As always the standard ceremonial activeties ran their course, but that repetion is what makes this a commemoration. We all share in the knowledge of the symbols. And once again that two minutes of silence lets each person put their own interpretation to our collective moment together. Thus we can be united even with differing views. I was glad to see white poppies side by side with red on another monument. This must be a day when we are all together in our memories and experience of loss.
My particular act is the wearing of a reproduction uniform. I mingle with the public, a presence from the past and an image of the Great War. This year I dressed in the uniform of the Canadian in 1914, the Oliver Pattern equipment and the seven button tunic. These pieces have finally come together and have not been seen in Canada for 100 years. I had also finished my "antique" bike just in time.
The beard came off that morning and the moustache, which I had let grow in, was gone by the night. It had been driving me crazy. I was too old to enlist but I lied about my age.
The rifle was replaced by a shovel. Rifles are touchy business in Canada. Mine is a reproduction without a barrel, but I felt it would be safer to have a shovel.
On a humourous note I got a leather strap caught up in my chain on the way home. I tried using my Ross bayonet to cut it free but it proved to be too blunt, as was the complaint 100 years ago. When I looked up wondering what to do I saw a police car. I called to the policeman and he came to assist with a sharp blade of his. Had it been any other day of the year I'd probably have been arrested on account of my long blade, but there was no hint of that this day.
