AS poppies begin to fade after another Remembrance weekend, there's a compelling ray of hope that one of Britain's greatest injustices may yet be put right.

It may have been over in a matter of minutes, but the Cenotaph march-past by families of men shot at dawn after being accused of battlefield offences during the Great War was a significant moment in the long campaign to see those men pardoned.

The Evening News has been resolute in adding a voice to the call, so it was disappointing - if not surprising - to hear Defence Secretary Geoff Hoon echo the view of many predecessors by saying that the fog of war and the passing of the years has clouded the issue too much for that to happen.

In effect, he was saying that the bulk of those executed men remain guilty until proven innocent.

It's well-documented that courts martial paid such scant regard for fairness that, in a modern Court of Appeal, the Government would fail in minutes.

That's the crux of the Hoon argument: How can you measure events in the early 20th Century by sensitivities felt almost 100 years later?

Leaving aside the fact that, when the campaign for pardons began, the events were easily within living memory, and that it was the nation's politicians who sent such young men to their deaths on behalf of the people, there's a fact of history which answers the question.

Executions for battlefield offences were halted little more than 10 years after the end of the First World War. The public were uneasy. The military couldn't sustain their argument - moral or otherwise - for continuing with the punishment. So why now?

The march-past marked the first brick removed from the Government's wall of obstinacy. To paraphrase a sentence associated with one of the 20th Century's triumphs, we've taken one small step. Now we await the giant leap. It must surely come.