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Sunday, November 11, 2007

Remembrance Sunday

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
Mary Frye (possibly)

Today is Remembrance Sunday when for 2 minutes at 11am the country observes 2 minutes silence. Well it sort of does.

Although I think it is important to remember those who fought, so that people like I could sit here and be free to type this drivvle I am a bit nervous of remembrance Sunday.

Apparently we remember the those lost in the two world wars and subequent conflicts, does seem a bit unfair on previous generations. In 50 years time will be view the deaths of the those of WWI in the same light as we do other "historic" casualties.

Modern conficts seem to add a political edge which leaves me uncomfortable.

But whatever our race, religion or politics we should not lose sight of the fact that a generation of men gave their lives so that you and i dear reader could be here now.

Rupert Brooke is a much better writer than me....

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

1 comment:

Tricia said...

Pete - I find both of those poems quite moving - always will.

My father was killed in WW2 - but I often think of him; and all those others who gave us the life we have.

In time, generations may forget but I hope they never had to live through what their forebears did - either those in the forces or those at home.

Thank you.