Nothing involved and thoughtful, this year, but I didn't want to not note it. The atmosphere this year is slightly different to previous years; you can feel the gradual drift towards emphasising "and those presently". I suppose this is a cyclic thing...
Last year, I wrote
that there are maybe a hundred and fifty thousand people - no doubt less now - in the country who can remember 1918, fuzzily, as little children. Tens of thousands will be old enough to have been permanently touched by it; to remember the awful hushed silences and the drawn curtains along deserted streets, or a strange man, dusty and unshaven, who came to the door one day after the shouting was over, and announced himself as Father.
And, of course, twenty years later they saw it all again; they had grown old enough to be the ones sitting in empty houses, or the ones sitting somewhere grimmer; and, for some, it all came around a third time a generation later, sitting and waiting to have a knock on the door and someone offer condolences for their son.
So, have a little sad music. Mothers, Daughters, Wives
; I turned up a copy of this years ago, and have been haunted by it ever since.
(This version, despite being sung in a somewhat different voice to the narrative, seems to work a lot better; the original
just doesn't quite seem to have the same emotion in it. This
is worse than either, mind you.)