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!
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
and poppies had already been placed
on individual war
graves. Before you left,
I pinned one onto your lapel, crimped
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
collar, steeled the softening
of my face. I wanted to graze my nose
the tip of your nose, play at
being Eskimos like we did when
little. I resisted the impulse
to run my fingers through the
blackthorns of your hair. All my words
flattened, rolled, turned
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
and you were away, intoxicated.
After you'd gone I went into
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,
a winter coat or reinforcements of scarf, gloves.
the top of the hill I traced
the inscriptions on the war memorial,
against it like a wishbone.
The dove pulled freely against the sky,
ornamental stitch. I listened, hoping to hear
your playground voice catching
on the wind.