Just returned from trip to France and Belgium to visit the grave of my Uncle Enoch who was killed in 1917 near the end of WWI. We had a photo of him in our house for the first twenty or so years of my life. He looked to be a chubby, kindly, gentle man. We also had a photograph of his brother Ezra who also went to war, but survived. He was a lovely man with a lovely family. So, I have a feeling we really missed Enoch in our lives, and a deep sadness at the side of his grave in a wet and windy corner of France. We then went to Ypres, where Enoch was actually killed, to witness the ceremony of the Last Post. The bugle call is always moving, with the long lingering final note, but it was more intense under the arch with thousands of names on the walls and the roof. We also visited another cemetery to see the grave of one of my brothers wifes relatives. I would like to thank all those who maintain these cemeteries in perfect condition. The lawns have stripes, and there are flowers growing among the stones.
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 19:20:24 +0000