Posted in Canada remembers, writing

A Unique Remembrance Day

The men and women marched down the wide street, the cold north wind blasting at them. The two blocks from the Legion building to the Cenotaph covered in quick time. The  amazement in my mind that these farmers and wives knew how to march. That those names on the monument meant something personal to them*. The ‘Last Post’ played on a trumpet by a local youth and the dropping of the poppies on the bottom of the plinth. These are my first memories of Remembrance Day in small town Saskatchewan in the 60’s.

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