大象传媒

Today, November 11th 2003, found me, as usual preparing to sit and watch the Remembrance Service, held at the Cenotaph.

This is a must see event, and one that has brought so many sad and happy memories.

A few moments before the march past began, the TV cameras panning the watching crowds, rested on a little girl, about six or seven, standing with her father. They were watching silently all that was going on around them, and almost at once, I was once again, a part of that crowd.

Living near the Archway, North London, my dad always made a point of taking my brother Patrick and myself to the Cenotaph for the Remembrance Service.

Two of my father's brothers had served in the 2nd World War, one in the RAF, and the other as a soldier, serving as a tank transporter in the middle east. Both brothers had survived the war,and returned home. And how I remember the family celebration grandmother and grandad gave for the safe return of their sons.

When we got off the bus, we walked the rest of the way to Whitehall.
Dad always managed to find us a spot from where we could see the event as it progressed. We joined in with the hymn singing, and tapped our feet to the music and the marching feet.

However, it is a very simple act of respect that I recall most vividly. Along the route, people were selling little wooden crosses with a poppy pinned to the centre. Dad always bought one for each of us, and when the parade was finished, we walked down to Westminster Abbey.

Arriving at the Abbey, we found the site where many other small crosses already stood. And, it was here that we three stood and said our own, simple prayer of thanks to those who had given their lives, so that we might live.

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