For some of us Veterans Day, just past, will always be Armistice Day.

In Great Britain, and throughout most of what was once the British Empire, or later the Commonwealth, it still is . . . though they call it "Remembrance Day."

There, the undying symbol of remembrance of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month remains the poppy of Flanders' Fields.

Regiments still mass at the Cenotaph. The Guards' Cavalry still fires a single gun as Big Ben begins to toll eleven, and all of London, indeed all of Great Britain, is silent for two minutes in honor of the more than 700,000 soldiers killed in action in the War to End All Wars.

In ceremonies held annually at Albert Hall the petals of blood red poppies representing each of those casualties drift from the rafters to settle of the roll of lost, the massed flags of the Queen's regiments, stacked regimental drums, the caps of soldiers, sailors and airmen, the epaulets of their officers, and the living symbols of the sovereign state. It is a quiet gentle blood red rain, still marked by breath-holding silence and tears.

We now honor our lost on Memorial Day in May and our Veterans on Veteran's Day November. It is well to precede Thanksgiving with a reminder of debts owed and those to whom we are indebted.

We thank our veterans, all those loved and lost, and all those who loved and lost them.