Lest we forget …
Today, we ‘celebrate’ VE Day, eighty years on. Victory in Europe; the day, we dared to believe, marked the end of the killing, the loss, the brutality, the fear. As our country rejoiced, united in victory over Hitler and The Third Reich, however – the triumph of good over evil – who could know how much we were to lose in the ensuing years …
I’m dressed, head to toe, in navy and white today, only bemoaning the missing red; in fact, I wish I’d driven back for a red scarf or my sparkly ‘Dorothy’ red pumps, so proud am I to celebrate this day and what it represents. How I wish I could have just stayed at home and immersed myself in the coverage; well, The Remembrance Service at Westminster, at least. Suffice to say, I have recorded it to watch this evening. Actually, I inherited a large Union Jack flag from my parents – no idea where it came from – which sits in the umbrella stand by the front door. Rushing out, this morning, I was tempted to display it outside, proudly. Hesitating, a voice in my head (not Pop’s!) persuaded me otherwise. There was no guarantee that it wouldn’t be removed, or worse. How sad is that? How telling? In 2025 – eighty years on from that momentous day – the Union Jack, once so proudly flown throughout the land, is a less frequent sight than the Pride flag or that of Palestine. Says it all. However, as Reform UK continues to be handed the country on a plate thanks to the gross – and dangerous – ineptitude of this government, never mind the lack of opposition, they have vowed to ban all flags other than the Union Jack and that of St George being flown on public authority buildings under their control. Quell the ensuing furore!
What of the LGBGT and Trans communities? How will they feel safe and included? Seriously? On this very day, eighty years ago, Britain celebrated the end of a five-year war which saw the selfless sacrifice of well-nigh four hundred thousand military in the name of freedom for their country. I repeat, selfless: that is, to be concerned more for the welfare of others than for oneself. An alien concept today in a world which is all about me; a world of disconnect; a Britain governed by those focused on a diversity designed to divide. The fire of patriotism, once vital to the defence of our country, is, now, nothing more than a dying ember. All hail Nigel Farage and the Reform Party for endeavouring to fan the flames! For those who missed the obvious symbolism, their vow to champion the Union Jack – together with the associated national flags – only serves to highlight their determination to reclaim a country which has, quite frankly, gone down the plughole! Patriotism? Pride? Today, deserving of none.
The 80th Anniversary of VE Day, worthy of a commemorative newspaper. My regular reader will know that, over the years, to mark any significant national or world event, I have always bought two copies of a broadsheet newspaper: one, each, for Becca and Manny. Quite the collection, where are they now? Burgeoning out of their trunks – and don’t ask where those are! Will they thank me for my dedication? One day, I hope. I’d have loved my mother to do the same for me but pocketing the past was something to which she would never, outwardly, commit. That said, one of my enduring memories, growing up, is of the two of us watching the old black & white films together – mostly wartime – on a Saturday afternoon. Just us. Mrs Miniver, Brief Encounter, The Dam Busters and even Carve Her Name with Pride, starring my friend, Ginny … One certainly never knows what lies ahead. How I loved those films, though. Still do. I’ve seen them all. That era, so brave, so elegant, so proper. It’s fading fast and so much of value with it. Perhaps, everything.
I grew up in a house of reverence for that period – Pop was too young to be called up but, proudly, did his National Service. My parents always watched Trooping the Colour – thrilled to be invited, one year – and the Remembrance Service in November. Pop was fanatical about turnout and polished shoes, doing things properly and always one’s best … They, both, loved Glen Miller and the music of those wartime years, reminiscing about the dances they attended – Pop was a superb dancer – and the romance of the time. Life was never more urgent, or more precious, but the mood was one of overwhelming patriotism; of everyone pulling together. Looking back, my parents believed they had lived through the best of times. I agree. I am glad, for them, that they are spared the world of today.
So much for the commemorative newspapers in Scotland. Instead, the headlines were devoted to John Swinney and the SNP pledge to push for IndyRef2, once more! That is the level of irreverence in this country, now. Nothing short of shameful. I saw no evidence of the 80th Anniversary of VE Day in St Andrews; no bunting, no church bells, no two-minute silence … I switched on the concert on BBC One at 8pm, my heart sinking when I saw/heard The Darkness perform! Surely not? However, all was not lost as the old footage, the true stories of great courage – and loss – embodied in the letters read out, and the wonderful songs ensured not a dry eye in the house. Interestingly – and, sadly – during the rousing rendition of Land of Hope & Glory in which the entire audience participated enthusiastically, singing at the tops of their voices and waving their Union Jacks, the cameras panned to William and Kate. Neither were singing and both looked incredibly awkward, Kate, more so. Clearly, it was a conscious decision not to join in; a decision of weakness, succumbing to the woke who wish to erase both the history and the heritage of this, once, great nation. Our future King and Queen were there to commemorate VE Day and to pay their respects to those who fought – and died – for our freedom. Freedom. Was their sacrifice, eighty years on, ultimately in vain?
Seventy-eight veterans remain. Those who fought for us; who remember. The youngest are in their nineties, the oldest, one hundred and seven. They represent a generation the likes of which we will never see again. Soon, they will all be gone. In the end, they were the lucky ones for they had something to believe in, to fight for; even, to die for. Do we?
‘Twice times then is still now.’
Alexandra Fuller, ‘Fi’.
This is Trish, signing off.
