When I’m home alone, it’s pretty quiet around here. If I don’t put on the radio, it could well be described as silent. Even though I’ve been waiting for some entertainment from the new fridge, it’s staying pretty quiet and refusing to tap dance. (Perhaps that’s a good thing?)
But when a few hundred people stand quietly in a park to remember, the silence is even quieter, if that is possible.
We joined our friends and the people of St Annes for the Commemoration ceremony yesterday, Remembrance Sunday, just as we did last year. As we stood watching the wreath laying in the sunshine, a man sat alone, on a nearby park bench with his head in his hands.
I couldn’t help but think that, were I a novelist, it could be the start of quite a story.
