Remembrance Sunday. Another Rifleman killed. Eight taken in one week. May their souls RIP.
Even more anxious today as R is now driving up and down to Leeds in the day - weighing up the dangers of an eighteen year old girl driving for eight hours on the M1 coming back alone, versus active service in Helmund, I realise that as a family we appear to be riding our luck. Did tentatively ask why step brother couldn't take public transport, factoring in cost of petrol, only to be slapped down with the retort 'but he'd have to take three trains'. When I cast my mind back to my late teenage years seem to recall many hours on dark, damp railway stations, returning from visiting then boyfriend, on miserable Sundays. Not for the young of today.
Still heard nothing from C.
Watching the service at the Cenotaph am struck by the lack of barriers between the age groups. Young and not so young marching side by side - the fact that active service is no longer just an historical concept unites across the generations. The average age of a pilot during the Battle of Britain was nineteen years old, even younger than my boy. And here they are today remembering lost comrades.
Heard from H and he sits his final on Monday, and then later in the week is part of the Guard of Honour at the wedding of a friend. He's apparently done quite well during his time on Lusty and has been made senior something or other and his vivat is being recorded and sent to the Admiralty, at least I think that's what he said. All these snatched, brief conversations constrained by access and time - just want to sit down and talk freely with my kids and that's just not possible anymore.
During the Napoleonic wars when an soldier's skill and accomplishment were being recommended to Wellington, he'd listen to the testimonial and then simply ask 'yes, but is he lucky?'. Please God our luck doesn't run out.
Speak soon. A soldier's Mum x
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