The other day we received an invitation in our post box from the Mayor to attend an Armistice day memorial in our little village commune of Cezac. We decided we should go. It was almost 20 degrees and the sun was shining in a clear blue sky. The invitation was for 11.30, which we thought was a bit strange. But, of course, France is an hour ahead of England, so 11.00 there is 12.00 here.
There were about fifty or so people outside the tiny church, many of whom now we know. First of all the Maire, Maurice, said a few well chosen words, and then he read out a speech from the President de la Republique Francaise. It was as if Maurice had become the President of France, right there among us. Very touching, and very moving. And the Mayor of Cezac sounded much more sincere and convincing than Monsieur Sarkozy ever could.
Presumably there were mayors all over France reading out that speech all at the same time. An amazing, and rather wonderful, thought.
Then a young girl read out a poem she had written in memory of those who had died. To my very inadequate French, it sounded very good, and well beyond her young age. She read it without fault or hesitation, and afterwards coyly acknowledged the applause.
Then the Maire thanked everyone for coming and invited all to join him in an aperitif. It was a serious occasion, but not sentimental or stuffy or even too grave. Despite all the flags, there was no pomp and ceremony, no medals, no uniforms, and no glorification of bravery or war. It seemed just right, sincere, genuine and civilised.
This sounds like a really thoughtful ceremony; you are obviously now well at home.
ReplyDeleteSounds far away from the mad poppiness that has gripped us over here.
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