At the going down of the sun, and in the morning

[julesjones]

This year Armistice Day falls on Remembrance Sunday. It must have been a good 400 of us at least who remembered them this morning at the village war memorial. The village has long since been swallowed by the conurbation, but when the memorial was built it would have been truly a village cenotaph. It's still a focal point for community remembrance in a suburb that retains much of its village character.

There is a full multi-denomination Christian service starting about half an hour beforehand, but like many people, I arrived at about 10:55, in time for the silence. People of a variety of races and creeds, coming together to remember the dead, and those who came home but not whole. We had a beautiful day for it -- mild, sunny, and perfectly still. The sun fell on the memorial, lighting up the stone obelisk. The railway station is long gone, but the old station clock tower still stands across the main road from the memorial. Its stone too was lit by the autumn morning sun, as the minute hand inched towards the hour.

Then the lone trumpet, followed by that peculiar not-quite-silence made by several hundred people standing still and saying nothing. The silence where you can hear feet scraping and clothes rustling as people ease position, even above the background noise of traffic on nearby streets.

The trumpet played again, and we continued with the service, before the various children's organisations paraded away. As the crowd dispersed, I was able to make my way to the base of the memorial and lay one of the British Legion's little wooden memorial markers, inscribed with the names of my great-uncles who never came home from the Second World War. Mine was a cross, as were the others already laid, but the Legion also make Muslim, Jewish, Sikh and secular versions.

I didn't have any rosemary from my own garden, but once the crowd had dispersed I met up with kalypso who had brought along some spare from hers. Much muttering ensued as I wrestled with the pin holding my poppy in place, trying to get it to hold the rosemary as well.

I can still smell rosemary on my hands.

Lest we forget.

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[hawkeye7.livejournal.com]

Lest we forget.