The dogs were relatively settled last night, but my CPAP
machine managed to make my nose very sore. I took the thing off at four o’clock
and lay awake for three hours.
Over brekkie I had a look at Facebook; quite a few horror
tales of rampant racism since Friday’s Brexit were being bandied about. Some
were probably true, some were probably exaggerations, and some were probably
blatant lies, but some of the rants I read did make me cross. A friend of a
friend seemed to be rather confused in that now Great Britain had left the
European Union he was wondering where the British Empire had gone. Another
friend of another friend seemed utterly oblivious of the difference between the
concepts of “Great Britain” and “England”. And one woman who had
been born in Germany but had lived in the UK for over forty years was being
deported.
I couldn’t help but wonder if the blatant idiocy being
flaunted on Facebook this morning was in any way connected with the invitation
I received to follow the official Facebook page of the government of Japan.
It seems odd that having had a weekend in which to do
pretty much whatever you want to do, no one other than me appeared to have done
anything worth posting on social media.
I didn’t have any emails worthy of note, so I got dressed
and walked down the road to the dentist. My cake-muncher passed its MOT and I
came home, put on a suit and set off to the train station and Hastings for
something of a reunion…
The eighth Hastings Boys Brigade company was a very large
part of my life during my formative years. Weekends away in all sorts of
places. Taking part in all sorts of competitions from chess to marching bands.
We learned so much; first aid, map reading, table tennis, cooking. I made
friendships that have lasted over forty years.
The chap who ran it did so with very little help. Sometimes
he would have an assistant; more often he would dragoon someone or other from
the church if he needed anyone. Quite often he would be running the show
single-handed. As well as running the Boys Brigade he grew prize-winning
fuchsias, was a leading light in his local church, played in local table-tennis
and football teams, and painted the most intricate and beautiful patterns on
eggs… can you believe he painted eggs because he would get bored.
Today was his funeral.
The church was packed; and so many people were playing the
rather embarrassing game of saying “you look familiar but it’s been forty
years…” I soon found some friends from way back when, and we sat together
and remembered the old days as you do with people you’ve not seen for over half
a lifetime.
The service of remembrance was excellently done. We
remembered our old leader and mentor and friend fondly and without tears. There
was a particularly good eulogy given by the Reverend McCabe…(!) The
Reverend Paul McCabe is (not counting family) the person I’ve known for
longer than anyone else in my life. Me and Paul started together in the same
class at primary school in 1969. At the point in Paul’s speech when he read out
“The Object of the Boys Brigade” we all joined in and we all remembered
it word-perfect even though it has been forty years since any of us have recited
it.
There had been talk of going for a drink after the service,
but there were so many people to see, and so many people to talk to. And it was
at this point that I realised just how much my shoes had rubbed. A contemporary
of my brother gave me a lift to the station, and once back in Ashford I got a
taxi from the station to home.
Once home I spent a few minutes putting plasters on
blisters, and putting best shoes in the bin. I walk for miles with no problems
most of the time, but my best shoes did my feet in (to the limit and beyond)
today.
We must have another get-together soon… before another of
us passes away.
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