A personal story... The #ScruffyKid
November, the light rain was full of icy intentions, the sort of rain to lazy to be sleet...but determined to be cold.
We all set out to take our place, saying our farewells to family as we lined the street.
You could feel a air of excitement so intense, at that moment you could hear a pin drop, it was the focus to what was to come, it muffled the buzz of chat, as everyone took their position.
At the front and centre was a drummer I knew as my elder brother.
We waited for the signal, the wind felt bitter, but ignored, as a hand is raised, and the drummers lift the sticks, to be held just under and in front of the nose, in white gloved hands.
As the first beat strikes we march as one, and the music of a 50 strong marching band of the 23rd Division heads down hill, from the road centre.
At first it’s just the drums with the rat-a-ta-tat-tat and the booming of the bass drums, then my moment comes as I raise my bugle in unison with my fellows players, and a familiar tune known as the theme to Top of the Form begins.
Oh, the cold really bit in during the downwards March, I start losing all feeling to my fingers, as the thin white cotton glove is for looks only, and provides no thermal barrier.
We beat and tooted our way to the Church, providing Remembrance service, where all the main kids military units were to gather, the cubs, scouts, sea scouts, air cadets, brownies, Girl guilds, Boy’s and Girls Brigade, Who all marched and froze their way on foot.
After the March releasing my grip on the ice cold bugle proved impossible, and the brigade Band leader hurriedly rubbed heat back into my hand, until I could let go.
Those were the days my friends, we thought they’d never end, because Mary Hopkins told us so.
We will remember Them, as they fought so we would learn not to.
