Rudeness is constrained neither by age nor occasion, I
discovered today. At 10 o'clock this morning, a few hundred of us
gathered at the war memorial for the brief annual service that
remembers the young men of the village who went away to fight and
never came back.
It was
largely spoilt by the incessant chattering of a group immediately
behind us. They weren't young children who knew no better; nor were
they teenage hoodies, cocking a cheap snook at the establishment.
They weren't even nattering mums, so often the least self-aware
group of people on the planet. They were four elderly people.
Each must have been in his or her seventies, each would have
some personal recollection of the great wars, each could have lost
loved ones to conflict. Quite how they felt it remotely acceptable
to talk loudly through such a solemn service is beyond me.
I understand completely that their generation paid a great price
for the sake of others, and that mine by contrast is inherently
selfish. I acknowledge that they might have suffered hardships I
can barely imagine. I accept that Remembrance Sunday is for people
of my age and younger to take stock of what we owe to those who
went before us.
It was still wrong. It still upset and angered many people
there.
Remembrance is important to people of this country and this
strength of feeling isn't fading with time. It is doing the
opposite. Our favourite babysitter served in Afghanistan last year
and my son, at eight years old, discovered what it is to fear
losing someone he loves to battle. Remembrance is important to my
son, because he thinks about his big friend Tom and wants him to
come home safely. It is important to me and my friends, because we
know that one day we might see our own children involved in
conflict. Above all, though, you would expect it to be important to
those who lived through it, who suffered personal loss and who,
through the sacrifice of their friends, were blessed with the gift
of being able to grow old.
Shame on you lot. Your friends gave everything, and you can't
even give the rest of us a few minutes silence to pay our
respects.
On a lighter note, I'm cooking Lotte Duncan's Chicken and
Anchovy Trust Me Pie for supper. Which will be interesting on two
counts. Firstly, because Mr B will go into a week-long strop if he
realises I'm trying to smuggle nasty fishy things down his gullet.
And secondly, because Tesco didn't actually deliver the anchovies.
What do you think, Lotte - Chicken and Sardine Trust Me Pie?
I'll let you know how it works out.