Down to Suffolk for my uncle’s memorial service. He spent most of his life as Principal of a school in Belfast – Royal Belfast Academical Institution – including during the Troubles. Before setting off in the morning he routinely checked the car underneath for bombs. But he had been in the Royal Marines during the war, in Muckle Flugga in Shetland, and then in the Normandy landings.
There was a bugler from the Marines sent up from Portsmouth to this little country church with cowslips in the churchyard.
We stood under a tree in blossom as his ashes were interred and the bugler played the Last Post, and the standard was lowered. Then silence and committal. And then, amazingly, the Reveille, waking us all up and blowing the tears away.
It was Resurrection in sound.