Lest We Forget.

11/11 at 11.00.
“They shall grow not old, as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.”

Was lovely to be part of a small service in a rural country town.
Big thumbs up to the police and CFA who put up road blocks. And thumbs up to the shop staff who stopped for the brief time it took to remember.
Big thumbs down to the vechicle who ploughed straight through, you just couldn’t wait those few minutes. Standing beside me was the local reporter, he took your photo, l hope he publishes it so all can see just how rude you are.
Sad to see that the more years that pass, the elders are getting less and less, the youth just don’t seem to care.

But those who attended were there through respect, they remembered, they cared and all paid their homeage.

Service before 11.00.

Percy. Year after year, what a magnificent effort.

Local Counciller.

The base of the flag pole.

“The inquisitive mind of a child”
Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?
Selling poppies in town today.
The poppies, child, are flowers of love.
For the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because my child, men fought and died
In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?
Why are the poppies so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child.
The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.
Why does it have to be black?
Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.
For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so?
Your tears are giving you pain.
My tears are my fears for you my child.
For the world is forgetting again.

Author Unknown

In Memory of:

Jack, George, Charlie and Thomas.