...and we took part in the service at the War Memorial at The Borough, London Bridge, walking in procession from Precious Blood Church, J. wearing his medals. The memorial is a particularly fine one, and the service was all traditional: The Mayor of Southwark, the Deputy Lieutenant for Greater London, local Members of Parliament, "O God our help in ages past...". And then back to the church for Mass...again traditional hymns...the children's choir sang a beautiful Pie Jesu...and then on to a long and talkative lunch...
In the evening, J. went to an Army gathering, and I walked back along the river to Westminster with a young friend. A cold, clear night, the Thames glittering. Parliament, especially Big Ben, looks odd, lit up but all stacked with scaffolding. We dropped in to the St Stephen's Tavern for a drink, and immediately got talking to people, ended up spending two hours there in good company...it was all older-chaps-with-medals, and it was the easy, comfortable, feeling of a Britain that somehow gets numb and forgotten most of the time. Remembrance Sunday seems to unlock the inner normality of people.
read here for more of Auntie's thoughts on this...
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I was interested to read that your mother attended the Redemptorist church in Clapham during the war. One of the Priests there once told me about the time the spire was knocked off by the barrage balloon and that he was one of those who helped sweep up the debris. Even when he was in his eighties he still had vivid memories of that day.
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