Fortunate

On a day between Armistice Sunday yesterday and Armistice Day tomorrow, I have been thinking that my generation - people in their sixties born after 1945 and into the early 1950s - are some of the most fortunate.

By definition of our age, our parents survived World War Two, our brothers, unless very much older, didn't fight and weren't even called up for National Service, and our sons and daughters  have not had to go to war unless the services are their chosen profession.

My parents, both born pre World War One, had childhood memories of returning soldiers marching in victory parades.  My mother, youngest but one of a large family, lost two brothers - one in the trenches and one at sea.  21 years later, married with a young family, they endured the blitz on Bristol.  Before my father was called up he worked across Bristol making gas installations safe after bombing. Cycling home early each morning he saw sights that never left his memory.  He was luckier than some, in that a burst appendix kept him in Colchester barracks whilst his comrades in the 'Glorious Gloucesters' were shipped to Burma .  Many returned changed for life.  Both wars seemed very close in my childhood - a topic of conversation at gatherings of family and friends, some of whom had served in both.  As a teenager I knew a delightful man who had served in the very first tank regiment and still had the schrapnell in his head to prove it, another who had lost a leg in the trenches, and a third who was still living in an institution suffering from shell shock though well enough to come to parties and weddings of his nieces and nephews.  Everyone of my parents' friends had war experiences to share - some horrifying but some extremely funny too as people mitigated the horrors with 'looking on the bright side'.

The world we live in now is again unstable and any one of us could be involved in a violent act of terrorism at any time.  We go on day by day hoping for the best -it seems no more likely than falling under the proverbial bus.  On Armistice day we must remember the fallen - the courageous in battle, the ordinary who suddenly found they weren't ordinary at all as they committed an act of heroism and those just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  And we must remember our good fortune that we still live in a country where, whatever our original nationality, language, colour or creed, people have freedom to worship, vote and say what they like - even if their neighbour doesn't agree; where the beautiful countryside is not scarred with battles and long range bombing; and we are not at imminent risk of deadly and uncontrollable disease because of poverty and lack of education.  For that good fortune many other people once gave their lives and that should never ever be forgotten - especially for personal or political gain.

I have decided after much debate to stop writing this blog.  Whether I shall start another in time I can't say.   Thank you to all of you for reading and commenting, it has brought me new friends - both in the virtual world and living near and helped me through difficult times.  I shall continue to read and comment and share your worlds.  Take care.

Jane