When, in the 1960s, everyone was peace and flowers but for a few of us; we few kept the warheads at the NATO airfield in Germany.  We trained hard, but, a few of us died far too easily.  And, when some pilot punched his last CF 104 Starfighter into the ground his mom and dad would get a phone call.  Within three days they would be back at home.  But those three days would take them from proud parents of a young man who had left some small town too few years ago ... to devastation.  The flight to Europe ... the cavalcade from Germany to a height of land in France ... the return to some small town in Canada; all within three days.

And, I would stand off to one side and behind the parents, with trumpet in my hand, the honour guard, men on either side of the casket, the padre.....the"Last Post"....  The flag laid over the casket like a blanket of a thousand sorrows ... his hat all cleaned and shiny, facing his mom and dad as though to offer them one last apology