There was a rainbow in the morning and the rain stopped for the Remembrance parade and services.
At the Chandler’s Ford war memorial, a crowd of hundreds – from veterans to youth groups, families, and people of different ethnic groups – all gathered to pay their respects.
Hursley Road looked like this in 1918 (peace day celebration), and 1989.
But today it looked like this:
A two-minute silence was observed at 11am on the Centenary of the Armistice, marking 100 years since the end of World War One.
It was lovely to see many familiar faces again. 94-year-old War Veteran Frank Damerell from Chandler’s Ford, accompanied by his son Phil, laid a RAFA (Royal Air Forces Association) wreath during the annual Remembrance Sunday Service at the war memorial at St. Boniface Church in Chandler’s Ford.
Here are some photos taken from this morning’s gathering in Chandler’s Ford.
WW2 RAF Navigator Frank Damerell Remembers His Beloved Mosquito
Book Review: Margaret Doores’ Love’s Greatest Gift – Remembrance
Attended remembrance at Trinity College, Kandy. Their chapel is an architectural gem and the service very moving. About half of the 64 boys who fell in WWI were planters’ sons and the other half, Sri Lankans.
The headmaster had arranged for the British Legion to ship out a box of poppies for the occasion.
A friend told me an amusing story about her visit to the War graves Cemetery in Kandy. It accommodates the fallen from Colombo but there is one who fell in Trincomalee which has its own cemetery.
‘Why was his body brought down to Kandy?’ She asked the keeper.
‘The climate is better here.’ He replied, deadpan.
A memorial service was held in my village in Normandy. Names of the fallen were read out – quite a lot for a small village – and the Mayor was obliged to read out a three page statement from President Macron about the benefits of the EU and alliance with Germany. I understand that this statement was sent to every Mayor in the country. This imposition of politics robbed the event of its dignity and Macron should know that outside of Paris not everyone supports his EU.
My recollections of the Great War are from the Welsh mining village where I grew up. I remember men with white scarfs and red poppies coughing (because of gas) outside the Workingman’s club, Uncle Wilfred with a hole in his chest, Grandad survived shelling because he was buried under the horses, and we remembered Percy Brownhill, a teenager with Downs – in those days referred to as Mongolism with parents comforted by doctors who told them they won’t live very long! Percy, along with many lads with Downs, died quickly in battle. Fighting and firing squads for cowardice (now recognised as PTSD) continued after the armistice.
It was inevitable that my first book would be about this war, and while it was well received it was used by Alan Bleasdale who wrote an appalling play about the war revealing his limitations as a playwright.