In Ottawa, Remembrance Day (11 November) is generally chilly with a nasty wind from the northwest or pelting rain, sometimes even sleet. Our family goes to the National War Memorial on Confederation Square, and my husband (still serving) and both my brothers (retired gunners) march with the contingent of peacekeeping veterans.

Thirty years ago, when I was in the service myself, the crowds were thin; today, if you come late, you may find yourself standing two blocks from the Cenotaph, unable to see even the flags for the crowd. Sometime in the 1990s, people started clapping when the contingents of veterans march into the square. I still find that a bit jarring, like clapping in church, but the old fellas wave at their grandchildren, and if they don't mind I don't. Some who have maintained their boyish figures even wear what's left of their uniforms; most at least their uniform cap.

I go to remember my Dad, a Royal Navy veteran, who always marched with the Navy contingent, and Himself, my scoundrel of a grandfather, who I remember in a wheelchair waving his stick at the band of the Black Watch, his old regiment, as they swung by. When I inevitably have to wipe my nose with my sleeve, I always have plenty of company. When the salute starts, fired by a battery on Parliament Hill, I always jump our of my skin, and half the city shakes.

Jewish people observe the anniversary of a death (the Jahrzeit) by visiting the grave to pray, and they place a pebble on the tombstone when they leave. Remembrance Day and Memorial Day work the same way, with wreaths and bouquets instead of a pebble.

I always thought the gloomy weather of November added an important sombre note to Remembrance Day. Certainly the anniversary of the end of the Battle of the Atlantic, observed on the first Sunday in May, is less atmospheric, as the parade is often held on the first really warm day of the spring, all a-bloom with daffodils and crocuses.