Since being a small child, Remembrance Sunday is something that my family have always marked by attending our village cenotaph. Both my grandparents were members of the British Legion and I spent many a Wednesday evening latched onto my Nan's leg whilst she played bingo in the broken down hut they called their legion headquarters. The walk home often consisted of a cone of chips shared between two.
I remember swelling with pride watching them both march through the village, my Nan in her best fur coat and my Grandad in his beret carrying the Legion standard flag.
This year was the first in which my 87 year old Grandfather felt that his legs would no longer stay the distance, so instead he read the following out to the larger than normal crowd and laid his wreath.
They shall grow not old, as we that 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.
There's something about remembering those that gave up so much that never fails to move me.
For my daughter this was the 4th time she's attended the service and my hope is that she will pass this family tradition down through the years.