Sunday, 11 November 2012


Today me and Mini A went to the local Remembrance Day parade to pay our respects to all the service men and women, past, present and future.  Whatever your views are on war, today is the day to remember all those who have fallen; soldiers and civilians alike and to also spare a thought for the families who will no longer see their loved ones.  The turn out was brilliant for such a small town.  Service men and woman marched alongside the Sea Cadets, Scouts, Cubs and Brownies.  Different generations all joining together to remember!

However, that was not my only reason for attending. You see, the week before a group of volunteers had given up their time to clean the war memorial that stands outside our town hall.  They had given up their time to make a difference to our little town.  I must admit I didn't help out with this as I only found out about it after it had been done. That's why I asked to join the group and should any other projects come up I would be able to hear of them beforehand.

Too many times of late have I heard people bad mouthing the town, 'it's gone to the dogs,' etc, etc.  It makes a refreshing change to hear of people doing something positive and want to make it a nicer place to live.  So today not only did I pay my respects but also showed my support to the group of volunteers who are helping put a sense of pride back into the community.

I'll leave you with this :

by Jane Weir

Three days before Armistice Sunday
and poppies had already been placed
on individual war graves. Before you left,
I pinned one onto your lapel, crimped petals,
spasms of paper red, disrupting a blockade
of yellow bias binding around your blazer.

Sellotape bandaged around my hand,
I rounded up as many white cat hairs
as I could, smoothed down your shirt's
upturned collar, steeled the softening
of my face. I wanted to graze my nose
across the tip of your nose, play at
being Eskimos like we did when
you were little. I resisted the impulse
to run my fingers through the gelled
blackthorns of your hair. All my words
flattened, rolled, turned into felt,

slowly melting. I was brave, as I walked
with you, to the front door, threw
it open, the world overflowing
like a treasure chest. A split second
and you were away, intoxicated.
After you'd gone I went into your bedroom,
released a song bird from its cage.
Later a single dove flew from the pear tree,
and this is where it has led me,
skirting the church yard walls, my stomach busy
making tucks, darts, pleats, hat-less, without
a winter coat or reinforcements of scarf, gloves.

On reaching the top of the hill I traced
the inscriptions on the war memorial,
leaned against it like a wishbone.
The dove pulled freely against the sky,
an ornamental stitch. I listened, hoping to hear
your playground voice catching on the wind.


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