A Trip to Waterstones

 

Decided this morning to take action against the 'stir crazy' feeling that has developed around here.  I checked the bus times online, decided I was going to miss the 10:09 so noticing there was a different bus at 10:24 strode manfully for that.  It was not to be found.  Instead the No 70 I was looking for is now a No 370.  The 42B at 10:24 no longer appears to exist, according to the timetable on the shelter at the new bus station at any rate, so 370 it was to be.  

The screen informed me the next 370 would be along in 9 minutes.

I believed them.  

I was right to do so, 9 minutes later the bus pulled into the bay, the wrong bay, but into a bay.  Not quite the 'Zimmer' bus as of old I note this one.  This lot were more the ten different coloured pills a day lot I think.  Anyway, we clambered aboard and slowly the bus made its way out of the terminus and wound round a new route to the far off city. 

 

 

It being almost three years since I last ventured out this way I was as happy as a kid going on holiday.  I expected to see change, and change there was.  Many new housing developments have arisen.  With a Tory controlled council it is no suprise to note these are all houses costing from £400,000 and rising, so as to bring in more Tory voters.  I must admit a sense of growing discontent about this.  Not that I can ever buy, but to purchase a one bed flat here requires about £18,000 deposit, and even then the mortgage people may not accept you.  An actual cheap house may be found at the £300,000 mark, but unless you have one to sell, who can afford this?  

 

Fifty or so minutes later we landed in town and I hastened slowly towards the Cathedral.  There is nothing much else but shops in this town, and I wanted only one of them.  I actually wished to look at the bookstall in here, and on this quiet  day I found a lack of books, a mere smattering on the shelves.  The Diocese office keeps the best ones in their bookshop.  I was not going there.

 

I sat opposite this window, much brighter in reality than in this poor picture, the first time I have really noticed it.   Somewhat Victorian to me.  Just looking at it now I noticed a wee man high up on the left side.  A closer look indicates this is Andrew, according to the cross he holds, and maybe next time I am in I will look again, and with the better camera.  

I departed soon after I had mused sufficiently, hesitating when mistaken for an employee by a young lady entering the building.  Have I sunk so low I actually look like an Anglican now?

 

 

Waterstones was the shop I was heading to.  Here, my £20 gift voucher in hand, I perused each shelf, each table, and almost the Costa coffee shop before I noticed the prices, and, eventually making my purchase and discovering I had £10 on my Waterstones card also.  This I will keep until the next time, probably next week and visit the Camoludunum shop.  

In spite of the masses of books available I was a bit disappointed.  None of them jumped out at me this time, however, after wandering around, almost shoving an unwilling to move woman from one table, and stopping a more polite one from moving at another, I managed to find three books to bring home to the bookshelves.  As always it is a bit of a gamble, will these actually be worth someone else's money?  Will I enjoy them?  Will I find time to read them in between sloth and stuffing my face?     

 

 

The trouble is, I only have one more book token to use, but there are several books I consider I ought to consider.  Maybe I need to drop hints with the family again...?

 

Ridiculous as it sounds I almost went the wrong way heading back to the bus.  Tsk!  I intended to pass throught the market and check out one or two stalls.  On the correct route I passed this.  At first I thought it was the 'Wicker Man,' but it turns out to be a war memorial.

The memorial itself commemorates the Boer War, a massive block elsewhere remembers the Great War, but this one always has a presentation of sorts in November.  Not sure what that is made from but it is well done.

I passed through the very large indoor market, obtaining a variety of meat from the butcher and accidentally purchasing two large slabs of cheese from the cheese stall.  The nurse will not be pleased.  It is a log time since I have been here, these two stalls have not changed, and many of the other stalls remain in place, including the one selling aged cameras at inflated prices.

 

Somewhat surprised at my energy I went to the bus station.  At the stop the numbers indicated had changed.  I queried this with a driver hesitating to begin his shift.  He informed me how things had been revised, where my stop now was, and we both laughed when I asked why there was now a Number 70, as well as a Number 370 bus on the same routes.  "I have no idea," he said holding wide his arms.  We both laughed at the managers and clever people high up who direct things but never see them in action on the ground.

I checked the bus stop.  Lots of old pill pushers stood there.  The indicator claimed the No 70 was coming in 34 minutes, the C1 (what's that?) in 1 minute.  I went to the 'Tesco Express,' bought an overpriced bottle of water, returned to the stop to find only a couple waiting.  The C1 went off to the Hospital taking the pill pushers with it.  Now the indicator said No 370 in 6 minutes.  I sat of the two rails that form a poor seat and the No 370 drew in behind me!  

Catching a bus takes lots of patience, exercise, sarcasm and hope in this area I find.   Still, I was heading home.

 

What delight to see old houses (costing a million) blue sky, green grass, growing crops and hedges filled with birds flapping about.  Though to be honest it was mostly Crows I heard murmering.  It was good to be out, especially as the day passed quickly with no troubles.  Within three hours I had returned, eaten lunch and began to stiffen up.  A good day, which I will pay for tomorrow.

 

Gardens in the Morning

Early this morning I took myself over to the gardens before the mums arrived with their kids.  It was quiet, the top gate was blocked off so almost no-one was there, jolly good I say.  

 
The idea was twofold, to loosen my aches from yesterday and to play with the manual settings on the camera. The bones creak still and the camera produced a great many failed shots!  At least one creature stirred in the gardens this white cat that yelled along after me, I am not sure whether it was lost or hungry, I suspect both.

The cat and I wandered slowly among the trees, he meowing not me, until we separated near the grass part.  Being not long after nine I expected more people but in times past I have arrived early and in the quiet found many birds and creatures going about their business, maybe the early morning heat was putting wildlife off.

   
The barking high above me announced this wee man who was upset about something.  I had noticed one other squirrel running about and maybe this is he possibly upset because all others have gone to ground.  His bark, there is no other word for the noise emanating from him, his bark could be heard everywhere, very loud for such a wee creature.  I did speak to him but he just turned his back on me.

   
Then the disappointed seagulls hovered around.  Disappointed because there was little in the way of foodstuffs to fight over, normally early on there is something left lying about.  How do birds cope with the heat, let alone other weather situations?  It seems to me they appear at the hanging feeders less in high temperatures possibly because other food is more readily available, possibly it is just too hot?  I know not why?  Gulls fly in to feed on farmland and return in the evening to the estuary to sleep on the sea, rather them than me.  There were only a handful of them around today also.

I almost got this purple thing right.  Few flowers around except those planted by the garden staff, mostly green stuff at the moment, except for the grass which is like hay.

This wreath lay at the memorial today but I am unsure who it represents.  At first I thought it was referring to the Korean War, also called the Forgotten War as few wanted to know about it at the time and few know about it know.  Between 1950 and 1953 the Korean peninsula was the scene of the first UN operation, many nations participated but the UK sent a relatively small number of troops (led by Australians) so soon after the second world war, several thousand died mind.  On the other hand it reads '16 Med' which could refer to the RAMC in which '16 Med' serve today with the 16th Airborne Division.  I do with people would make things clear for my little mind.

 
What is this all about?  This took several attempts with manual setting before I got one that I could actually see that is what this is about!  What is it?  I have no idea...

A Criticism.

Daily Telegraph

The Tower of London has become the scene of what is described as an 'artwork' commemorating the First World War.  This was as you will recall involved the United Kingdom from the 4th of August 1914 right up to the armistice at 11 am on the 11th day of November 1918.  Around 10 million died, possibly many more.  The UK lost 750,000 soldiers plus men at sea and in the air. Between the armistice and the beginning of the Second World War on the 3rd of September 1939 thousands more died of the effects of war through gas inhalation or wounds that never truly healed.  Guilt at actions taken, guilt at surviving while others died, stress, unbalanced minds and the difficulty of relating to those around them also caused death and suffering to the survivors.  Those who remained at home also changed, and change was in the air before the war, they too suffered even though for many life improved.  The twenties did not see a better life for the returning'heroes,' often unemployment and despair were their lot.  They had returned victorious having won the the war and found despair all too often.

To commemorate this event the museums, churches, military organisations, football clubs and others have organised a variety of events.  Most are heartfelt and represent individuals and organisations who commemorate the fallen annually.  Some however worry me. This display at the Tower has brought thousands to walk around admiring the poppies.   People travel from across the nation to see the event, and that is for me the worry, 'the event.'  For many this commemoration will be just another event, like the queens jubilee or some royals wedding.  An event in which those who participate enjoy the spectacular more than the commemoration.  

The UK has in recent years began to remember fallen troops in a manner that had passed away in the 60's.  Northern Ireland, the Falklands and the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts have brought home the men who serve and the cost they pay.  However for far too many exhibitions such as that at the Tower do not commemorate, indeed they celebrate and offer something interesting to see and enjoy but takes away from what the Great War actually meant to those who were there.  

Armistice Day will dawn, the events will cease, many exhibitions close, plays run their course and then the nation will return to the daily grind and forget once again.  The 'event' has ended. 

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Butchers, Bakers & Candlestick Makers.

I like this picture, though I can't trace where it came from. Wounded men, around 1915, heading back to hospital.  Walking wounded from many regiments.  Note the shorts on one, the kilt on another, the bandages, the tickets authenticating their wounds.  I like this because it shows them together, all for one, probably in pain, being held up for a photograph for the folks back home.  

I was given a list of dead Great War soldiers details recently and have been adding them to the website I raised for them, Braintree & Bocking War Memorial,  and am intrigued by the types of work in which they or their relatives were employed.  Quite a few appeared to be 'sons of a horseman on a farm,' which makes sense in this country area.  However when did you last see horses in daily employment?  At the time of the Great War farms were dominated by horse drawn equipment and a large number of men were employed in their care, a ploughman being a very skilled operator. Agricultural labourers also abounded and one or two who served had that delightful (ha!) work as the war began.  Dunfermline Co-op did use horse drawn vehicles even in the early 60's, and the 'St Cuthbert's Co-op in Edinburgh had them in the early 70's if memory serves me right, although few were still in daily use.  Occasional Brewers Drays are seen in various places throughout the country. Horse grooms and ploughmen just don't exist as such today.  

I am also intrigued by the change in the shopping patterns.  Several men were sons of Grocers, others were Butchers and no such shops appear today.  Actually I am wrong, a butcher still exists here but the only Fruit & Veg left are stalls on market day.  These shops, along with almost all Bakers, have now been replaced with large supermarkets containing pretend Bakers, Butchers and the like instead.  While many women enjoyed the flirting that resulted in the shopkeepers desperation to obtain their cash it also meant a trek between several shops, sometimes a distance apart, although it did make them fitter than today's lass who has to spend time at the gym to keep her figure.

Foremen in the Boot Factory or employees of a Mat Factory also appear,  and it is many years since we stopped making boots in the UK.  I'm sure someone still does somewhere by even the great factories in East Anglia have long gone, probably to China.  Who makes Mats?  India I wonder?  Even those employed by the big iron foundry, who employed large numbers of females to make munitions, or Crittall's and their famous steel window frames, are a distant memory today.  Crittall's existed a few years ago, I almost had a day's employment there myself, but moved away and I am not sure it still operates today.  The iron foundry, like the rest are now housing estates that leave people  struggling to pay the mortgage.   So many businesses that men fought four long years for no longer exist, and those that do, like agriculture, have changed immeasurably in the century that has passed by.  Once thirty or more men worked on a  farm, now there is only two, with a third to power the machinery during harvest time.  House painters and Publicans have not changed that much, neither I suspect have solicitors!  The street layout is similar but the buildings that survived two wars, and not all did, are much changed.  Hopefully we can discover how many men obtained their jobs again once they returned, in many places they did not!  

A hundred years is not a long time when looked at from a historical viewpoint.  Much similarity remains, but the world is a very different place.  Cars now growl where horses plodded, long working hours are replaced by shorter hours and long paid holidays, heavy labour is much reduced by machinery, and women do all the shopping in one day, making him carry it to the car and drive her home.  Washing machines and Microwaves, electricity for all, and the wonder of radio & TV would frighten the ploughman more than they would the horses.  While rail travel enabled long distance travel most folks did not venture far, today they holiday in Spain, or even Hawaii.  The NHS heals most of the sickness soldiers took for granted and dole money and pensions are a godsend to one and all.   The men pictured above may well have survived the war, although that looks very much like a 1915 picture, and they would have benefited from the advances.  What would those who did not survive think if told today I wonder?  

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Remembrance

I attended the Remembrance ceremony at the local memorial this afternoon and was somewhat surprised by the turn out. I expected a few dozen and possibly a thousand or two were there. As expected the local dignitaries, mayor, leading men, armed forces representatives and British Legion personnel attended, prayers were said, and wreaths laid.  A march to the church followed and we all went home. A few individual servicemen were there and I wondered what they thought of such memorials?  After all one day they might appear on them?  Perfect respect was made by the people, and as I glanced at the ages of civilian men wearing medals from recent actions I wondered how many were remembering comrades who have died and remain real to them today.  The vicar gave a few words, and I found it somewhat grating when he talked of the men fighting for 'righteousness,' that may well have been for some but not for all. There appears to be an unwillingness to talk honestly at such services, platitudes appear to be the thing to do.  Behind him are the names of around 200 men who fell in the Great War he could at least have mentioned one or two by name.  False religion does not convey truth to the people and I was disappointed with this.


Remembrance like this began with the loss of 750,000 lives during the Great War, around 300,000 still missing after all these years. Humans require a place to mourn their dead and the Cenotaph in London and the Stone of Remembrance in Edinburgh became places for mourning, both private and official.  Within ten years memorials were to be found throughout the UK and well attended each Armistice Day. No 'jingoism' is found here, and today many remember enemies as well as friends during such meetings. Whether those who fought the 'taliban' feel this way is open to debate, but that will come in time. Predominately we mourn or commemorate our own but all war dead, worldwide, can be remembered at times like these. War will always occur, and peace is not possible for humanity but we can do our best to avoid war and if not we can at least remember those who fall.


Those who fell are often known to have sacrificed themselves for others.  The pilots who kept an aircraft in the air why the crew bail out, the few who hold to the last man a position to allow their comrades to withdraw, the small escort sloop which turns towards an enemy battleship to protect a convoy are said to have  'laid down their life for their friends.' Such self sacrifice is not uncommon in war, and not always from those we would expect to be 'hero's.'  Most are just men, young men at that, who respond to a situation and give themselves for others.  No wonder we remember such men, even if they receive no official reward. What sort of man lays down his life for another?  Duty, comradeship, are at least to reasons and I suspect those who act this way do not do so because they have planned such an end.  Jesus at least knew his end when he offered his life for his friends.  Duty and pure love made him lay down his life for us all, and we were, and still are some of us, all enemies of him, yet he gave himself anyway.  This thought always comes to me at such remembrances.  It is easy to die for comrades some would say but it is another thing altogether to love your enemies and give yourself for them.  That is worth remembering.

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Poppy Wearing

I begin to worry about those who wear the 'Poppy.  This small plastic emblem is worn throughout the UK as an act of remembrance for those who fell while serving with the armed services.  This covers two major wars and those many smaller yet violent conflicts of recent years, any serviceman wherever he fell. Money collected goes towards the Royal British Legion to support ex-servicemen. However I worry about the pressure that hangs around the nation concerning the wearing of this emblem.


The poppy was the brainchild of an American lass called Moina Michael while working for the YMCA in New York.  She had read John McCrae's poem 'In Flanders Fields' and was inspired by the line 'We shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders Fields.'  Poppies of course were abundant in the battlefields of France and Flanders.  They grow easily and the blood red colour stood out among the often brown dreary landscape all around. She was inspired to do something to remember the fallen and when gifted $10 she decided to buy poppies with the money. Those whom she worked amongst, many servicemen about to leave for France, were delighted with the poppy idea and wanted to buy them from her as an act of remembrance, and all this on the 9th of November, two days before the Armistice came into force. For the next year or two Moina attempted to get the poppy adopted by the USA but few were interested. Eventually the American Legion adopted the poppy in 1920.  A fellow YMCA worker, a Frenchwoman called Anna Guerin took the idea to France with the intention of raising funds for children and others bereft after the war.  Soon she and Moina took the poppy to London and Moina convinced Earl Haig, the President of the British Legion, that the poppy could be used to raise funds for ex-servicemen. The first red poppies were sold for remembrance day 1921 in the UK. In 1922 a small factory employing five men was established to make poppies, by the early thirties the factory was in large premises in  Richmond and today produces 40 million a year!  Lady Haig opened a similar factory in Edinburgh, Haigs birthplace, in 1926 and employed ex-servicemen making poppies.  They produce four million a year from her factory. The symbol spread to most nations involved in the Great War.      


During the fifties the memory of the second world war was still strong and it was natural for the nation to come to a standstill for two minutes on Remembrance Sunday and attend memorial services at war memorials up and down the land. By the sixties we young folks were less interested in war.  Anything military was to be opposed rather than stressed and the 'spirit of the air' led us into 'making love not war,' even though there was more tea made near me I must say.  The nation rebelled against uniforms and discipline and became free in many good ways and it took a couple of decades before we began to realise that 'discipline' and armed services were not dirty words. The British army endured much during the Irish troubles, and an appreciation of the army began to grow.  With the Falklands Conflict, and the historically inaccurate 'patriotism' engendered by Thatcher again an appreciation of the worth and ability of the British armed Services grew.  With two Iraq adventures, Afghanistan and not forgetting Bosnia and Liberia, and the sight of dead soldiers coming home the poppy has once more come into its own.


Those of us who have read a great deal about war can be pleased to see such men are not forgotten by their nation, I however fear that now this has tipped over and pressure is on one and all to 'join in and remember,'   and those who defer are seen as enemies. One place where this attitude can be seen is in Edinburgh with the Heart of Midlothian football team. In November 1914, when volunteering for the army was slackening and an outcry regarding 'young men playing sport while the Hun is at hand' was reaching a crescendo many players of this club enlisted in Sir George McLean's 16th Battalion of the Royal Scots. Those crying had ignored other players who were already serving as reservists or members of the Territorial Army.  Seven of these men did not return, others were severely injured and never played again. A memorial to them was erected in Edinburgh's Haymarket and a service of remembrance is held there each year. Since Jack Alexanders excellent book, 'McCrae's Battalion' was published a few years ago an upsurge in remembrance has affected the fans of this club. Many contributed to a memorial built at Contalmaison in France, buy replica remembrance shirts, and attend the memorial.  However I am well aware that a great many would be much less keen had our local rivals been the team involved.  Their support is for their football team rather than for the men who served.  McCrae's was of course built on the Hearts players but the majority were members of the public and as such the battalion is an Edinburgh Battalion, not a Hearts one, and many refuse to accept this. 


On television it is impossible to note any live broadcast where each person wears a poppy. TV stations will pin them on and few have the courage to refuse. This however is not the freedom men died for is it? A recent fuss regarding wearing poppies on international football team shirts has hit the headlines. FIFA, the ruling body, refuses any political, religious discriminatory message on such shirts and saw the poppy as political.  It can be seen this way but today represents remembrance for most of us, and remembrance of all war dead, even the enemies.  The Prime Minister had his PR stunt in parliament claiming this ' a disgrace,' the media shouted and hollered, and Prince William (who?) has contacted FIFA to object. Now players from Scotland, Wales and England will wear black armbands with poppies emblazoned upon them to mark their respects at this weekend games. I wonder still about the reasons they are worn.  Many indeed respect the memory today, tomorrow much of the nation will come to a standstill at eleven o' clock on the morning of the eleventh month for two minutes, in shops, factories and in offices throughout the land, most will respect the moment some will not. Too many on TV and the football field follow public pressure and wear these emblems.  Too few really comprehend the deeper meaning.  The day after remembrance Sunday it will all be forgotten for another year!  Not so for servicemen who have lost limbs in Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Northern Ireland, Aden, Cyprus, Israel, or who have suffered dreams and terrors since 1945, for such the war has never ended. They and their relatives live with the effects each day. Let us not forget them, whether friend or foe, for it is those who have endured war who most often oppose it.  Remembrance helps us to prevent wars, let us not 'remember' just because we are told to do so.  

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

The Great War 14-18

The Story of the Remembrance Poppy

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Sunshine

Today, after I had spent a while on what is laughably called my 'Get Fit' routine, I wandered across to the public gardens to sit in the sunshine and read my book. Some selfish, thoughtless pair of individuals had taken my usual bench, as if it was there for anybody to use, and were wasting their time instead of doing something useful for society. I do not understand how some folks get away with it, I really don't!

Anyway as I was lounging here in the sun I decided to sneak a pic of a wonderful scene. Behind me in the bright green conifer some small bird was chirping, and little ants were meandering across the bench, and me, searching for fodder. For once the squirrels kept their distance and only a pair of blackbirds came near. The benches to my right each contained one person intent on pretending no-one else lived in this overcrowded world. Indeed each and every person you meet in the gardens works on the basis that greeting a passerby , especially a male, could lead to leprosy or the plague being passed on.naturally with such nervous folks around I always say 'hello,' and leer kindly.

The quietness of the great green slab in front was broken only by the two distant dim (well they appear to be students) figures soaking up the sun and recovering from a needless hangover. And quiet it was today. usually there are a crowd of neds lying around noisily, and even the kiddies were further away in the shade of the trees behind the empty tennis courts. Only the occasional few minutes girning was heard when the brats ran off in my direction and whined when brought back by the brutal mother in charge. The rest of the place stayed quiet.

In the far distance, not visible in the picture stands the war memorial. Thirty or so feet high it contains the names of over two hundred souls lost in the great war and those who died in the second. In such situation as today's I often compare the tall structure and it's imposing silence with the sights and sounds that greeted those who's lives are commemorated there. Clerks and shopkeepers, factory hands, skilled and unskilled, volunteers and conscripted, how they would have liked to be sitting here in the gardens instead of lying under some strange foreign soil. Most with little real idea of where they actually were when they met their end! The sun drenched grass with the distant sound of a child's laughter contrasts with the muddy brown shell holes of Picardy. In summer they too would have been bothered by bees and other beasties crawling all over them as they stood on sentry duty and stared into a bleak empty nothingness. Rats of course would have bothered them less than the lice that never seemed to leave them and which took up so much of their free time burning off with cigarettes and pipes. Their lives, ended by loud callous shell fire or rattling machine gun, amid noise and confusion is forgotten by most who sit there in the sun.

Of course, whatever the rights and wrongs of the wars and how they came about, without those men we could not sit here in the silence. Political mistakes and selfish ambition, Empire building and jealousy of another's possession, madness and folly all combined over the years to leave us with a twentieth century of pain and woe. Was it all necessary? No. Could it have been avoided? Yes. But if so another war would have taken its place. Human nature is like that. The men looking down from those great slabs full of names can be happy that this gardens pleasure is one folk can enjoy because of their sacrifice. Had they not fallen the jackboot would sooner or later remove such pleasures from most of us. They did not die in vain.

Haymarket Remembrance of Heart of Midlothian Players

On Sunday we see many Remembrance services throughout the UK, but one I wish I could attend is the short service at the Haymarket in Edinburgh.
This memorial was erected in 1922 to commemorate the action of the Heart of Midlothian players who enlisted in 'McCrae's Battalion.' This battalion, the 16th Royal Scots, was founded and led by Sir George McCrae. By persuading the Hearts men to join the battalion he brought credit to the football world, many were determined to force football, and many other sports, to close for the duration of the war. The actions of these men ended this, and persuaded a great many more to enlist at a time when recruitment was falling away after the early rush.

This was no easy task for these men. Football wise they were about to win the League Championship for the first time for years, this team was the best in the country and had started the season with a resounding two nil victory over their main rivals Celtic. By the time McCrae arrived the war had begun to go badly for the allies. After the victory at Mons, the retreat to the Marne, and the beginning of trench warfare, folk had realised the war would not 'be over by Christmas.' The dangers to life and limb were becoming obvious, and the opportunity of football glory was near, yet many enlisted in the Royal Scots. Others had already joined up, one a reservist and another a territorial. James Speedie and John Allan both enlisted when the first call for volunteers was heard.

Speedie was one of the seven players were did not return from France. He enlisted in the 7th Queens Own Cameron Highlanders and died during the advance on Loos. The regiment then successfully took most of their objectives although they were then held up after a decent advance. Somewhere along the way Speedie was killed, his body never found. The 16th were to suffer badly on the first day of the battle of the Somme. Three men. Wattie, Ellis and Currie died, others were wounded. But the survivors did make a stand and some progressed further than any others that day, to the edge of the village of Contalmaison, although they ended up as POW's! In August, during a quite day, young Boyd was killed. Tom Graicie however died while on service. This man had become the Hearts leading scorer with 29 goals in the season that preceded the war, yet he had begun to suffer his illness by then. This however not only did not stop him enlisting with the rest he continued to score goals. The Hearts men had to endure military training, often involving long route marches, and as a result often found themselves playing league matches with injured feet. Blisters were often bad, tiredness was keen, but by the end of the season 1914/15 the Heart of Midlothian finished second and only by a few points, points that would have been won had military training not interfered! Graicie would often be in his bed but would rise to play his part, and continued his military training. In October 1915 he died. he had been suffering from Leukemia but had managed to keep the nature of his illness from everyone. In 1917, while serving with the only kilted Royal Scots Battalion, the 9th, John Allan was killed near Rouex. His patrol was caught in crossfire, he was the last to die during the war.

Paddy Crossan and Bob Mercer were to die from the effects of the war during the next twenty years, along with many thousands of others who do not have their names on war memorials. But maybe their names ought to be remembered also? Several players resumed their football careers, many were unable to, some leaving the army 'severely disabled' in one way or other. the welfare for these men would be slim at that time. In another war yet more men died, men and fans serving for a cause beyond football. Many endured during the years of 'peace' since the war. Today fans from the club are in the armed forces and brave the dangers of Iraq or even Afghanistan. War memorials are no longer about the distant past, they are with us, unfortunately, for ever.

Remembrance Day

When the United Kingdom remember s the dead of previous wars and minor conflicts, we hear news of four more deaths in Iraq. A patrol boat attacked tonight, four dead, several seriously hurt. I suppose some would call it ironic!
This erroneous war, started for the wrong reason, bungled badly at the beginning by the American administration, and leaving us high and dry has become a millstone around our neck.
We supposedly fight the 'War on Terror,' however many believe it is Yankee imperialism and possibly just a grab for oil. Who knows the real reason? Nobody does! We know the cost however.
far too many British men killed in action. Far too many risking their lives unsure as too why.

What is the answer?
No-one knows!
How sad is that?

Remembrance

Funny how we treat remembrance.
It has become popular once again to stand for two minutes on November the 11th at precisely eleven o' clock and consider those who fell in two world wars. A long ignored habit has returned to the nation. I wonder why? And for how long?
Yet while we watch the service at the cenotaph and note the number of ex servicemen marching past, I find myself asking, 'What about tomorrow?' Will we remember them then?

If you have a man next door who on occasion screams loudly during the night, appears depressed at times and possibly suicidal and unapproachable, and acts in a strange manner, do we care why? Or is he just a menace to us all?
Many men who served in the major wars, as well in the countless small conflicts that this country has participated in since 1945, have very good reason to act this way.
The sight of dead friends, guilt over their own merciless actions, horrors they would never want their children to know about, these things remain deep in their mind and return again and again to them, often in their dreams.
But do we care?

We remember the dead.
We wear the poppy, often with pride, we acknowledge survivors and read their memoirs, sharing, from a safe distance, their tale. We see ourselves as one with them.

But then forget them.

Who cares for those disabled in body or mind by war? The government? Hardly. After 1945 those demobbed were just told to go home and get on with their lives. Is it any different today?
It seems to me that there is far to little done for those who endured and suffer serving the nation. The nation does not grant decent 'post traumatic stress' counseling in my view. The public just don't want to know if the man next to them drinks too much and cannot control his aggression. 'Lock him up, he's a danger!' is the best they can do.

However, on this date, at the cenotaph, and countless memorials throughout the land such men are honoured.

Then forgotten.