Showing posts with label Braintree & Bocking War Memorial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Braintree & Bocking War Memorial. Show all posts

Friday 8 March 2024

A Walk in the Public Gardens


I was very gallus today, I ventured across to the Public Gardens, a place I have not seen for a while.  Once I was here early every morning, before the kiddies arrive. It may be I have not entered this place since cold November. 


Once, this formed part of the garden on the Courtauld family.  Then, as was their family way, they donated this half to the townspeople.  Later, the house and the rest of the gardens became the High School.  Public gardens were a very Victorian pleasure at the time.  This explains the excellent layout, the huge Cedar trees, two in number, which dominate the green space, and the wide variety of trees and shrubs that were planted way back then.  


What had been the gardeners cottage, built in the usual Courtauld 'Arts & Crafts' style, red brick with blue designs throughout, is now used as a coffee shop, partly to make money for the gardens, partly for old people to meet.  
I avoided this.


The sky was blue, the east wind chilly, and few people were around.  Even the kiddie play area was empty, though one or two passed by.  Some healthy people even played amateurish tennis for some reason.  That is, hitting the ball from one side to the other and going outside the large mesh fence to collect the balls gathering over there.


Under the towering Cedar we find this stone with added brass plate attached.  The gardener might have been good at his job, however, he failed to indicate that planting such a tree under the Cedar meant it would not get as much light as required, hence the Oak does not reach as high as it may.  It still lives mind, and is well taken care off.  I wonder what happened to the old clerk?


The auto-focus on my pretend Leica kept annoying me.  No matter which setting I chose it would wait until I was ready then blur the picture.  I love technology!  Almost by accident I found this wee flower in focus beside me.  No idea what they are called, there is a sign somewhere but I could not be bothered looking, but I am once again in wonderment at such fragrant 'Lilies of the Valley,' here today and gone tomorrow, yet designed so well, so colourful, and so attractive.  In a short time the gardens will be full of such things. 



Of course I passed the war memorial.  The wee crosses are lined up well.  I knew one name, found I think two others, the other one may be a civilian 'killed by enemy action' elsewhere.  In spite of everything people still remember correctly.  
 

A very blurred picture of a 'Dunnock.'  This, along with a young 'un and a Wren with tail in the air, were feeding ahead of me.  These would not wait while I focused so snapshot at distance it was.  Being close to midday most birds were elsewhere today, and I will not be there early when they come down for breakfast.  


In Victorian fashion the Courtauld's were not afraid to leave signs indicating what they had done for the town.  Indeed, this family gave schools, churches, doctors, houses and even a Hospital to the town.  There has been many similar donations to the other towns where they established Mills.  All this has been much appreciated.
There is zero chance of any Conservative Cabinet Millionaire doing similar today.


Cutting down an old tree and leaving it in an ordered disordered fashion has produced results.  This area allows wildlife, some far too small to be seen, to thrive.  I did not seek them out.  



The Daffs may be out but the stark branches show that we are not yet fully into Spring.  This means my Spring Cleaning may be left awhile, again...


Sunday 12 November 2023

Remembrance 2023: Braintree and Bocking

A long day.
Before 7:30 I was printing of several sheets for today's remembrance at the church.
I was doing the remembrance bit, so I ran off what I had come up with to ensure others knew what I was doing.  Then I had to write the prayer as I also had intercessions to do.  I was not happy with the half hearted manner in which I scribbled them down and printed them off.
I hobbled in dying shoes to church and was greeted as always by pretty young girls (of dubious age). 
Then discussed with the relevant people the organisation of the morning, and collapsed into my seat.
Sadly, there was no Brandy available from the medicine cupboard.
The time came, I done my piece, very nervously, babbling somewhat as the time was not rushing up to the 11 am hour.  I actually called out the memoriam at 10:59, and could see the man trying to play the 'Last Post' checking his watch.
We got through this, adding the national anthem (English), remembering to say 'King' and not 'Queen,' though I did not sing at all, and then I departed back to my place.
Not long after I was again at the front, less nervous, going through what I thought were poor, badly thought out prayers.
Then it was all over.
As I wished to rush home and eat before heading to the Town Remembrance I made for the door.  Three women stopped me, both praising my efforts and taking solace from my words.  There were stories unheard to hear, but I was rushing out.  How I wished I could have stayed and heard them all talk!  Typically these women do not do emails, so I canny find out more!  It will be forgotten next week.

Just after 2pm I was limping around the Gardens watching the service begin.  Having been running around (this is not to be taken literally) all week, and today's efforts at church, I was far from bright and cheery.  Indeed I almost missed the beginning of the service and interrupted everything!


I made no effort to climb up high as I usually do, the shame of falling flat on my face in coming down again put me off somewhat.  So, from a distance I snapped out of focus shots, and tried to find interesting pictures.



Such a shame the autofocus caught the women at the side.  His yawn was what I was looking for.

I browbeat one or two so I could picture their medals.  I want pictures of todays, and recent soldiers on the page so we realise that remembrance is not just about the dead from long ago.  We must remember those serving now, and those who served both between the wars and since 1945.  There are few memorials to them.

As always the Fire Service was represented.  


And as always a strong police presence was to be seen.

The service followed the usual British Legion pattern.  However, I noticed the crowd was well down on last year.  Many come of course, just to see their kid march.  Not all care about the war dead or what they see as wars from long ago.
 

Before it ended my flabby bulk was telling me to go home.  So, I trotted slowly up the hill, up the stairs, and began sorting the pictures.  Some of these I then put in the Braintree & Bocking Great War website, as I had promised the medal wearers.  Naturally it did not work, and much cursing was to be heard before it went up successfully.  I also added to the WW2 version but will finish that one tomorrow.


A young lady from the Sea Cadets came along, reflecting the various organisations many young men and women join before continuing on into the armed forces, if they are up to it.  Even if they do not enlist they will have had a great time for the most part and most likely avoid the dangers of having nothing to do.   
 
So, until next year.


Monday 14 November 2022

Remembrance Today


At two in the almost sunny Sunday afternoon the congregation gathered to pay their respects to the war dead.  Amongst them were many men, and a few women, who endured active service and saw their colleagues and friends suffer and sometimes die in action.
Before 1914 the wars Britain became involved in were far from home.  Colonial wars, Crimea, South Africa, and early in the 19th century fighting Napoleon in Portugal and Spain, before the end at Waterloo.  The public were not concerned much apart from the shortage of some goods, such as Brandy during Napoleon's time, and anyway smuggling was popular.  Soldiers travelled the world, fought and died far from home, as sailors had done for generations.  The public were involved only at a distance.


For many years people had realised war with Germany was likely.  Patriotism was at a high, even though History was badly taught, and the wide spread of newspapers, from which most people were informed, were at best propaganda, and at worst deliberately false.  
Being a soldier was a respectable occupation.  Since the middle of the 19th century the military mind affected all parts of society, so much so that William Booth's outreach in the east end of London took the name 'Salvation Army,' and not long afterwards the copycats at the Anglican church joined in with the 'Church Army.'   
The army had been reformed under the Haldane reorganisation, led by General Haig.  Now we had 25 Front Line regiments, of two battalions each.  One was stationed at home, the other abroad.  Also the various militia were reformed into the Territorial Force, ostensibly for Home Defence only.  These did however, allow men to play soldiers, learn the basics of warfare, and, in a time of few holidays, gave them suitable exercise at weekends and on general annual manoeuvres.  With a possible war looming did some men enlist in the Territorials in preparation for this?  
As any General knows, you plan for a war, prepare carefully, train your men, and off you go, and watch your plan disintegrate in the resulting stramash.  All things change once war is entered upon.  The UK found this to be true in 1914.  British opinion was led to expect a short war, a few months only they said.  This was considered likely elsewhere, even the Kaiser believed his men would be home by Christmas.  It was easy to forget that the Boer War, such a short time before, had taken some four years before it ended.  How dismayed were the politicians at the first war Cabinet meeting when Field Marshall Kitchener informed them the war would take at least three years and he must raise another hundred thousand men.  They did not believe him! The Generals understood what could happen if a war of movement was halted, no politician appears to have considered this a possibility. Nonetheless, when war was declared on August 4th men everywhere rushed to the colours, many afraid they would miss the excitement.


Come November 1918 opinions differed somewhat from the days of early excitement.  The surviving men who volunteered then were not the same men in 1918.  The world had changed, the war had been won, something people often forget, but at a great cost, both 'at the front,' and 'at home.'
The most reliable figures I have come across tell me that 704,803 men died in action.  Of these some 338,955 are as yet undiscovered or unidentified.  It is from this great loss that 'remembrance' as we know it springs.


The question "What to do with the bodies," caused much wringing of hands and cursing throughout the land.  Some people, at least those with money, broke the law and brought back their own loved ones, their 'heroes,' rather than follow the final decision to bury men where they fell.  Outrage abundant.  Bodies were collected, I think those doing the job, many soldiers themselves or often Chinese labourers, were paid six shillings a d ay for the often gruesome work.  Scattered bodies, small cemeteries, were collected together in large organised places near where they fell.  These today, run by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, are peaceful well tended resting places revealing nothing of the conflict that caused their creation.  
In the UK however, many did not have a place in which to commemorate their dead.  So by the middle of the 1920s local war memorials sprang up everywhere.  Large cities and towns created often huge memorials, local towns and villages did their best, even if it was just a plaque in a church.  On these were graven the names of the dead, alongside slogans such as 'Our Glorious Dead,' 'Not Forgotten,' 'They Died so we could be Free,' and the names of battlefields they fought over, 'Mons, Ypres, Loos, Somme, Cambrai, Passchendaele.'  A glance at such memorials tells much about the town or village where they are found, and the great cost to the population of the time.  


The return and burial in Westminster Cathedral of the 'Unknown Warrior' in 1920 was much heralded by many.  Women especially believed, some through dreams and visions, that this was their husband, son, brother.  Thousands lined the streets as he was paraded through the city.
At the same time a Cenotaph, made from wood, was erected in Whitehall.  The empty tomb lying at the top symbolising the missing.  This idea, copied from the ancient Greek fashion, was highly popular and within a year a more solid cenotaph, made I think of Portland Stone, was erected.
As the memorials closer to home began to appear in city, town and village, the locals turned out to 'remember' their was dead.  Many an Honour Guard on duty at the opening or remembrance ceremonies could well remember and speak of the situation of those named on the memorial.  Often not willing to discuss this publicly in front of the families.  Many names were of course their brothers.
Occasionally in the following years some were able to travel to distant parts to stand alongside their dead.  The majority however, were struggling to survive themselves without the 'Homes made for heroes,' that had been promised.  Thousands of ex-servicemen, especially the wounded, were more or less abandoned to their fate.  
The wives, mothers, children of the dead, and possibly those who so eagerly encouraged enlistment in their locale, now had a place where they could annually remember the sacrifice of their own.  An event continued until their own passing.


 Flanders Fields are at the right time ablaze with red poppies.  During the 1920s the idea began in Canada to commemorate the war dead by the wearing of a red poppy each year.  The idea carried on and now is controlled by the 'British Legion,' (In Scotland 'Poppy Scotland.') and is used to raise money to support their work with wounded servicemen.  It remains highly popular, and while some refuse to wear them, others have designed white, blue or black, poppies for reasons of their own, the Poppy is worn by the majority of the population during the two weeks up to the Remembrance Day on November 11th.  
It is something of a shame that it has been highjacked by many for reasons of their own.  Some consider it encourages or supports war, others, mostly the English Brexit fraternity have taken to it in a big way.  This is not to commemorate or remember, for them it reflects a historic past in which 'England' (not Britain) ruled the world.  A society that has seen Irish independence, Scots nearing independence and has nothing of note within itself bar a failed Brexit, desperately uses anything, the poppy included, to give meaning to their lives.        


There are questions these days regarding the meaning of remembrance.  Many voices are heard today claiming 'it was so long ago,' and people who served are now dying off.  "What is the point?"  Such people need to understand how History affects them today as they themselves are a product of these two great conflagrations that rocked the world.  As it is, in the crowd gathered at this memorial were many who knew an uncle or father who left to join the war in the 1940s.  Others have researched their family tree to find out more about grandad or great grandad and his war record.  Relatives of the dead still gather, remembering stories told by aunts and uncles re the one who did not return.  In spite of the time people still remember.  Indeed, since 2014 many more have taken thought to the war dead, and more so when they have relatives who have served, and sometimes died, in one of the UKs more recent actions, Iraq, Afghanistan, or at the 40th centenary of the Falklands Conflict.  The war dead are not just dead in the (to some) distant past, they are family and friends of many gathered at memorials on Sunday.  The two world wars affected each of us living today, at least indirectly, the lesser wars, which will continue until the next global one, affect many of us daily.  We would be foolish to forget those we have lost.


Friday 11 November 2022

November 11th 2022

 


As always a two minutes silence is held at 11 am today.  Many, but not all, throughout the nation stopped for two minutes to 'remember.'  I dug out some photos of graves of local men, this one, Fred Bonner, he lies buried in the town cemetery.  He was wounded during December 1916 and landed in hospital in Huddersfield.  You were sent to any hospital that could take you at that time.  During February he developed Blood Poisoning, quite common at the time, there was no Penicillin until later, and died aged a mere 20 years.  
It is strange that when you are 20 you consider yourself a man, when you are somewhat older you consider being 20 very young.  A very young age to die.  It has however, always been the way that soldiers, from time immemorial, have ranged from 18 - 25 years of age.  Certainly many fight on for many years, little option for most, I think the Greek states consider you military age when between 18 and 60, and everyone had to enlist.  But 20 is a young age to die, especially slowly and in pain.  Fred was buried, surrounded by friends and family near home.  His brother also died.


Where is Jesus when there is a war on?
He is right there in the middle of it!
Jesus warned that 'Wars and rumours of wars' would continue, God is well aware of the sin in this world that allow such things.  We all know where it comes from, our human nature!  We all possess the same fallen nature.  Only the death and resurrection of Jesus can save us from this.
Two major wars, many, many other was since then, several still ongoing today, Ukraine, Syria, Democratic Congo, Cameroon, and other wars small and large awaiting their opportunity.  Maybe we ought to cease asking "Where is God in war?" and just give him thanks that without his Holy Spirits control things would be a great deal worse for us all.

Sunday 14 November 2021