War Memorial

I was walking up through town this morning when I saw Gwen from the British Legion scrubbing at one of the War Memorial's brass plaques. The area around the cenotaph was wet, where she'd already been down on her hands and knees scrubbing the flagstones. "They get moss," she said, as she took a piece of fine sandpaper to the plaque. It was coming up beautifully shiny. "Do you know, I've been here all morning," she said. "Mr John from Oscars came by, and he gave me a gallon of bleach. I've been doing this 40 years. No-one else wants to know. They'll all come for a drink at the Legion, but that's as far as it goes. The Council are supposed to do it," she continued, warming to her theme. "I asked James Gibson-Watt, when he was in charge, and they sent a man with a power hose. Well, he hosed it down and went away again - that's not what's wanted." When she'd finished the plaque on the front of the cenotaph, there were two others on the sides and two more mounted on the wall behind it. "I'm not doing those," she said. "My son's doing them. I'm not supposed to climb ladders. I've got two plastic shoulders and a metal rod up my leg - and I'm waiting to go in for my knee at any time. That's why I'm doing this while I can."
As we were talking, Richard Booth came past. "You should get an OBE for this, Gwen," he said, in greeting.
"Will you send off and get me one, Richard?" she asked.
He actually wanted to talk to her about the rooms at the back of the British Legion, which he's interested in buying. The phrase "military museum" was mentioned, and Gwen is one of the trustees responsible for the sale. "I don't mind as long as you don't want me cleaning in there," she said. "I've done enough of that over the years."