It was a prophetic event. The day was gray and dismal - typical for November in these parts. Bystanders pulled their coats tightly around them and pulled scarves over their faces to shield from the wind. The pastor opened the ceremony with a prayer and introduced the trumpeter who would play The Last Post. As the first melancholy note sounded, the sun burst through the clouds, shining a spotlight on the band ensemble - so bright, I could barely take a picture. And as he played the final few bars, the sun disappeared as quickly as it came, and tiny, misty tears fell from heaven.
It seemed that the deeds and sacrifices of our service people were being remembered by all, everywhere.