Sunday, 8 November 2009
They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
My father is 94, and for the first time, he stumbled over these words at our village war memorial this morning. Then he straightened his shoulders and carried on.
Yesterday, he took out his medals and gave them a polish. One is a fairly simple silver cross, with a grubby ribbon. The Military Cross.
Not many people really know what that medal means. But I do, my sons do. And we all try to make him as proud of us as we are of him.