Respect

Its Not Duty. Its Respect

So less than 12 hours in the country, there I am suited and booted in a minibus starting a 3 hour journey on ‘roads’ and I use the word loosely – more like rough tracks which have occasionally seen some asphalt, and that’s just in the fringes of the capital city before we are en route to the rural parts of Bangladesh.  The mission (and it felt like one) was to attend the remembrance service at Comilla where the commonwealth graves reside.  

Now when Madam, a few days prior to this taking place and I was over 5000 miles away, suggested that she thought it would be good to attend, I went not a problem.  Now I realised that being a TS (Trailing Spouse), there will be a number of things I will have to ‘dutifully do’ such as attend events, never mind doing the shopping, keeping the house (what an old fashioned phrase), organising and probably cooking for the endless round of dinner parties and managing the staff – more on that one to come. 

In other words when Madam says, one jumps!  When she asks in the morning before going to work ‘what are you doing today darling’, god help you if you don’t have any answer.  So far saying ‘Stuff’ works – not sure for how long though.

Anyhow, so when Madam said it would be good if we were there, but I fully understand that you have just entered a new country to a new life, in a different time zone with 6 hours of difference and in temperatures of 25C+ as well as all the tiny things that fly and bite – one realised we were already attending.  Now this is where the role of the TS digresses slightly.  I didn’t feel it was my duty to attend - to accompany and support Madam. I wanted to attend!

There is one thing which the British leads the world – remembering those that have given their life to protect others.  The Commonwealth War Graves Commission tends the graves of all those British and importantly, those nations in the commonwealth that helped in whatever action that has taken place.  So on arrival at Comilla located close to the Myanmar border (for those of you whose geography is not up to scratch, in old money - Burma) there was this stunning oasis with neatly ordered white crosses, surrounded by tendered gardens.  In the middle of this serenity was a small hill which stood a simple monument remembering those who had fallen.

Now why Comilla you ask to locate the memorial – I asked.  It was the location of the field hospital during the Burma campaign, due to the proximity to the border and thus the most appropriate place for the memorial and graves to lie.  A simple service, led by the British High Commissioner took place with representatives from a number of Commonwealth High Commissions and other Missions standing in silence, followed by the laying of a wreath representing their nation.  Simple, beautiful and moving.

The journey back to Dhaka, took longer and even was more harrowing, as by that time, the Bangladeshi population had conducted their prayers and were on the roads.  If you are a budding stock car racer – this is the place to learn.  Want to learn evasive driving – this is the place to learn.  However, in some ways this was all insignificant to what took place earlier.  I wanted to be there and remember and believed very much I was not there for duty.  It was for respect.