Remembrance Sunday

Always a special day Remembrance Sunday, my dad used to take me to London most years when I was young, I remember getting quite an early train on those Sunday mornings, the train came up from the south coast and there were many people making their way up to London smartly dressed, some with medals, everyone talked to each other on the train I remember that.
When we arrived at Charing Cross Station it was packed, we walked down Whitehall to try and get near to the Cenotaph and there was a real atmosphere, it was somber but very exciting with all the pomp and circumstance, everything seemed so organised, I remember once a very tall guardsman with a long grey coat and busby, he was making sure the huge lines of veterans waiting to march past the memorial were in the right place they all seemed to be watching and listening to him, he was totally in charge. It was nice when the sun shone but some years it was cold and damp, me and my dad, we often didn’t get as far down Whitehall as the Cenotaph because of the crowds but it didn’t matter, we were there.

(The image is from the first service of Remembrance when the Cenotaph was unveiled in it’s current form in November 1920)

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