I am supposed to be asleep. In fact, I am proverbially on my knees as have only managed about 6 hours in the the last 48! (No cheeky comments from you please Mr S!) I wanted this post to be uplifting and enlightening but sorry folks, just gotta get it out of my system.
Much of my sleeplessness and angst stems from today (actually 44 minutes into tomorrow as I write this) and of course Remembrance Sunday. Forgive me, whilst I dwell on it for a moment. I will try and make you smile later....honest.
I watched the ceremony at Camp Bastion very early this morning. Somehow, they had managed to gather about 2,000 troops (quite a 3 line whip!) and hold a simple but very poignant Remembrance Service. A sandstorm was threatening, the desert wind, stealing voices and the visibility low. The men and women stood, proud and straight in their dusty desert colours, cap badges displayed and faces grave and sombre. I wondered, whilst watching them, what was running through their minds. Fear, pride, sadness, thoughts of home and memories of funny lively guys, who, were no longer with them but at home, at peace, their lives tragically cut short.
Every one of those men and women feeling the force of that moment in time that we could not possibly imagine as civilians. I had a little tear as they sang, no music accompanying them just the hearty voice of the Chaplin and those roped into the hastily assembled choir. Forget all the pomp and ceremony of The Cenotaph. This beautiful and moving moment in time captured our hearts. Anyone who watched this live will agree with me.
One more thing, before I attempt to lighten the subject. Today is about remembering our Heroes. It is not about gaining political points and jumping on any band wagon that may pass. I am angry about Politicians and News Editors using it for their own gains. What easy, corpulent lives they lead. They disgust me.
Yesterday has passed into today as I write. My son, James also known as Harri is 22 today. I mentioned forces hospitals and their excellence in a previous blog. My son was born at RAF Wroughton in 1987. He has never given me a moments trouble in his 22 years but his birth was a very funny and surreal experience.
My then, husband and I were at RAF Brize Norton, living in dear old Carterton, Oxfordshire, existing amongst the Vicky 10's coming in from far climes and the Hercky Birds droning overhead. Very soothing for us forces brats. My father was serving a tour of Ascension Island at the time and I would regularly 'feed and bribe' flight crew to take emergency pork pies out to ASI for them. They were fairly keen, as most of them were single and I am a Cordon Bleu cook.
I telephoned mum on the 7th of November and said I thought I was in labour. My contractions stopped and I thought nothing more of it. We did not have the Internet back then and the phone was hideously expensive. Apparently, on hearing my news, Ma had jumped on a plane and had forgotten to mention it to me. Further complications came about when the stewardess (coz that is what they were called in those days) the gorgeous Ali Blindell (old school friend.....erm...small world) asked Ma if she was ok. Ma duly explained the situation and Ali (obviously being very capable, organized and going out with the pilot at the time!) went to the flight deck. What followed was hilarious. I was sat at home getting twinges and a pilot 36,000 feet above the Atlantic radioed in and asked Air Traffic Control to patch him through to RAF Wroughton! Feck! Some poor midwife putting her feet up at two in the morning had to deal with his radio call!
By the time I was admitted on the morning of the 9th of November (ma had flown in that morning) I was met by a welcoming committee of senior staff and midwives, all thinking I was a big noise, flown in from ASI. All very embarrassing! I was given an Officers 'Ladies' bed for the first night and as soon as they had checked me out, I was moved, very swiftly to the big ward where the lowly CPL's wives resided!
No matter. My beautiful son James was born at 5.38pm, after a 3 hour labour....fast asleep and he stayed that way for 24 hours. Hey....he was three weeks early and needed to rest a bit. I will never forget what my wristband said. W/O 244837835 CPL Harrison and James...S/O 244837835 CPL Harrison. No worries about hospital security in those days! Oh, and after lunch we were visited by a drop dead gorgeous PTI. He would take us through our 'post natal' exercises. I could not be bothered and he asked me 'If you are unable to manage the pelvic thrust Mrs Harrison, what the hell are you doing in here?' Bloody funny but cheeky!
Ali Blindell came to visit me a few days later on her next flight in. I was in my nightie and feeding James. Unfortunately we were unable to find her for the school reunion this year. James is in his last year at Uni and I am so proud of him. He is a fabulous camera man and has found his niche in life. My ex is working in Ghana and is fairly happy.
Peace to you all
Muse x
PS When my husband collected his 15 years of Undetected Crime Medal, the Brig who was presenting it said 'Fucking Hell Old Chap, you are more decorated than me!' Time we gave the wives some medals I think.
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