The wind was blowing strongly across the River Mersey. It brought white crests to the surface of the river and lifted paper cartons from the road. It blew city dust between the buildings at the Pier Head. Out across the river a solitary ferry made its way across from Birkenhead. Children of another generation waited noisily for it to arrive.

That same wind blew his grey hairs across his forehead but he was oblivious to the wind, the ferry or the noise of the children. His gaze was far down that river and his mind was of memories long ago. It was of memories of a convoy of ships carefully guided by frigates as it made its way up stream to Liverpool and sanctuary. He had that look which demanded that no one should interrupt his thoughts. His words when they came were slow and deliberate:

"I remember them all. There were quite a few of us from Belfast. There were some of us from the south. It had taken weeks for us to make the crossing from Newfoundland and we had lost at least seven ships on the way. I remember them all as if it was only yesterday"

There he stood with his memories – memories of an Atlantic convoy: memories of long ago but clear memories of men and boys he had known and many he would see no more. It was a part of history – but what he remembered most were faces, voices, companionship and the sheer human loss of it all.

As it was that January day in Liverpool it is today a great privilege for me to share this occasion with you all. Today before God we remember the sacrifice of the many, the service of the many and the triumph over all the odds of the many during the Battle of the Atlantic. We remember the courage and we remember before God all who from any nation lost their lives in the Atlantic.

History records the significance of that Battle. History has made its judgement of its significance to the Second World War. Today before the God of the ages we pause to remember them all and in particular those who went out from this island to serve and to die.

Memory is one of the most important facets of human experience. As someone has said often it is memory, which makes us what we are. Those memories are their own mixture of good and bad, happiness and sorrow – the whole galaxy of the past. Today for some of you those memories of the Atlantic battles, the convoys and the sheer emotions of it all remain vivid. Across the years you remember. For the rest of us it is a privilege to respect your memories and to join in this act of remembrance.

War now and then calls for many human reactions. There is courage and vision, fear and suffering, questions no one can answer and thoughts that ‘lie too deep for tears’. There is the just war, the justified war, the pointless war and the apparently senseless war. The cause and the outcome take second place to the human face. It is that face we remember this afternoon. It is those who faced the ‘Cruel Sea’ not just on the Compass Rose of Nicholas Monserrat but on merchant ships of all sizes, warships of many designs, aircraft and submarines – those who went down to the sea and served and made the supreme sacrifice.

The sea is no respecter of class or creed. The elements know no distinction of religion or nationality. From both parts of Ireland they came: Protestant, Catholic and Dissenter. We thank God for them - and we remember.

War is the ultimate failure. It marks the ultimate failure of humanity’s attempts to control this world. Where there is tyranny or oppression we rise up: where there is need we respond: where there is suffering we weep. In the sight of Almighty God we rededicate ourselves to peace and to learn the lessons of war.

But today we place our commemoration in the context of God’s love. We place all our memories in the hands of God.

Time we are told heals many things. Perhaps that is true, but time does not change memories. The courage we remember, the friendships forged in conflict we remember, the sacrifice we remember. I have read the phrase ‘family atmosphere’ of those who served on merchant ships in the Atlantic war. But it is the human face of that struggle we think of most in this service. In the mystery of God it is individual human beings with their hopes and fears, their loves and their apprehensions their families and their human emotions we recall.

In the passing of the years it is the eternal nature of God, which alone can make sense out of sacrifice. It is in the certainty of a God who cares that we find healing for our memories. It is in a God who loves each individual life that we find hope. It is in the hope and certainty of the Resurrection that we find genuine solace.

Let the last word come from my companion that day on the quay-side at Liverpool:

“Yes, I remember them. Please God those young people over there won’t ever have to face the same sacrifice.”

In the sight of the God of eternity we will remember them and the tides of the sea of human-kind will never wash away our thankfulness for what they achieved …