In my presentations, I teach that we must speak to be remembered and repeated.

Recently, I experienced something I will always remember and keep repeating.

One Sunday, while walking around Pershore Abbey, I spent time studying an extraordinary memorial. As I stood there reading the inscription, I was struck by its simplicity and power:

“Lest We Forget – Unknown Warrior – In Memory of the Fallen Animals of World War One and World War Two.”

We rightly remember the men and women who served in those wars. This memorial invites us to pause and remember a different group of warriors. Those who never wore a uniform, never held a rank, and were rarely given a name.

The horses that pulled guns and ambulances through mud and shellfire.

The dogs that carried messages under enemy fire.

The pigeons that flew through explosions to deliver information that saved lives.

They had no choice. No voice. Yet they shared the dangers, hardships, and sacrifices of the front line.

The memorial was founded by local resident Sue Cosnett, designed by artist Steven Ellis Cooper, and brought to life through the support of the people and businesses of Pershore. It is, in every sense, a community act of remembrance.

The phrase “Unknown Warrior” echoes the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior in Westminster Abbey. Here, however, it speaks for the countless animals whose service was never recorded, whose graves were never marked, and whose contribution helped shape the peace we enjoy today.

As I stood inside the Abbey Church of the Holy Cross, a place that has witnessed centuries of worship, conflict, and reconciliation, I found my understanding of remembrance broadening.

Not to take anything away from the human stories we honor. Rather, to add to them.

This memorial reminds us that courage, loyalty, service, and sacrifice are not exclusively human qualities.

With more than one tear in my eyes, I tried to imagine the sound of hooves moving through the darkness, the rustle of wings carrying vital messages, and the bark of a messenger dog running toward danger.

I silently thanked these unknown warriors.

And as I walked away, I realized this is exactly why stories matter.

When something touches our hearts, we remember it.

When it changes our perspective, we repeat it.

Lest we forget.

As speakers, leaders, and communicators, we often focus on being persuasive. Yet the highest goal of communication is not simply to be heard. It is to be remembered. The most powerful messages change how people see the world. This memorial did exactly that for me. It reminded me that remembrance is an act of gratitude, and gratitude deserves a voice. The story of these unknown warriors deserves to be remembered and repeated. I trust you agree?

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