From Swanwick to the Cenotaph: A Tribute to Service, Sacrifice and Solidarity

Over the past three weeks, over 60 dedicated members of 78 Squadron have taken part in this year’s fundraising efforts for the Royal British Legion (RBL) Poppy Appeal.

78 Squadron, based at Swanwick and embedded within NATS’ London Area Control Centre, has proudly supported numerous RBL fundraising events across Hampshire and London – a testament not only to the generosity of the public, but to the hard work and commitment of 78 Sqn personnel behind the scenes.

Remembrance is also a deeply significant time for the wider NATS community, with many colleagues having previously served in the Armed Forces and many who still do as Reservists, Cadet Force Adult Volunteers and military families.

Some of the fundraising activities have included:

• Helping to raise around £70,000 in Waterloo Station during the RBL’s London Poppy Day on 30 October
• Collecting c.£50,000 at Sainsburys and Marks & Spencer in Hedge End over a two-week period
• Raising around £2,000 through collections held at Swanwick itself.

78 Sqn have also been invited to attend various services and events such as the official Hampshire and Isle of Wight launch of the Poppy Appeal, the Fareham Remembrance Parade, and football match opening ceremonies including Portsmouth v Wrexham, Southampton v Sheffield Wednesday and Eastleigh v York City.

At Swanwick, a Service of Remembrance was also held on 11 November in front of the Harrier Gate Guardian, led by 78 Sqn and open to all NATS colleagues who wished to pay their respects.

Alongside these collective efforts, one of our NATS colleagues, James Ewart, was invited to march past the Cenotaph for the national Remembrance service in London on Remembrance Sunday. Here, in his own words, he shares his experience of the day.

“I served in the Royal Navy for 23 years, and even now, the thought of being late makes me anxious. So, fully dressed with medals and a poppy, I headed to the station at 0615. Veterans travel free on Remembrance Sunday, and I joined others on the platform who were strangers to me but united by shared service.

Walking from Paddington to Horse Guards, people of all ages thanked me or shook my hand. It was unexpectedly emotional as I’d always seen my service as just doing my job.

Security was tight as expected, and inside Horse Guards, I found my HMS Argonaut association among thousands of veterans and serving personnel. I reconnected with shipmates; some I hadn’t seen in over 30 years but conversations picked up like no time had passed. There was laughter, banter, and hip flasks passed around before we formed up to march to Whitehall.

As the service began, the mood turned solemn. Watching the wreaths laid, one of our own placed the Argonaut wreath in memory of those lost in the Falklands. The public clapped throughout the march past the Cenotaph, where The King and The Duke of Edinburgh were present which filled me with pride.

The two-minute silence was the most powerful moment. I was alone with my thoughts, remembering my shipmates, Iain and Stu. Iain had just married the week before we set sail and Stu died on his 18th birthday. I was the last person to see them alive in the ship’s magazine and just five minutes later, they were gone. Two 1000lb bombs hit our ship, one in the magazine, one in the boiler room. Miraculously, neither exploded. Had they done so, none of the 240 men onboard would have survived. News reports said our ship had been sunk, naturally my parents feared the worst.

During that silence, I also thought of all who’ve served and sacrificed, from the World Wars to more recent conflicts and those who’ve struggled after returning home. Many veterans face mental health challenges, and too many have been lost to suicide or homelessness. I hope the growing support helps change that.

I felt grateful to be there, to honour the fallen and those living with life-changing injuries. But there’s also guilt – why did I survive when others didn’t? It’s a quiet burden many veterans carry.

After the parade, we gathered briefly before heading home. I had dinner with family and reflected on a day that was moving, proud, and deeply meaningful. I’ll be back next year, hopefully with all of HMS Argonaut beside me.

As I pay my respects this Remembrance Day to my shipmates that didn’t make it home from the Falklands, I will also think about those whose body may have came home but not all of their mind did. Also those that returned from conflicts but had no home to come back to.”

James also shared a poem he wrote to mark the occasion – a moving reminder of the unseen struggles faced by many who have served – which you can read below.

Remembrance at NATS and 78 Sqn is not just about looking back, it’s about recognising the shared values that link our people, whether in uniform or civilian roles – dedication, teamwork and the quiet professionalism that defines what we do every day.

Through the efforts of 78 Squadron and colleagues like James, we continue to honour those who served, support those who still do, and remember those who never returned. We will remember them.

The Man in the Doorway
By James Ewart

The man crouched in the shop doorway, an empty cup in his outstretched hand,
Not really committed to this life, his mind in a foreign land.
People walked by, ignored him, to avoid his eye even crossed the street,
They couldn’t know what this man had sacrificed in order to keep them safe.
They looked down on him thinking, ‘Just another drunk, another waste of space’,
They couldn’t begin to imagine where he’d been in order to end up at this place.

The things he’d seen, the things he’d done, all without asking why,
Never, ever questioning, and for his country willing to die.
You see, on closer inspection here was a proud but broken man,
He’d had his battles with the drink, at least that war he had won.
But when he left the Mob he wasn’t able to blend back in,
His mind never left the battlefield and there was no-one at home fighting for him.

Although unshaved and dirty, a clean flower was pinned on his chest,
His shoes were worn, his hair was long, his clothes were past their best.
The flower, a vibrant red, sat where his medals should be worn,
But they’d been sold long ago for money to keep him warm.
Not a political statement, but a symbol of blood that had been spilled,
By comrades he’d known, and those from other wars that were killed.

He always wore his poppy and always wore it with pride,
In honour of all those brave souls he’d known and others that had died.
It gave respect for those who’d paid the greatest price,
Gave recognition for all who made the ultimate sacrifice.

The town clock struck the hour, the man began to stand,
It was time to pay respect to those he’d left in that foreign land.
The 11th hour, 11th day, 11th month, he stands, back ramrod straight,
Determined, as he did every year, to remember his fallen mates.

He wished he’d died there with them. “Why not me?” Here’s the answer,
Keep the memories; pass them on, so everyone will remember.

In his head he hears the bugler, and the ‘Last Post’ that he played,
Remembering his fallen comrades, a tear rolled down as he prayed.
He turned and sat back down to spend another day alone,
It’s shameful there was no-one to look after him when he came back home.

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.