I thought of my grandfather, pictured here in 1915 as a young officer, younger than my own son is now.
He seldom spoke of his war experiences, other than to joke that he chose not to sign up for the cavalry, because he didn't want to spend his time mucking out stalls. Eventually he was wounded, and spent time first in British hospitals (hence his lifelong aversion to Brussels sprouts) and later with his aunt, Lady Perley, whose husband, Sir George was our High Commissioner in London. In his nineties he was invited to review his regiment at a time when he was the oldest surviving officer from WW1. Around the same time, an archivist from the National Archives visited the house to interview him about his experiences and collect such archival material as he still had in his possession. There is a small collection under his name.
My American readers should keep in mind that Canada was in the War from the outset and over its duration lost a sizable percentage of its young, male population.
After sitting on my front steps to watch the parade, I took a few minutes to admire the beauty in our late fall front garden.
|The last few leaves of the Boston Ivy against our limestone wall.|
|The last rose of the season. Amazing that there's any bloom at all in November.|