Remembering Remembrance at Feltwell
 by Robert Walden

As the lone Last Post bugle sounded
It was the old men's eyes which would abide with me;
Staring forward, focused on the empty space between us,
All hushed in groups or singly on the road side 
Their thoughts unbounded in some distant Lost Past;
Their strained faces constrained against the railings they surrounded.

My father bellowed Binyon's: "They shall grow not old...."
As those long-coated, poppied old men stood in the cold 
And wept their watery tears.
(I was one of Barry's green capped wolf cubs in 1960 with no idea 
That this particular service of remembrance
Would stay with me for years...).

Each cough amid the silence, 
As St Mary's waited to strike eleven.
Joyce was a young, blue bloused girl guide who kept 
Her wreath close to her side: a model of respect
And old Mr Davidson held his brown felt Fedora
In front of his face; trying to ignore a tear he'd wept.

Remembering all the blood spilt, mired in mud,
And the shocked and the shaken, under starshells bright.
Remembering the gassed and the whissbang's thud
And the longing for the end of each terrible night.
So many, so many - and so many so young
And but for this day, so many unsung.

So the wreaths thus laid, for those who gave the most
So afterwards everyman could safely amble home, to Sunday roast
Or call in at their favourite warm, welcoming Sunday pub:
The crowded Crown, The Oak, The Chequers... or British Legion Club.
(Then, the Second World War had ended just 15 short years before....
And the First was only one score and seven more).

For us today, that is like looking back to 2005 and 1978.
And though age does indeed begin to weary me, I take
From life one of its oft repeated lessons:
Even if we cannot remember their names, not even a single one,
Each morning of peace, or at the going down of the sun 
We should all truly count, our many, daily blessings.

(PS a little extra information: Mr Davidson was a former teacher at Feltwell School and my aunt Iris's father-in-law; Joyce refers to Joyce McCleod (née Payne) and Barry refers to Basil Vincent's son who was our cub Akela and whose late twin brother Keith took us for scouts)

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