As each year goes by Remembrance Sunday means that little bit more to me. Perhaps it is the thought that I speed towards my own demise. Perhaps it is a sadness that the sacrifice of a generation that I encountered often in my younger years is increasingly forgotten. Perhaps it is the time I spend researching my family history.
A survey a year or so ago showed that only 36% of Brits under 40 knew what the Battle of Britain was. Dimwit MP Lisa Nandy forgets the heroism of her grandfather Frank Byers to crassly link the sacrifice of his generation with young people today being able to study in Europe. Only 36% of Brits polled have a positive view of Churchill and 20% think he was a mythical figure.
I recalled HERE my family’s involvement and links to the second world war: a Spitfire ace, a death in Egypt, the underpants from Operation Mincemeat, a man hung as a Nazi another who leaked the D Day plans, a member of the SOE, a Normandy hero, the list goes on. I also recalled HERE an account of the 1914 Christmas day peace on the Western front written by a man who was there, great great uncle Douglas Winnifrith.
I feel a family link to both wars and try to ensure that my kids feel that link and know who and what we are honouring. In that vein I trouped up to the cross in thus small Welsh village for a short 11 AM service on Sunday. We have no vicar right now. The vicaress who prompted me to storm out of Midnight Mass as she berated the evil Israelis has, thankfully, gone. But my son’s piano teacher lead the service and did so admirably. It was solemn and worthy. But I was cross. I suppressed my anger but I fumed inside.
I was cross that there were only a couple of hundred folks there from a village of 3,000. Most of those who were there were even older than me. One old lady collapsed on the day but folks born in the 30s and 40s would do anything to attend. I’m cross that so many others just could not be bothered. If one looks at footage from 30, 40 or 50 years ago let alone ceremonies directly after either World War, the crowds were packed tight.
I was cross with my kids who know about uncle Francis Cochrane and his death just before Christmas 1942 and are told that we are remembering him and others but who kicked each other and bleated during the brief 20 minute service.
I was cross with my wife who pitched up with my son and announced she was leaving. To her credit the service then started and she stayed. But remembrance day means less to her than me. Perhaps I am on dangerous ground here when I note that she is of Indian heritage and her parents were born in India. The Mrs. was born in England and is the only member of this household identifying as English as we look forward to International Rugby. But the fact is that none of her family fought or died in either war. None were evacuated because of German bombs. There is no war DNA in her family as there is in mine and indeed in most of us who are British as of many generations. So I should not really be angry with her that this means less to her but I felt it sort of disrespected my family and heritage.
I was really cross with those MAMALs who cycled past and those driving past. Even as we stood for the 2 minute silence folks drive or cycled by. Could they not have just pulled over as 11 AM approached?
As the 11th hour approaches on thus the 11th day I am resolved to work with my kids to dig deeper into my family history. There must be more direct involvement in WW1 than just Uncle Douglas .I am resolved to find out more.
A survey a year or so ago showed that only 36% of Brits under 40 knew what the Battle of Britain was. Dimwit MP Lisa Nandy forgets the heroism of her grandfather Frank Byers to crassly link the sacrifice of his generation with young people today being able to study in Europe. Only 36% of Brits polled have a positive view of Churchill and 20% think he was a mythical figure.
I recalled HERE my family’s involvement and links to the second world war: a Spitfire ace, a death in Egypt, the underpants from Operation Mincemeat, a man hung as a Nazi another who leaked the D Day plans, a member of the SOE, a Normandy hero, the list goes on. I also recalled HERE an account of the 1914 Christmas day peace on the Western front written by a man who was there, great great uncle Douglas Winnifrith.
I feel a family link to both wars and try to ensure that my kids feel that link and know who and what we are honouring. In that vein I trouped up to the cross in thus small Welsh village for a short 11 AM service on Sunday. We have no vicar right now. The vicaress who prompted me to storm out of Midnight Mass as she berated the evil Israelis has, thankfully, gone. But my son’s piano teacher lead the service and did so admirably. It was solemn and worthy. But I was cross. I suppressed my anger but I fumed inside.
I was cross that there were only a couple of hundred folks there from a village of 3,000. Most of those who were there were even older than me. One old lady collapsed on the day but folks born in the 30s and 40s would do anything to attend. I’m cross that so many others just could not be bothered. If one looks at footage from 30, 40 or 50 years ago let alone ceremonies directly after either World War, the crowds were packed tight.
I was cross with my kids who know about uncle Francis Cochrane and his death just before Christmas 1942 and are told that we are remembering him and others but who kicked each other and bleated during the brief 20 minute service.
I was cross with my wife who pitched up with my son and announced she was leaving. To her credit the service then started and she stayed. But remembrance day means less to her than me. Perhaps I am on dangerous ground here when I note that she is of Indian heritage and her parents were born in India. The Mrs. was born in England and is the only member of this household identifying as English as we look forward to International Rugby. But the fact is that none of her family fought or died in either war. None were evacuated because of German bombs. There is no war DNA in her family as there is in mine and indeed in most of us who are British as of many generations. So I should not really be angry with her that this means less to her but I felt it sort of disrespected my family and heritage.
I was really cross with those MAMALs who cycled past and those driving past. Even as we stood for the 2 minute silence folks drive or cycled by. Could they not have just pulled over as 11 AM approached?
As the 11th hour approaches on thus the 11th day I am resolved to work with my kids to dig deeper into my family history. There must be more direct involvement in WW1 than just Uncle Douglas .I am resolved to find out more.