Recently the Island commemorated Remembrance Day, whereupon hundreds of people attended the parade and ceremony at the Cenotaph to honour those Bermudians who were lost or killed in action in the two world wars.

The Cenotaph bears no names, but only the flags or ensigns representative of the main military forces of Great Britain.

That is in the nature of a cenotaph, which is defined as an ‘empty tomb’, representing fallen warriors whose earthly remains are buried elsewhere.

As the Rupert Brooke poem solicits: ‘If I should die, think only this of me; That there’s some corner of a foreign field. That is for ever England.’ Or for many of the 125 lost local personnel, ‘for ever Bermuda’.

Nearby is another military monument of many names erected several years ago to honour Bermudians who served in the world wars, but who survived to tell the tale.

Like some lists of wartime personnel, that monument is not complete and perhaps never can be, as time passes and memories fade and names are lost: that is the way of the confusion of war and making of records.

We have been fortunate that since the end of the Second World War, Bermudians have not nationally been called upon to volunteer for any of the later wars of the Allies, though a number have served through their enlistment in, say, the United States Marine Corps, in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and other theatres of conflict.

There remains however another war of endless battles that will continue ad infinitum, as long as men ‘go down to the sea in ships, Who do business upon great waters’, or to tack the phrase, ‘go down with their ships in the sea’.

The sea is perhaps the most formidable natural enemy of mankind, while at the same time having beneficial aspects that keep us returning for more rewards, but also for punishment as happens on many occasions.

Without discrimination of any type, the sea can consume whatever is not water and whatever we dare to place in its environment: it has thus ever been so, since people starting sailing the ocean seas.

Often, as in the metaphor for life, it is ‘smooth sailing’, but sometimes that placidness transitioned into savagery, as costly in lives as any land battle.

The war at sea is never ending, until such time as the sun stops shining, that hell freezes over, or an asteroid takes us out to join the dinosaurs in eternity.

So it was that recently a monument was erected to commemorate Bermudians by name lost at sea over the centuries, although it is an incomplete list, as many deaths will not have found their way into public record; so the monument designed by the artist Bill Ming is also a cenotaph.

Take, for example, the men who embarked for Madeira in the Bermuda-built barque Pearl to collect Portuguese immigrants in late October 1858, who sailed into oblivion, never to be heard from again: they are buried elsewhere and some of their names are not known.

On the other hand, four Bermudian mariners, Richard Bean, Alfred Ward, Thomas Tucker and SC ‘Rickison’, who were among 33 persons lost when the four-masted, 265-foot barque City of Manchester foundered in the Bay of Bengal on 10 October 1876.

Their deaths were recorded in The Times of London on 16 November, and relayed to Bermudians when the newspaper was sent to The Royal Gazette and appeared here in the issue of 19th December that year.

They may not be named at St David’s Head, but many recent loses in the oceanic arenas of conflict are.

Others have their own memorials such as a marble tablet donated by Mr and Mrs Cecil Dismont to the National Museum, which bears eloquent testimony to the danger faced, and the pain of those left behind, in recounting the story of the death of 25-year-old William Tucker aboard the brig Bermuda in 1834, an accident which was witnessed by his horrified father.

Some readers may remember the tablet, which could be seen for some years affixed to an interior wall of a building on Reid Street, having been placed there after its discovery under the floor of Dismont’s Bicycle Shop during renovations in the 1930s.

The text of the plaque is as follows.

‘In memory of CAPTAIN WILLIAM TUCKER (second son of Solomon Joell Tucker). Seven years of command of the Brig Bermuda of this island on her voyages to various parts of the world. This estimable young man, respected by all who knew him, lost his life on the 2nd of April, 1834, aged twenty-five years, during a voyage from London to Naples about 40 leagues east of Algiers under the following circumstances. The top-mast being broken, it became absolutely necessary to get down the main-top gallant yard with the mast. The crew consisting of two mates, six able seamen, and two man-boys, refused to go aloft, and perform this duty. The vessel being on a lee-shore, no time was to be lost; Captain Tucker stripped off his heavy clothing and went up. While making fast the yard the vessel gave a heavy plunge forward, the top mast broke short off, and with the top-gallant-mast and yard, fell directly across the braces — Captain Tucker coming head-foremost down, struck the main yard, and went overboard to lee-ward. A heavy sea running at the time and the rigging being entangled, the vessel became quite unmanageable and all endeavours to save him proved unavailing. Thus early perished this invaluable young man through his personal efforts for the safety of his men. That the memory of such a son may not be entirely forgotten, his bereaved parent who witnessed his said fate, has placed this stone. The sea shall give up her dead and every one shall be rewarded according to their works.’

Winter storms are an annual reminder of the perils that sailors face world wide, in ships big and small, in local and foreign waters, including those Bermudians who make their living on the foamy deep.

So when the winds howl out of the north this winter, take a moment to think of those potentially at war with the sea, and with our forbears say ‘God help the poor sailor on a night like this’.

Edward Cecil Harris, MBE, JP, PHD, FSA is Director of the National Museum at Dockyard. Comments may be made to director@nmb.bm or 704-5480.