I came across Ellen when we were put in the same Comments Group by BritMums. Despite her harking from some country that is very far North of here, she still manages to make me laugh with her brilliant insights into life, parenthood and everything in between as she and the Panther of News (and I do actually imagine her being married to a Panther- I assume it to be a Scottish thing, like Neeps and square sausages) raise their three boys. She invented the Fuck-it List which will be my nomination for next years MADS Post of the Year. Please make way for In a Bun Dance.
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They shall not grow old…
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.
From For the Fallen by Laurence Binyon
As far back as I could remember I had stood somewhere cold as the quiet fell. The only sound the creaking of toes flexed in polished shoes and distant traffic.
Dad was in the TA for years and so we turned out to watch the seeming interminable laying of wreaths. Then at school, the same thing only the ranks were more restless.
So, in a way, it wasn’t that significant, just something you did in November.
The moment I got it, wasn’t the 11th hour, nor the 11th day and I’m not even sure it was the 11th month. It was in the chapel at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst the morning of the day of my brother’s passing out ceremony.
I was so proud of my brother and the day was full of promise. A bit of ceremony as only the British Army knows how, and later the ball, the frock, the fun.
Then I looked around.
The walls of The Royal Memorial Chapel are covered with mention of young men and women, like my brother and his colleagues. Only they had died in places like the Falklands, Northern Ireland, the Balkans and the Gulf.
Full of life, humour and youth they had gone to work, but not come home.
We will remember them.
Go on! You know you want to tell me what you think!