Remembrance Sunday and memories of such days in the North, particularly the last Remembrance Sunday spent there. The commemoration had an intensity, an indefinable quality, that lingers in the memory. The words were to be repeated and repeated.
Eleven o’clock at the War Memorial.
Half past eleven at church.
Three o’clock in the village, with those who had stood in the parade at eleven.
There was something almost hypnotic in the ceremony; the bugle tones cutting through the November chill as if the sounding of reveille would somehow change the …