D-Day 80th Anniversary Fenced Off from Peasants

 

 

It was the D-Day 80^th Commemoration down in Portsmouth on the 5^th June. The news would report the world watching a glorious ceremony, but for most of us behind the fifteen-foot walls, we had no idea what the veterans and dignitaries were up to. The handful of tickets for us plebs had been quickly snatched up and we’d been told the best place to watch was on the BBC so to stay away.

Being British, we didn’t listen.

 

 

I’d gotten there early enough for the six-gun salute from the frigate HMS St Albans off the coast, along with strains of God Save the King coming from behind the fence. The smell of gunpowder wafted up, then the Red Arrows flew overhead – a sensory experience probably the closest I’ll ever get to combat unless the Tories get back in and Sunak sends everyone who can’t afford university to climb unarmed out of our trenches and walk very slowly towards the Russians.

 

 

Still imagining myself both a journalist and real boy, I’d written to Councillor Steve Pitt, leader of Portsmouth Council, asking why, “unlike with the D-Day 75 commemorations, there will be no public element outside of the compound or big screens relaying the action”? I’d received no reply, but he’s a Liberal Democrat, and what more can one expect from a party that still tastes David Cameron whenever it clears its throat?

The 75^th Anniversary had seen the Queen down here along with the Trump himself. I shot some video then as there was an anti-Trump demonstration at the Guildhall but we saw nothing like that this year. I’d bumped into an old Journalism classmate at the Palestinian solidarity camp outside the university library the previous week and had expected at least one of them to give one of the rooftop snipers something to do but no, it was all very respectful here.

We do have Armed Forces Day on Saturday though and BAE Systems is the headline sponsor, so I am expecting some involvement from protesters. I’m kidding, of course there won’t be. Bae is at the Taylor Swift concert in Edinburgh – the one where all the homeless had to be chucked out the city for. I digress.

 

 

Speaking of divas, they did, however, need to bring in two Chinooks to drown out the sound of Nan spinning in her grave at the thought of Queen Camilla standing beside King Charles. She never forgave them for what happened to Diana. Thank God nothing like that would happen these days.

 

Extra police from seventeen different forces had been pulled down to assist. I know this because two days prior, I happened upon two of them donning blue plastic gloves to go through a homeless person’s belongings on a bench beside the fence. They looked startled and guilty, which was quite the role reversal. I asked one if they were going to burn the bundle of clothes and sleeping bag. He said no, just checking for anything untoward. I asked, “Like, what? An IED?” and he said no, like it was nothing. He may have thought I said IUD.

 

 

The cops down here are being very polite lately. They’ve definitely all had de-escalation and humanity training since I were a wee scamp. Some would say it’s not too much to expect the bare minimum of politeness from an officer of the law but after hearing what the MET get up to, I’ll take a fist bump over a chokehold any day.

 

The fence seemed to be doing the trick but there were still a few police boats going up and down just in case. I saw no openly carried firearms – just the horses. Some of these cops are fatter than me though so probably appreciate the rest. I only noticed two guys having a beer on the grass but, along with my Dutch courage, that was the only alcohol I spotted. I smelled some weed down at the north gate, where a modest bunch of zealots lined the road, waiting for the exit of the Royals and dignitaries.

A thin speckle of toads crippled by their mortgage payments who probably blame everything on people in boats rather than people in suits stood waving eagerly like pick-mes at a gang-bang. Poor bastards couldn’t even afford little flags. All to catch a glimpse of a man unable to wear his Mum’s old hat because the billion-pound diamond adorning it, stolen from India, has a curse that kills all men who do.

I caught a glimpse of Diana’s worst mistake zipping by almost as fast as the Chinook overhead. Then the next few cars with his eldest in sped past; Wills offering a toothsome wave, his minions offering one meek, “Woo!”

 

Everyone pretty much scattered after that. My quote of the day came from a lady, turning to her partner, “Well, that’s it. I’m not waiting for Sunak.” And it would turn out that the feeling was mutual, in that the PM would leave the events down in France the following day to pre-record another lying interview. His apology is an example of how not to pretend to be human.

In Sunak’s place, there is an absolutely appalling photo of the previously mentioned Call Me Dave Cameron – now, astonishingly, both a Lord and our Foreign Secretary – standing beside the French, German and US Leaders, rather than more deservedly locked in the village stocks being tormented by children with rocks and dog mess.

Yes, Kings and Queens but no wizards at all, and a peasantry more at risk from NHS waiting lists than dragons. I had a swig of wine and wandered back the way I’d come. People were dispersing now and the pubs would soon fill.

With the fence up, there was nothing visceral or even personal to teach the Zoomers about the sacrifice of their forefathers. Maybe they’ll all go to the D-Day museum, maybe not. I mean, they’ve grown up knowing only austerity and post-9/11 forever-war. We even have war in Europe again which could go nuclear. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell the kids to learn from the example of heroes when the grown-ups haven’t.

There was a drone display in the evening but I imagine we’ll be seeing enough drones in the coming years so gave it a miss.

Thank you for visiting my depressed slideshow. Good luck out there, fellow traveller.

PS. For a palate cleanser, let me assure you that humanity isn’t lost while we still have the music.