Lest we forget

I am writing this early in the morning of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, which is when we honour those who died in wars so the rest of us could be freer. Not totally free because no one ever is, and I know that my American friends remember on different days. I also know that people remember those who have gone before us every single day but there is a right-ness to the moment when the world stops and we remember, and I say a heartfelt thank you that is very important to me.

I’ll walk down to the harbour today and look at the memorial that the US Coastguard Association put up to remember and to thank the people of Poole for the kindness that they showed the people who were far from home. I’ll say a quick hello to the lifeboat Thomas Kirkwright, that went to Dunkirk to bring the soldiers home and helped to turn an ignominious defeat into the start of a long road to the return that saw the beginning of the end of a War that only the big important people wanted, and think that nothing's changed there either. I’ll pause to bow my head in the park as I stop beside the main war memorial and then go across the road to the Kohima memorial which I think of as being my dad’s I’ll read the words that he taught me and that tear at me every single time.

When you go home

Tell them of us and say


For your tomorrow

We gave our today.

I’ll think of the military cemetery in Germany where my little sister is buried, and wonder what she would have been like if she’d had all the chances that I’ve taken for granted and remind myself not to do it.

Then, as my dad always told me was the important thing, I will go and live the very best life I can and be grateful for every single day I’ve been given. Because I’m a writer I remember in another way too. There’s a lot of my dad in Peter Cunningham, so it’s right that I’m writing the first draft of next year’s Christmas Amy. My Mum pops up in a lot of characters, but Ruth in the Amy Hammond books got her belief that people needed to be fed, and fed, and fed from her. I’ll not only remember her amazing bread pudding but make it soon.

I’ll remember our lovely next-door neighbour.(As opposed to our equally lovely current next-door neighbour who works at a child development centre and whose patience I so, so envy) The one who’s gone before was the one who taught me so much about how to be a housewife and when I had both my children she turned up at lunchtime every day for the first two weeks after my husband had gone back to work with a plate full of food. She took over the baby and made sure I ate and drank, and I firmly believe that if everyone had an Audrey next door then there’d be a lot less post-natal depression! She’d lived in the same house all her life and it was sitting with her and hearing her stories towards the end of her life that triggered my Esther Graham books and my passion for local history.

Then I will say goodbye and thank you to them and let them sleep in my memory while I do all I can for the living.

There are special offers this week as usual, but just pop Eleanor Neville and Tia Brown into the Amazon search engine if you’re interested because this isn’t the day for that. This is the day to remember, and then live a little better and I shall do my best to.


So here’s today’s picture. Poppies growing on disturbed ground by the Harbour, just as they would have done when the graves in the war cemeteries were new. Live well till we meet again, won’t you? If you get a spare minute, have a look at this, because it is such a beautiful way to remember https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c624683d8gro