This Rememberance day started appropriately gloomy with rain and fog as I hit the road. I was meeting my mother so we could join our dear friend Ceri for a catch-up lunch in Owen Sound. I traditionally attend Remembrance Day ceremonies, but given the distance we were all travelling to be together it couldn’t be helped.
My mother and I discussed the dispute between those of us that stick to the opening line of Flanders Fields being ‘In Flanders Fields the poppies grow’ vs the recently popular version of ‘In Flanders Fields the poppies blow’. Since Canadian poet, physician and soldier John McRae died in the last year of WW1, I guess we’ll never know if he had a preference.
As the sun came out and we passed through the small towns along the way we couldn’t help but notice the crowds gathering by their respective memorials. I felt a pang of regret but tuning into the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation radio station to listen to what was happening in Ottawa made us feel a little more connected to the ceremonies.
Since moving to a smaller town I’ve noticed that people are different in many ways. It was a few minutes before 11am as we passed through farm country that I observed some cars had started to pull over and then the large freight truck ahead of me lumbered over to the side of the road too. I suddenly realized what was happening, pulled over and joined this unlikely community remembrance. My mother, who had been a child in Britain in WW2, cried quietly beside me as the The Last Post began, we had some silent reflection, listened to reveille and minutes later we all pulled back onto the road and continued on our way. Extraordinary.