"They are out all day" she sighs over the phone, "I just needed a friendly face". However she perks up no end when I point out it is Sunday and she could go to church. Surprised she checks "Are you sure?"
The horse they have brought along for the little ceremony commemorating 540 years since the battle of Edgecote, refuses to have anything to do with his knight in armor. It is led the whole way around.
Local cows think it a great wheeze and dash to the fence to watch a handful of us pass. But we terrify the sheep in the next field. I take a rose that is offered and drop it in the river, from the bridge, to please the local press. But am remembering the dead soldiers while also having a flash back to Andrew in a pram crossing the same bridge. Most of the others return by car. But a few hardy souls want to return via the pretty route but don't know the way follow me.
Fiddling with his shinny bits he reveals "You get bad armor days just like bad hair days". I have had a good hair day. And all because I looked out of the window and saw a horse draped in finery.
Bit of that
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