Sunday 11th November 2018

Remembrance Sunday.

Yesterday was the 100th anniversary of the end of the First World War when after four years of slaughter in the trenches, the commanders of the armies gathered in a railway carriage on a deserted siding in a French wood to sign the Armistice.

Not peace, but agreeing not to fight.

It was to be the war to end all wars, but was the first course to the main global war of World War II, though that was not as bloody.

A series of events has marked the end of the war, on top of the traditional remembrance ceremonies. On Folkestone Beach, Danny Boyle arranged to have an image of Wilfred Owen's face carved into the sand on Sunny Sands Beach, as nearby the Harbour station where hundreds of thousands of soldiers left England for the last time. Not just England of course, but you know....

Sunday morning means, well, feeding the cats, coffee, MOTD and bacon butties. Anything else just isn't Sunday.

Outside the weather was, well, almost dry, dry enough for me to go into town at ten to find a parking space and wander to Maison Dieu where the war memorial is.

Already the ranks and squads of Army Cadets, Air Cadets, Navy Cadets, Police cadets, members and former members of the local garrisons including Gurkhas.

THe clock ticked towards eleven, and the parade marched down Biggin Street and formed up in front of the memorial.

On the hour there was silence after the Last Post sounded, then at two minutes past the "all clear" air raid siren sounded. Prayers were said, speeches made, but to be honest, prayers that another war won't happens doesn't seem enough, actual political action might help, you know.

I walk away, back up Biggin Street and to Castle Street to get the car and drive back home.

I was in the middle of making a batch of saffron buns, so make the dough into buns and leave them to rise a second time.

At one we go to Jen's as it her Mother's 99th birthday. Bet is not well, earlier in the week she could not, or would not sleep, now she can't stay awake.

We arrive and Bet is in a recliner chair, all wrapped up in blankets, and is sleeping deeply, gently quaking as she snores quietly. Jen wakes her up, and Bet is confused, and her voice is almost incomprehensible as her gums have shrunk so much her teeth no longer fit. She is tiny anyway, only about four and a half foot, and now in the chair looks like a child. A wrinkled child maybe, but not adult sized.

She soon falls back asleep, so we all talk.

We supposed to be there for birthday cake, but Jools and I don't have seet teeth any more and shop bought iced cakes are very sweet, so after an hour or so, we leave so I can get back home to pop the buns in the oven.

They are good, but had not risen much so are a little dense, like me. But warm, fresh out of the oven, smothered in butter they are still darn good.

At five we go to the top of the cliffs near to the road down into the Bay for, well, a torchlit parade. There was to be a parade and service at the South Foreland Lighthouse, meeting at half five to get there for seven. My plan was to go along to take shots. Because I am a photographer.

When we get there people are lining up to get torches and glow sticks to light the way, maybe a couple of hundred people are there, and all in good spirits. I take up position on the road to the lighthouse, so when the parade begins, I can get shots of the people lit by their torches. Which I do. Not all the shots came out, and the ones looking along the road with the waning crescent mood low in the sky were all a little blurred so unusable, but still a fine sight.

We walk back to the car, then drive home so I can hear the last twenty minutes of the Manc Derby, which Citeh ease to win 3-1, the third coming at the end of a 44 pass move. Stunning football, and a sobering one for Jose I'm sure.

And that was the day, really. No dinner for us as we were full of bun, but we did manage some cheese and crackers just before bedtime, and a wee glass of fine Belgian beer for me.

Back to work in the morning. Oh dearie me.