Sunday 23 March 2008
In Which We Serve . . .
. . . was on the telly – again – this afternoon. So of course I watched it. For perhaps the 20th time.
And as per bloody usual I blubbed more or less throughout.
Funny thing is that even though it's my own childhood I'm mourning, even manly tears were frowned on then.
They fall much more easily now.
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2 comments:
DB
In that case we blubbed together this afternoon. We weep because we are weeping for rather more than our childhoods: it's for a lost world of understatement, fellow-feeling, unashamed - but unstated - patriotism, absence of fear (from thugs or those in authority) and many other things which I cannot pass on to my children who were born in the 70s.
Yes, of course. There were certainties then, taken for granted, which no amount of flag-waving, bogus, Brown-style Britishness would have made any more true. They simply existed.
There's tons to be said about this.
Big post coming (if I can bestir myself).
Good to know I am not alone.
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