The sound of the bugle in taps, the lowering of flags, the minute’s silence, then the sound of Reveille, I look at the faces gathered and wonder what thoughts they hold.
I remember the story of Great Uncle Ernie in 1916. A runner, a wrong direction given, a gunshot is heard. Somewhere in France he lies, unknown where.
Thoughts turn to my father in 1942, a soldier sent to Singapore. Surrender came. At war’s end he returned to love ones but suffered on.
The Ode of Remembrance is read.
The gathered chorus, “Lest we forget.”
“For Ernie and my dad,” I say quietly.
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