15/07/2026
Distinguished guests, Ladies and Gentlemen,
We gather on this the 110th anniversary of the Battle of the Somme to remember together. Not as separate traditions, not as competing histories, but as one island with many stories, bound by a shared duty to those who came before us.
The Somme was one of the darkest chapters of the First World War. On the first day alone, thousands of lives were lost. In the months that followed, the suffering grew almost beyond comprehension. Men from every part of Ireland served there, suffered there, and died there. Today, we remember them not simply as part of history, but as men with names, families, hopes and dreams that were never fully lived.
We remember in particular the men of the 36th (Ulster) Division, whose assault on the Schwaben Redoubt on 1 July 1916 became etched into the story of Ulster itself. Composed largely of Ulster Volunteers they captured the heavily fortified Redoubt but suffered more than 5,000 casualties within the first two days. The men advanced against impossible odds, knowing full well the cost that awaited them.
We also remember the men of the 16th (Irish) Division, drawn largely from nationalist Ireland, who fought later that year at Guillemont and Ginchy. Their advance at Ginchy cost more than 4,000 casualties in a single day. Today the Ginchy Cross remains a stark symbol of that sacrifice - a wooden cross carved in grief by Irish hands and raised on French soil, binding two far‑off communities together in shared remembrance.
But the Somme was not only an Irish tragedy. It was a catastrophe shared across nations. Over four and a half months, more than one million men were killed, wounded, or went missing. British, French, and German families bore that pain. So too did families in Australia and New Zealand, whose sons fought and fell so far from home.
The Somme became a graveyard of nations, each bearing its own grief, each leaving families and communities forever marked by the names that never came home. To remember the Somme honestly is to acknowledge this shared loss: a human sorrow that crossed borders and languages.
And the scale of that loss was so vast that sometimes we can only truly feel it through individual lives.
Today we honour men like Lance Corporal David Johnston, a fisherman from Derryharney in Co. Fermanagh, a Methodist lay preacher who led his men in prayer before they climbed out of the trenches. He was killed on the first day of the Somme.
We remember Private Billy McFadzean, who worked for a linen company in Belfast. Early on the morning of 1 July, as grenades were being handed out, a box was dropped. Without hesitation, McFadzean threw himself on top of it, sacrificing his life for his comrades. He was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross.
We honour men like Lieutenant Tom Kettle - scholar, parliamentarian, and officer of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers - who died leading his men in an attack on German lines at Ginchy. His death reminds us that love of country can be expressed in different ways, and that one tradition's sacrifice never diminishes another's.
We remember Private Thomas Hughes a farm hand from Castleblaney in Co Monaghan who joined the Connaught Rangers and, despite being badly wounded, lead an attack on a German machine gun post at Guillemont. He was awarded the Victoria Cross by King George V at Hyde Park in London but he never recovered from his injuries and later died in poverty in a workhouse.
Stories such as these illuminate the human cost that gave rise to something enduring - the recognition that those who served must be cared for. It was in the aftermath of these losses, in the weight of shared grief and a world exhausted by war, that the British Legion was founded. Created by veterans for veterans, it was born from the belief that the nation owed a lasting duty of care to those who had served.
More than a century later, that mission remains unchanged. We stand for remembrance - not to glorify conflict, but as a commitment to honesty, reconciliation, and reflection. And we stand for care - for the men and women who return from service with physical injuries and burdens that others may never fully see. The world has changed since the first world war, but the needs of veterans - and the promises made to them - remain profoundly human.
As we remember the Somme, we cannot ignore the conflicts shaping lives today. The ongoing war in Ukraine, the conflict in the Middle East, and the civil war in Sudan - remind us that instability in one corner of the globe can ripple across many others.
These crises test not only governments and alliances; they test our humanity. They ask whether we still believe in protecting the vulnerable, in offering refuge, in striving for peace even when it feels
distant.
Islandbridge is a place where we acknowledge the full story of this island’s service - complex, intertwined, sometimes painful, but always human. And a place where we can speak honestly about the past, while looking towards a future shaped not by what divides us, but by what we honour together.
As President of the Royal British Legion in Northern Ireland, I am deeply conscious of the responsibility we all carry. We owe it to those who served in 1916, and to those serving today, to uphold the values of dignity and compassion. So today, as we remember the Battle of the Somme 110 years on, let us do so with humility.
Let us recall the bravery of the men of the 36th (Ulster) Division and the 16th (Irish) Division - the poets and labourers, the dockers and farmhands, the officers and the ordinary soldiers; the men whose names are carved in stone, and those known only to their families and to God.
Let us honour them by supporting the living, by caring for those in need, and by striving, always, for peace.
And let us carry forward the simple, profound vow that has guided the Legion for more than a century: That those who serve shall never be forgotten, and those in need shall never stand alone.
