Each in our own little puddle

We knew the ceremony at the Commonwealth War Cemetery was going to be the teary part of the weekend and had prepared with plenty of tissues at the ready.

As the choir gathered themselves together, did a sound check or two and generally settled in, I took a few photos for them and then made myself scarce, taking a few quiet moments to stand and reflect.

One of the 642 stones caught my attention and I stopped to read it. Unlike the vast majority, this was not the grave of a soldier, but that of a war correspondent from Peterborough. During at least one address during the morning, I’d note him mentioned in the list of “British, Canadian and New Zealand army and airforce personnel, one Polish airman and a War Correspondent” each one of whom is remembered with that same Commonwealth headstone.

It’s always deeply affecting to walk along the rows reading the names and personal details. But what’s more touching is the simple arrangements of headstones as here, where four Canadian Airmen are buried together in a group; colleagues and friends. Here too was a couple of examples of the latest project where photographs are being found and placed by each grave. Putting a face to a name makes it so much more personal.

As I walked quietly around, a lady stopped me to ask a favour. Would I pin her father’s medals on her jacket for her? Well, gladly - though it wasn’t an easy task and I’m not sure I did the best job. Still, she asked my name and we chatted a while.

Now the real guests of honour were arriving. Some veterans of the liberation; men who’d been here exactly 75 years ago this weekend and who were the heroes of the story told by the 76 year old woman last evening. Aged just 1, she had been hidden with her family in a cellar for months until the Allied Forces succeeded in liberating this small part of the country. She was one of many with such memories, still filled with gratitude for the actions of these now very elderly men.

We took our places as the rain began to fall quite heavily. Someone had thought ahead and provided the choir with plastic ponchos in case of rain and at this point, they were very grateful indeed!

Other people in uniform and members of the band weren’t so fortunate. They stood proudly through the heaviest rain getting absolutely soaked. We were admiring the Polish Military Attache’s hat, which was a wonderful construction and a very interesting shape indeed.

The majority of us stood or sat under umbrellas, dripping quietly as the speeches were delivered, hearing familiar words of remembrance and once again, being left in no doubt about how grateful this community was for its freedom all those years ago.

And then the Mayor of Venray stepped up to the podium. He too spoke of his pride in this community and paid tribute to the elderly gentlemen sitting alongside him, many of whom return regularly to the city on these occasions.

After this pretty thought-provoking speech, he very deliberately took off his chain of office to express some private thoughts. He directed them at us - the British contingent, consisting mostly of the veterans and the Stuart Singers (and hangers on like me). "We love you" he said. "I'd like to introduce a new word BROFFEE: Britain, our friends for ever and ever. It's important that we stand together today more than ever before". Standing there side by side with Dutch, Canadian, Australian, New Zealand, Polish and German friends commemorating such horrendous events, I can confidently say that tears rolled down more than a few (dozen) cheeks.

The wreaths were laid to solemn music, as the band did their best given the conditions. We stood and watched representatives from all corners place their flowers, including the New Zealand Ambassador and the Netherlands Ambassador to the UK. Important people here, recognising the significance of the day.

As we stood watching, the Scouts had gathered armfuls of roses and were making their way around all 642 graves, placing a red rose on each of them. On Christmas Eve, they will place a lighted candle on each grave, we learned, such poignant acts of remembrance.

As the lone piper cleared that tallest pipe from whatever needed clearing (!) and we sang the national anthems, the ceremony came to a close.

Dripping wet, we took a brief look at the flowers before joining the long line of people who wanted to shake the hand of the Mayor and thank him for his words. There’s no doubt who was the man of the moment.

And as we did, another small tradition was continuing with the veterans handing our chocolate to the children, just as they had 75 years ago. This time, they were commemorative bars of chocolate and unsurprisingly each one was enthusiasically received.

We left the cemetary in sombre mood, then, each one of us sitting in our own little puddle. Sharing our thoughts of the morning, we’d all felt remarkably moved by the proceedings but especially by the words of the Mayor.

Just talking about it started us all off again. More tissues please!