Today is when Remembrance Day is officially celebrated. It is also known as Veteran’s or Armistice Day.
Television is blocked with coverage from around the world to honour the fallen.
Her Majesty, the Queen, laid a poppy wreath at the Cenotaph in Whitehall this morning and my nephew, who is in the Cadet Corps at school, participated in a parade this afternoon. I was proud of such a young participant showing his respect for those men and women who sacrificed their lives for our freedom.
The Armistice, a cessation from hostilities, was signed at the 11th hour, on the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918 ushering in the silence of the guns and marking the end of World War I.
At the first stroke of 11 o’clock on November 11th people across the country paused and kept silence, at Victoria Station, Lloyds of London and our little parish church in Beckenham (to name some places). The quietness was powerful and respectful.
Poppies are sold by the Royal British Legion in the streets and shops for several weeks before Remembrance Day. The money they raise goes to the veterans of war.
And this week, on the streets of Britain, everywhere we looked there was a poppy pinned to a lapel.
Poppies remind us of the battlefields, come graveyards, of the First World War in France where John McCrae wrote his famous poem, “In Flanders Fields,” after he saw the brilliant, red, wildflowers blooming amid the turned up soil.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow,
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead.
Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
At church today the older generation dressed reverently in their black.
The flower arrangements, mimicking our lapel pins, stood proudly on pedestals at the altar.
In the streets of Bromley, oversized poppies were hung in the tree branches along Market Square.
The sight was unique and heartfelt.
Faure’s Requiem was sung by our choir at the high mass.
It has been more than 20 years since I’ve commemorated November 11th and my hubs commented over breakfast afterwards,
“You certainly observe this day with more fervour than we do in America.”
For our final hymn we sang, “God Save the Queen.”
It’s been a long time for me.
It was a first for hubs.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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