At the Going Down of the Sun and in the Morning.. We Will Remember Them.

Sunday 9.25am.

It is Remembrance Sunday. The day when across the United Kingdom, we gather at 11am and hold a two minute silence as a mark of respect for all of those who "gave up their today, so that we could have a tomorrow". I am determined to get myself to the Methodist church in the next village as I haven't managed to get myself to church for the past few weeks and I think Remembrance Sunday is important. It will take me 45 minutes to walk so I throw myself in the shower and drag some clothes on, say good morning to the parents briefly and start legging it down the road. It is rather cold although it isn't long before I am sweating profusely but I do my best to keep up this ridiculous pace because it has suddenly occurred to me that I only have the vaguest idea where the Methodist church is.
As I walk, I take several long looks at the views of the river and the hills and I remind myself that really, I am jolly lucky to have such lovely nature to look at every day, especially at this time of year when the hills are an absolute riot of colour. Unfortunately, it starts to rain as I near the bridge to get across the river and into the next Village and by the time I am at the other side of the bridge, the rain is almost horizontal and the wind is freezing. As I am staggering up the road, I pass the Anglican church and notice that they also have a service at 10.30 as well as evensong at 6pm, now that is my kind of service. You simply can't beat the evening service for pure staying in bed value. I file this information away for later and manage to find out from two older women, that the Methodist church is up to the end of the street and turn left but I should "ask at the cafe because we are not really sure". Predictably, I do not see a cafe but I do see lots of people wearing poppies coming in my direction... bit weird I think to myself... and have a quick look down the turning they have taken to see if the church is down there; it isn't. I continue down the street and after a short while I see it only to find when I get close enough that this morning's service was rescheduled for 10am in order to accommodate a remembrance service at the Village Green at 10.45. Given the weather, I am unimpressed and decide that I will run back to the Anglican church and see what it is like. When I get there, I cannot find the door (again) and when I do, I am greeted by a posh older woman, the type who says 'oh' and makes it sound like 'air', she wants to know if she can help me and I tell her that I was just looking for the door. She looks faintly baffled and tells me that the service has just finished because everyone is going to meet on the Green for the Remembrance Service as if I should know. I feel it is important that I pay my respects to soldiers, sailors and air service men and women so I decide quickly that despite my initial reaction, I will go to the green.
By the time I arrive it is a few minutes shy of 10.45 and the rain is absolutely hammering down my jeans and jacket are sticking to me, my socks are soaked, my feet are freezing and my expensive Birkenstock shoes are likely ruined. There are a number of people gathered hesitantly in the car park just in front of the cenotaph and in dribs and drabs others begin to join us. I stand by myself getting wetter by the second and soon I am surrounded by people who make 'oh' sound like 'air' and they all seem to be holding massive golf umbrellas, the kind that shelter a small family car, and stand around discussing in various groups some event last night. Possibly something involving fireworks and I'm sure that at least two old ladies mention quiche.
Not a soul even bothers to say good morning to me and I am shivering.
It gets to about ten to the hour and the vicar (you can tell who he is from the frock and surplice) still doesn't seem too keen to start and no amount of glaring at the clock on the cenotaph seems to send any vibes his way. Eventually, however, he does call order and an organ strikes up the National Anthem. It doesn't occur to me until after we have finished imploring God to save our Queen, to wonder why there is an organ outside in the pouring rain. A hymn later and I realise that of course, there is no organ, it is merely a tape. A tape with which almost everyone has trouble keeping time and soon there are about three groups of people all singing different lines of the verse. We battle on. It is gone 11 now though and elsewhere the nation is standing in silence, honouring the dead. We are still listening to a (possible) veteran recite the names of the local men and women who lost their lives. The person operating the cassette player finally plays "the Last Post" and we fall silent but somewhere by the river a gun goes off to mark the end of the silence. When the two minutes has ended, it is about 7 minutes past the hour and as we all have a go at another hymn I sing extra loud, making sure that I am in time with the tape; it doesn't work and I sigh in relief as the music comes to an end. After the blessing, I turn and walk through the little crowd in the direction of home and think that us having a silence at all is the important thing... but we do it at 11 for a reason; because that's the time the Great War finished. It just seems like a shoddy way to show respect. Under other circumstances, the Village idiocy might have been funny but as I continue 45 minute walk home in the rain, I can't remember the last time I felt this miserable.