The Gallipoli Association

In which I take a trip to the RAF Club in Piccadilly to debut Voices of Gallipoli.

It’s Remembrance Day. I started writing this at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. The official end of World War I - though I’m open to entertaining the whispers that it never really ended; that it impregnated our socio-political soil like a virulent strain of mushroom that keeps popping its caps in time and space. Check out this morning’s goings-on in the former Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires for reference.

I found the Gallipoli Association online, filled out a contact form, and within a few hours my offer of a 10-minute presentation (one voice, Harvey Johns) had been accepted. I reviewed the RAF club dress code with approval. Jacket and tie, please, gentlemen. Sartorial elegance gives me the chance to integrate good manners and self-indulgence. I love to get dressed up. It gave me the chance to dust off my tailored Crane Brothers’ three-piece suit - which still fits, a decade after its first appearance on my rack.