Across Rutland, as elsewhere, we marked Remembrance Sunday in our little village church, trying to time the start of the service perfectly, so that the names of villagers past who died in both World Wars could be read out before the 11 o’clock deadline. Thankfully, the church clock was keeping time for once, and the list was read, and the two minutes’ silence started about 10 seconds before 11am struck, so the clock chimes rang out into the quiet. In my rush to get there on time, I managed to leave my poppy on the kitchen table. Typical. I’ve been carefully transferring it from jacket to jacket for 10 days and on the day itself, I forget it.
It was a raw day, walking to church this morning. A bright day though, which is more than I expected from the weather forecast. I’ve noticed, since moving to Rutland four years ago, that we enjoy much drier ‘weather’ than in the West Midlands, where I hail from. So Remembrance Sunday in Rutland was cold, bright and sunny. A million miles away from the mud of the First World War trenches, and from the deserts of Afghanistan.