Remembrance Sunday 10 November 2013.
It is a crisp sunny day in autumn. The town’s dignitaries and church leaders gather around the Memorial cross in the center of the War Memorial.
The choir, followed by the Rector and Curate, marches down the road and file into the enclosure. They line up facing the Army contingent and the Scouts and Cadets.
The Town Mayor and Representatives of the Police Force, Fire Brigade and Royal British Legion are in the front row, alongside local Councillors and politicians and other officials.
The sun reflects off the brass cross onto the white hair and balding head of an elderly chorister behind the curate.
Townspeople surround the walled and raised enclosure, peering through the iron railings and looking down on the gathering from the steep hill abutting the Memorial.
At 5 minutes to eleven the Rector starts the Service by reading the printed words on his service sheet.
Then at 11.00 o’clock the flags are lowered and there are Two Minutes’ Silence.
There is a Hymn and then the Bugler plays The Last Post, with the exquisite poignancy of the final notes.
These words are said:
They shall grow not old
As we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them
Nor the years condemn;
At the going down of the sun, and in the Morning,
We Will Remember Them.
For our Tomorrow
They gave their Today.
The Bugler then plays the stirring Reveille.
The Mayor then solemnly leads the laying of wreaths. After all the local politicians and Public Service representatives have laid their wreaths, an elderly veteran of WWII is assisted forward to lay his wreath. He bends stiffly forward. He salutes smartly. His medals, earned in bitter conflict and worn proudly but not boastfully, glint in the sun.
He is the personification of all the heroes who died for us.
I remember my parents who both fought and served in the Second World War.
But of course Remembrance Sunday is when we remember ALL those who have served their country in armed conflicts anywhere around the world.
It just so happens I have recently lost my youngest brother, who held a Short Service Commission in the Army after he left school aged 18.
The people disperse.
When the people have gone, the sun continues to shine down on the bright red poppy wreaths. I turn away, blinded by tears.
C. Tim Taylor 2013