M was too tired to drive to North London and this time, we went together to the station. Parking is a nightmare these days, ever since they decorated the roads near the station with yellow lines. We parked about half a mile away and walked through Brookwood Cemetery, famous as a military cemetery, of course. Although I once took a guided tour through part of Brookwood, I’ve never seen this part of the cemetery. There was row upon row of American and British war graves, dating back to WW1, immaculately kept, many with a simple rose or single flower. This slightly austere but elegant style dates back to Lutyens, I imagine. At one time bodies were brought to ‘Death Station’ from Waterloo. Thanks to that, we continue to have a good local station, even if we have no parking places.
We allowed too much time for walking at both ends and were miles too early, so sat in a café, hiding from the rain for an hour. The service at Golders Green crematorium was quite a revelation. I didn’t know, for example that my cousin, Gerald, had been a champion boxer, nor that he was in the paratroopers, and I had no idea that he was a hero. I didn’t know we had heroes in our family, because I’ve never been a risk taker, and I imagined that applied to the rest of my family. I was wrong.
My cousin, was not, it seems, an entertainments officer in the prison camp where he ended up in WW2, because he had already been wounded in action. Here’s a piece I found about him, when I came home and searched the net.
On the 19th September 1944, West of Arnhem, Private Flamberg's company, after almost continuous fighting since they dropped the day before, delivered two attacks on a strong enemy position. They were held up each time and suffered considerable casualties. A number were collected, of whom Flamberg was one, by Lieutenant C Silvester, Brigade Liaison Officer, and led in a third time. There was heavy fire and in the supposition that it was from our own troops, Flamberg was sent out into the open with a recognition triangle. He was met by a German tank which immediately opened up and put a bullet through his shoulder and remaining there in action, pinned the Company at about 200 yards. Flamberg crawled back, and concealing his distress, cheerfully asked and obtained permission to attack the tank with a Gammon bomb. He then stalked the tank, working up to within ten yards of it, in great pain with one arm useless. He threw the bomb and damaged the tank so that it hastily withdrew, opening the way for the Company to which Flamberg, as cheerfully as ever, then returned. The tremendous fighting spirit and fine example of this man was of the highest importance in its effect on the troops, who then went in to hand fighting in the best of spirits as consequence of it.
When he returned from the war, supposedly against fascism, he was horrified to find that Oswald Mosley, released from prison, was once again building up a following of fascists in England. Together with other ex-servicemen, he was instrumental in forming The 43 Group, who fought fascism at home, possibly by unorthodox means, during the next five years.
At the funeral his granddaughter and grandson, wore with pride, respectively, his red beret, and his military medals.We went back to the family's flat for refreshments afterwards, and I talked so long to relatives I hadn’t seen for years that we didn’t arrive back at Brookwood till around 11.00 p.m. Then we had the creepy walk through the cemetery, back to our car. I would never have done that on my own (not least because I would have lost my way and walked round and round in circles.)
Today, we have been to a lovely lunch party to celebrate a friend’s anniversary and birthday. Tomorrow, we’re out to lunch too. Back to work on Monday.
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