was a great stillness. For the space of two minutes there was no business done. No tickets were to be had, no lost time could be made up, all avenues to anywhere were closed, not by gates, but by common consent. In the General Post Office, Victoria-street, there was a remarkable scene. In the “C.O.,” as the sorting or circulation office is called, the whole staff of some hundreds sang the National Anthem and then relapsed into silence for the allotted space. In the main hall, where the counter business is transacted, officials and public alike stood facing each other in a state of immobility, with money left lying on the counter and postal orders and stamps similarly lying in their condition of suspended animation. Upstairs, where the public have no access, the sudden stopping of the batteries was of a most dramatic character, and the unusual silence that followed, where ordinarily silence is unknown, brought home to all the touching character of the demonstration. At the Municipal Offices the occasion with observed with due solemnity, all the activities ceasing while the period elapsed. There was a very simple but nevertheless impressive observance at the Education Offices, where the staff were assembled in the chief committee-room, and the silence was preceded by the solemn reading of the names from the roll of honour of this branch of the municipal service. Silence reigned in the clubs and hotels, and in the cafes also friends met to spend solemn moments in each other's company and with thoughts running in unison. Throughout the city and suburbs the churches were thrown open, and many people entered to pass the two minutes in silent prayer.

CIVIC PROCESSION
THROUGH THE STREETS OF THE CITY.
The solemnity of the occasion was heightened this year by the civic procession from the Town Hall to St Nicholas’ Church. From 10 o’clock onwards large crowds of people assembled on the Exchange Flags and in front of the Town Hall. Meanwhile the police band played selections on the Exchange Flags. Punctually at 10.55 the Lord Mayor, in full regalia, left the Town Hall accompanied by Lord Bishop (Dr Chevasse), Major-General Sir Reginald Barnes, K.C.B., D.S.O., General Officer Commanding the Lancashire Territorial Division, the leader the Council (Sir Archibald Salvidge, K.B,E,), the ex-Lord Mayor and past Lord Mayors (in order of seniority), the Town Clerk, etc. The procession was fully representative of the city’s manifold interests. Besides the City Magistrates, Aldermen and Councillors, the countries who helped us in Great War were represented by their consuls. The vice-chancellor of the Liverpool University (Dr A. Adami) was accompanied by other professors. all wearing their robes. The various commercial associations were represented by their presidents. Mr William Simpson, the Liverpool Postmaster, and the heads of other public services attended, together with other prominent citizens. Except for the bright uniforms and robes of office worn, it was a black clothed procession, with reverent and stately mien[appearance]. It was headed by the mounted police with nodding white plumes, followed by police band, officers and men of the Air Force, Army and Navy, and Territorial Force. The Lady Mayoress accompanied the procession in the Mayoral carriage. Following at a short distance, and not in procession, was a woman in mourning. She was the mother of the late Private A. Bennett of the Pals’ Battalion[Pte John Alexander Bennett 23889 20/K.L.R.] She had previously collected subscriptions from the mothers and sweethearts of Liverpool men killed in the war, and had placed a wreath of laurel leaves and chrysanthemums around the Roll of Honour of the Liverpool Pals, 20th K.L.R., which hangs in the Town Hall. Underneath she and other mothers and sweethearts had subscribed their names. After leaving the Town Hall the band played the hymn “ Onward, Christian Soldiers.” The procession proceeded down Water-street, and was a short distance from St Nicholas’ Church when the booming of the Mersey gun heralded the hour of 11 o’clock, when there was a great pause. Even the horses of the mounted police remained still, heads were uncovered, and for 120 seconds no sound was heard.

AT THE TOWN HALL.
In front of the Town Hall, where many people were assembled, the only sound was the crying of a baby carried by a young woman whose husband occupies a nameless grave in France. There were many women in the crowd, young and old, and during the pause some of them could be seen weeping silently. The great stillness over, the procession proceeded to St Nicholas’s Church, where a guard of honour of war orphans were lined up from the entrance to the churchyard to the church entrance.

“AND THERE WAS A GREAT CALM.”
There had been years of Passion - caustic, cold-
And much Despair, and Anger heaving high,
Care whitely watching Sorrows manifold,
Among the young, among the weak and old;- And the Spirit of Compassion whispered, “ Why? ”

Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;
There was Peace on earth, and Silence in the sky:
Some could, some could not, shake off misery:
The Sinister Spirit sneered: “ It had to be ! ”
And again the Spirit of Pity whispered “Why?”
THOMAS HARDY in the “ Times.”

The scene was most impressive on the Exchange Flags. From a quarter to eleven the press of people congregating on this great assembly ground of commerce increased until at 11 o’clock there must have been several thousand people there. This huge assembly with one movement became bare-headed, and the silence which followed was so oppressive that one gentleman observed, “ I felt that I wanted to shriek out. ” At the Cotton Exchange several hundred members were assembled, the lady friends were permitted in the galleries overhead. Just before the signal was sounded, what is known as the pit was full of men. The air was filled with the hoarse shouting of bidders, when, with the booming of the gun, the great hush fell upon the assembly, heads being reverently uncovered. Following the silence, the members sang the first verse of the National Anthem. This scene was typical of the other Exchanges - Corn, Stock, Produce and Fruit.

IN ST NICHOLAS CHURCH.
AN IMPRESSIVE AND STRIKING SCENE.
With the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows into the half-dim interior, and the roar of the outside world stealing but faintly to the ears, the great silence came with a double impressiveness to the worshippers awaiting in St Nicholas’ Church the arrival of the procession. The low murmur of voices, the rustling dresses, the occasional hacking cough, changed to stillness, broken only by the sound of a horse’s hoof in the street outside, as the congregation bowed their heads in homage. Boom ! And as the organ broke into the solemn strains of the Marche Funebre, stealing through the open doorway came the distant notes of a band, the triumphant battle song of the Church, “ For all the Saints.” Brief and simple was the service conducted by the rector (Rev G. W. Hockley) of thanks to He who gave the victory of remembrance of the dead, and of prayer and re-dedication. There was no choir, but none was needed with such a congregation.

Bishop’s Sermon.
“Honour to whom is due, ” was the text chosen by the Bishop in his address, a reminder of the meaning of the commemoration of the Armistice. The great silence by which the valiant dead were honoured was, he said, not merely an act of grief but an act of faith that they were not dead but alive for ever. The Cenotaph told the nation to honour the self-sacrifice of those who gave their lives for us. To-day it seemed as if the country was beside itself, as if we had learned nothing from the war, but were slipping back to an even worse state affairs than six years ago. He told us it was high time to seek to save our country, as our gallant dead did, by self-sacrifice. That unknown soldier, who was to-day being laid to rest in the great Abbey with the King as chief mourner, was laid there as the nation’s homage to its unknown benefactors. The great thing that was due to the dead, besides the silence, and the cenotaph, and the State funeral, was to honour them by not allowing them die in vain. We must speak for righteousness, and purity, and truth, and not stand by like craven cowards when they were being besmirched. By deeds we must keep alive the great traditions they handed down; by pure, clean, righteous Christlike lives, seeking to purify and help our country in her day of need to complete the work that had fallen from their lifeless hands. The National Anthem was sung at the close of the service.