Sunday, 11 November 2012

The pity of war .....

"Lest we forget" (Rudyard Kipling)
I could not find the many photos I have taken over the years of poppies blowing wild in the fields of France, on those dreadful battlefields; or in gardens, or even those I have grown here for making photo-transfer flower-image cushions. So I have resorted to these artificial flowers, which I collect to stitch into fabric journals. These may never be stripped apart for they remind me of today, 11th November, when I anticipated our Church bells would ring for a service of remembrance - for all those who give their lives to deliver us from evil, no matter where or when the conflict. 

But they didn't. I remember nevertheless: living in London and going to school during the second world war. My father-in-law fought on the Somme at Beaumont Hamel and was badly injured in 1916; my uncle fought on the Normandy beaches. They never talked about these times. It has been through poetry, and diaries,  that I have discovered the horror of war: the futility, and the pity of it ....

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