A man standing alone in the darkness, picking away. Chink chink chink.
He reveals a little bit of light. A pinprick, shining, and he glances around.
Normally, this is where the stories end, before they’ve started, with one little idea, snuffed. “Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage.”
But this time, he glanced around and saw he was not alone, but joined, and he saw that the light grew stronger with their presence. He saw that the source of the light was no longer the little pinprick, but the people around him. They positively glowed with their own brightness, and together as they surrounded the darkness, they became a thing unto themselves.
Like sisters and brothers.
And that is our story of Vimy.