My father, an Atlantic convoy veteran, was born on Hallowe’en.
Now that I am way past waiting in for any guisers, I head to Inverness to lay flowers on his grave and have a chat.
Last year I noticed a man in an anorak walking around the cemetery near where my family rest, with a bag around his shoulder like a kid on a paper round. Curiosity got the better of me and I stopped him to ask what he was doing.
Entirely voluntarily and unpaid, because he thought it was a good thing to do with Remembrance approaching, he was going around the cemetery looking for any headstone hints that those interred had served in the military.
If there were, he would lay a cross adorned with the beautiful Remembrance poppy on the grave.
I mentioned that my father, and my grandfather in the adjoining lair, who was a First World War veteran, had been wartime mariners. Two crosses appeared on their graves in an instant, and the man made a careful note in his ledger so he could do the same 12 months hence.
I was so touched to see this week how personnel from the nearby base had tended graves and paths at the beautiful Faslane cemetery, and that the immaculate Rhu and Shandon war memorial had won the ‘best kept’ category and is going for a national award.
It is very fitting for what is, of course, a significant military town. We must thank our service personnel and cherish our veterans, because they have sacrificed so much.
In some cases, they have given everything. How we treat them after they’ve gone is just as important.
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