Hangarshuffle
10th Nov 2015, 08:16
It's a very long way from the village war memorial to London's Whitehall, or even Piccadilly. I pondered on this thought I waited for the bus to the railway station, in a dim grey wet gloom of a Saturday early morning. There are so many names on the memorial that I lost count after I think one hundred, as it was still too dark to see properly. They were all miners, labourers, joiners, train drivers, firemen - nearly all pitmen. Losses through combat in the Great War for the men who set out from the little mean streets amounted to about 1 in 4 of those that went. That's killed in action. Died of wounds. Missing. Recent research by BBC Local Radio was indicating so. The average was 1 in 8 in some areas but in ours.... .higher.
Whitehall, Sunday morning. The event itself is remarkably un-military (if that can make sense) when you are some distance from HM the Queen. Units march up and take position left to right and that's all I saw of them for a while. Its hardy massed ranks. The RAF were extremely smart - band and regiment. A real credit to their drill NCO's. Royal Navy. Royal Marines. Guards. Dismounted Cavalry. But it's the civilians standing and watching that catch my eye.
Cannon bang and bell bong are incredibly simultaneous when its live. TV cant capture it, ever. During the silence, everything stopped. Even the crows landed and watched. Only the traffic lights kept on changing red, amber and green. Where I stood, one could have heard a pin drop. I could hear a tug boat or launch somewhere on the Thames. A baby gurgled somewhere. Second bang. More silence, then gradual voices. No one wants to speak first. A short brief moment of togetherness. Of combined mutual understanding.
I wonder who these people are, and why they are here? What is their story? The man on my immediate right was a complete stranger. A man to normally avoid. Not well dressed. Heavily tattooed on neck and hands, of no apparent former military bearing he stood correctly and silently, and then quickly left.
Very young man with a pretty young lady friend. In a suit. Poppy. Bad limp and stick. Injury? Casualty?
Two young posh guys with young attractive middle eastern appearance lady friend. Suits and looks indicate County types? Not military.
Over the tannoy, prayers and National Anthem. I don't really sing it either. It's not mine really, it never was. We didn't do it at school, college and hardly ever in the Navy, so why learn it now? But I stumbled through it.
It's over. Marching people and cheering clapping crowds. I make my way down the embankment and along to the FAA Memorial. Form up again. Buccaneer Association, Officers, Aircraft Handlers, Aircrewmen, Field Gunners and I think also Armourers. My apologies if I don't list you here also. Larger than life characters all of them, it's good to see them again. Wreaths are laid. Thoughts gathered.
Faces come back to me. I was extremely fortunate that I had a career where I wasn't in horrendous combat and I lost no very close comrades. But I remember many people I nodded to, spoke to, saluted.. who never came home to their loved ones.
Someone's speaking, my former Commander Air and a decent guy.
Mingle for a little while and then we break up into our little tribes and depart for our little segregated enclaves, I with mine. It's a shame but I understand Britain, the military and how it always works.
A short time later, much much laughter. And that closed the day, much later in the night.
Back home, it's hardly a land fit for the heroes descendents, back in the village. Because we are truly a modern British metaphor, in my neck of the woods, in my opinion. One hundred years of near continuous combat, treasure squandered, tears shed and we are back here.
Good morning.
Whitehall, Sunday morning. The event itself is remarkably un-military (if that can make sense) when you are some distance from HM the Queen. Units march up and take position left to right and that's all I saw of them for a while. Its hardy massed ranks. The RAF were extremely smart - band and regiment. A real credit to their drill NCO's. Royal Navy. Royal Marines. Guards. Dismounted Cavalry. But it's the civilians standing and watching that catch my eye.
Cannon bang and bell bong are incredibly simultaneous when its live. TV cant capture it, ever. During the silence, everything stopped. Even the crows landed and watched. Only the traffic lights kept on changing red, amber and green. Where I stood, one could have heard a pin drop. I could hear a tug boat or launch somewhere on the Thames. A baby gurgled somewhere. Second bang. More silence, then gradual voices. No one wants to speak first. A short brief moment of togetherness. Of combined mutual understanding.
I wonder who these people are, and why they are here? What is their story? The man on my immediate right was a complete stranger. A man to normally avoid. Not well dressed. Heavily tattooed on neck and hands, of no apparent former military bearing he stood correctly and silently, and then quickly left.
Very young man with a pretty young lady friend. In a suit. Poppy. Bad limp and stick. Injury? Casualty?
Two young posh guys with young attractive middle eastern appearance lady friend. Suits and looks indicate County types? Not military.
Over the tannoy, prayers and National Anthem. I don't really sing it either. It's not mine really, it never was. We didn't do it at school, college and hardly ever in the Navy, so why learn it now? But I stumbled through it.
It's over. Marching people and cheering clapping crowds. I make my way down the embankment and along to the FAA Memorial. Form up again. Buccaneer Association, Officers, Aircraft Handlers, Aircrewmen, Field Gunners and I think also Armourers. My apologies if I don't list you here also. Larger than life characters all of them, it's good to see them again. Wreaths are laid. Thoughts gathered.
Faces come back to me. I was extremely fortunate that I had a career where I wasn't in horrendous combat and I lost no very close comrades. But I remember many people I nodded to, spoke to, saluted.. who never came home to their loved ones.
Someone's speaking, my former Commander Air and a decent guy.
Mingle for a little while and then we break up into our little tribes and depart for our little segregated enclaves, I with mine. It's a shame but I understand Britain, the military and how it always works.
A short time later, much much laughter. And that closed the day, much later in the night.
Back home, it's hardly a land fit for the heroes descendents, back in the village. Because we are truly a modern British metaphor, in my neck of the woods, in my opinion. One hundred years of near continuous combat, treasure squandered, tears shed and we are back here.
Good morning.