A 60th anniversary

Sixty years ago my parents were married: this is the only picture I have seen that records the day. My mother is Flemish, from the villages around Ieper, unmemorable but for the carnage of the first world war. My father met her at the end of another war, not uncommon for the time, I imagine. Less common perhaps, they were married in Belgium, having but few words to share, and not, I suspect, having the full blessing of her family. Then my father returned home to England and my mother followed later. Both no doubt had expectations that came crashing up against rationing and reality. Those early years were hard for both: for my mother loneliness, a new country, a language to learn, a new child (me), and money tight, and for my dad, sudden unwelcome responsibility for a young man, robbed of his youth by a war. But "human resilience" kicks in, neighbours were good in practical ways, and 60 years on, the evidence is there for me to see. Your Flemish may be limited, your French and German gone, but you beat my dad at scrabble most nights, so I guess you learnt enough English!
Enjoy your day in peace.

"Yet do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young."

Shakespeare, Sonnet 19, closing lines