Years ago, it was easy and cheap to rent an old house that had been mistreated in one way or another. Some friends and I did so, in a changing neighbourhood. The place was slowly going commercial, being on a main street in a largish city; but a long way from Downtown.
Next door on one side was a Chinese herbalist, and on the other was a vacant lot. A house similar to ours had been either demolished or moved.
One day, at the crack of dawn, we were all awakened by the rousing strains of bagpipe music. We blearily dragged ourselves outdoors to see what was going on. We saw a small group of people in the vacant lot next door. There were a couple of really elderly men in WW I tunics, several middle-aged men in WW II uniforms, assorted wives and offspring, and the piper.
The old soldiers who were actually ambulatory marched toward the front of the lot, wheeled left, and left again, and again, to complete the square. A chaplain said a few words, and a shovel was produced from some hidden recess. A sod got turned, pictures taken, more bagpipe music played, and then they all packed up and went away. All this at about 7:00 AM. And, with no regard to an audience, as there were no newspapers, and just us, a bunch of irreverent college kids, yawning over the fence.
The groundbreaking was for a new Canadian Legion Post.
I cried.
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