11 Novembre

Here in France "Remembrance day" is always celebrated on the 11th of November, whatever day of the week it falls on.  It is a national holiday and every village and town has a service organised by the "Mairie" (town hall).  In our village the local "fanfare" (brass band) plays for both us and the neighbouring village so the two towns time their services differently.
This year we met outside the town hall at 10:30 before walking in procession to the war memorial.  The band led the way in their uniforms of cream trousers, blue blazers, and maroon ties and caps.  After them came the "Sapeurs- pompiers" (firemen) led by their flag bearer in his shiny, ancient helmet.  Behind the firemen a handful of anciens combattants (old soldiers) dressed in their best suits, adorned with medals and wearing the berets of their old regiments.  There are fewer soldiers every year and those that attend now are likely to have fought in France's ignoble colonial wars such as Algeria.  After the soldiers the local gendarmes are followed by the local councillors, led by the Mairie and his adjoints with their red white and blue sashes of office.  Finally the inhabitants of the village straggle behind.  The band play militaristic marching tunes and our procession mimics those poor souls who set out a hundred years ago.
When we arrive at the war memorial the band lines up in front, the sapeur- pompiers line up on the left and the anciens combatants and local councillors face them on the right.  The local schoolchildren are gathered behind the memorial facing the band.  The Maire makes a small speech, battling a recalcitrant sound system.  Then an ancien combattant reads out a letter written especially for the occasion by the President of his association.  Next the names of each villager killed in the first world war are read out by the schoolchildren.  It is poignant to hear the names of fathers and sons who both died.  I find myself wondering what it must have been like after the war in homes and farms where no males returned.
The next step is the laying of wreaths which is followed by a minutes silence, inevitably broken by the wail of a baby or a car speeding past.  Although many people turn out, many more seem to ignore the significance of the day and see it as a holiday.
Finally after a rendition of the national anthem, the militaristic "Marseilles", we are invited to the village hall for an aperitif of "Kir" (white wine and creme de cassis).  This pattern is played out up and down France in towns and villages as the country commemorates the lost generation of a horrific war we can hardly imagine.