Arromanche, not a Pink Flag in sight

British children say 'thank you' to the Veterans in Arromanche 6th June 2011

A Pink Flag flies over the town hall whilst a few yards away a handful of military standards try to pay homage to the thousands who sacrificed everything. An organiser infuriates the few participants by slobbering over a ‘dignitary’ whilst counting his wages from a dubious charity. Absent are the children to be educated, yet a disinterested holidaymaker lights a cigarette and the comment was heard, “get a blow job off a tart on that slab of concrete”.

LCI 112 was crewed by a “local boy”. No standard for him. Lennie from Leeds was still not 18 but his LCG was amongst the first craft to touch a well defended beach. It is stated that Lennie cannot make it to Blackpool promenade because he has dementia, yet no-one has asked if he would like to attend. The organisers seem very good at organising farce; that is what the theatres on the piers were famous for. But like the past fiasco over the local regiment, no-one asked the survivors. Because the veterans have an Association does not mean that Association talks for the Veterans. The Veterans have earned the right to talk for themselves and not falsely represented by big mouths and no affiliation.

A Mulberry was being slowly moved onto the beach under intense enemy fire, its only defence were the regiments of heroes fighting their way inland into the carnage of the day; English, Welsh, Irish and Scottish flesh fought side by side with Free French, Danes, Netherlanders, Polish and Empire troops, yet the Blackpool Cenotaph can muster but three veterans and the son of the HERO who had taken the Mulberry ashore on that day, the 6^th of June 1944.

The son of a crewman of the LCI112 was in Arromanche, Normandy, surrounded by thousands of foreign school children, each attempting to speak a foreign language, each thankful to the decreasing number of strange old people with their medals and badges, their laughter and tears and the smiles and handshakes from those children with no real idea of the sacrifice of others for them. The son of the crewman of LCI112 stood by the waters of the English Channel, gazed at the wrecks on the beaches and perused the daunting hills his predecessors had to scale to engage with a tyrant and obscene regime. Two 25 pounders and an ancient 5.5 artillery piece guard a modern museum and the son of the sailor scanned the thousands of pictures not knowing what his father looked like but certain he would recognise him if he was there. Back home in disrespectful Blackpool, the Cabals and Committees are talking for the son of the crew of LCI112. Not a single committee member talks to him. Not a member of the cabals recognise the treasonable actions of flying a pink flag over the Union Flag, a few yards from the most sacred symbol of service in the town.