Breakfast in Edinburgh. While waiting for 'The Font' Angus has a coffee in a fancy new hotel that's opened in an old nineteenth century Bank of Scotland branch. The architects have located the restaurant / coffee shop under the grandly stuccoed dome of the banking hall. After my coffee arrives ( priced at a strangely exact £5.05. Why not £5.00 ? Does everyone round up to £6:00 ? ) it dawns on me this is the very place ( and possibly the exact spot ) my grandfather was standing in when the Great War ended.
He was there to deposit a cheque. The place crammed with county regiment Captains and Australian and New Zealand subalterns on leave. Many sported wound stripes. Those final bled white days of empire. At five minutes to eleven on that November morning all the tellers windows closed, their roller blinds were pulled down and the customers politely told to retrace their steps and go outside . 'Don't worry. You'll get back your place in the queue soon enough'. There, on the pavement, they stood and heard the towns clocks chime eleven. After the last chimes the crowds sang the doxology - how Presbyterian was that ? In London they cheered and danced. He observed how many women quietly wept. This was not an age of public displays of emotion or of burdens shared. What would he feel about a future generation having coffee in his local bank ? The tellers counter now the bar. Would he marvel at the small hand held device his grandson has which can access all the knowledge in the world but which is mostly used to consult the train timetable from Edinburgh ? History is a strange beast.
6 comments:
I guess we all have places that trigger memories of those departed. Walking this week in the Peak District, location of so many happy family outings in my childhood, certainly did that for me. Sheltering under a tree from a Derbyshire monsoon on Tuesday afternoon, I could hear my father, ever the optimist, saying "I can see a bit of brightness over there". I'm wondering when and how Angus learned that his grandfather was in the bank in Edinburgh when the end of the Great War was announced. And what else his grandfather told of that time?
Cheers, Gail.
An amazing moment in history, wonderfully told. I wish I had asked my grandparents and great-grandmother. My grandfather was working for FORD in the Rouge plant when WWII broke out. He told of arriving on a Monday morning and being told to cut every machine loose, by the end of the week that had retooled and converted to war production.
So often folks are asked "where were you when?" When Kennedy was shot? On 9/11? January 6th? How fortunate you are to have that poignant precise memory of your grandfather on November 11. And how fortunate we are to have you share it with us.
What a wonderful old building, and a glorious story to go with it.
What a lovely story. My favorite part was the fact that everyone was assured that a place in line would be maintained for them. Imagine! Thank you for sharing such a poignant moment with us.
mon Dieu ,ami Angus,vous avez un tel talent d ecriture et de narration !merci
Post a Comment