Our country gives hope to millions around the world, and you—who knew that at one time your job was to fight well—kept that hope alive. By your service you made clear your choice about what kind of world we want for our children: The world of violent jihadist terrorists, or one defined by Abraham Lincoln when he advised us to listen to our better angels?
I searched for words to pay my respects to all of you here tonight and had to turn to others more articulate than I to convey what our service meant. Someone once said that America is like a bank: If you want to take something out, then you must be willing to put something in.
For the veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars—poorly explained and inconclusive wars, the first major wars since our Revolution fought without a draft forcing some men into the ranks—the question of what our service meant may loom large in your minds. You without doubt have put something into the nation’s moral bank.
In my humble opinion, tour guides should be trying to make our heritage as thrilling and absorbing as we ourselves know it to be. And not just among ourselves, but for everyone who makes the effort to visit our sites and museums.
Having worked in two, I personally like visiting stately homes. However, a lot of these seem to have exactly the same job description for their all of their guides. Be a middle-aged woman with a cut-glass accent. Wear a twin set and pearls. Sneer at anyone who makes less money than your husband. Act like you actually are the Lady of the Manor. Blather on about the amount of Van Dyke paintings that are in the house. Mention nothing actually interesting to anyone who isn’t studying for a history of art degree.
These women seem to act as if taking such a menial job as tourguiding is charity work conducted for our benefit, because we are ignorant peasants who wouldn’t appreciate a good woodcarving if it slapped us in the face. That they are so posh and stinking rich that tour guiding helps fill the hours between galas and shooting parties. This is particularly true if the stately home in question is still privately owned. Instead of fascinating, the guide appears aloof and inaccessible. Which in turn reflects upon the image we, as visitors, form of the house.
I prefer to take a different view. I know from experience that out of a tour group of, say, 20 people, only 5 will have any prior knowledge of the history of the site. At least 10 have been dragged to the site on the promise of an ice cream afterwards. The other 5 will have visited because it was the closest visitor attraction to them and they are taking a gamble that they’ll be interested. A bad tour guide will focus on the first 5 people for the duration of the tour, and 75% of their tour group goes home dissatisfied.
Shouldn’t we, as tour guides, concentrate on getting that 75% interested and excited as well as enhancing the knowledge of the minority? Those 15 people should not be ignored, or in some cases, sneered at, because they don’t know much about the site or subject that the guide is talking about.
I chose a career as a guide because sharing my own knowledge and enthusiasm is just as much fun as gaining that same knowledge. I have never been able to understand why so many people apply for, and receive jobs, where the thought of sharing knowledge is an abhorrent concept for them.
That’s not to say that I consider myself the only interesting tour guide in the world. There are hundreds of us sprinkled generously about. But I would like to see more of us taking the approach that history is more than a long list of meticulously memorised dates. It is the story of our collected past as a community, nation and indeed species. History is something to be shared and discussed. That can be kickstarted by a fascinating tour that ignites a desire to know more.That should be the role of a tour guide.