So just last week it was that thing called Remembrance Sunday... much talk of peace, the end of war, remembering the horrors... and then already, just a week later, war is back on the news agenda, big time (not that it really went away... of course... does it ever?). And in this case the war in question, the Palestine/Israel conflict/situation, is one of those subjects where feelings are so strong that it's hard to see any way-out to anywhere... as far as the outside observer is concerned. In fact I remember back in the late '80s when I was at university and quite involved in politics (student cliché no 732) there were two issues that caused the most heated, never-ending debates and one of those was Palestine/Israel (and the other was abortion rights... also back in the news this week, thanks to that horrific incident in Ireland). As women's officer for the student union I was much involved in the latter debates (and got used to arguing, fairly pointlessly, with glassy-eyed young men who knew they were right because Jesus told them so... or something) but I was less involved in the Israel/Palestine debates (mainly because there were large, heavily-informed teams on both sides so I wasn't really needed). I sat in the room for many of those debates though and boy, were they going nowhere towards workable solutions then (and, on the whole, nothing seems to have changed... ). Maybe I shouldn't write about it at all. Probably. It is one of those subjects people really fall out over.
So anyway, the photo... the photo at the top of the post is a war memorial in the grounds of the now-closed mental hospital at the top of our street. I walked past it last week and was interested to know if anyone had visited it to lay any poppy wreaths or anything now the hospital is out of business. There were no wreaths but there were a few paper poppies stuck into the stone. Here are the close-up shots:
and finally... even closer... and almost too packed with meaning...
Who needs poetry?
x
4 comments:
When I was growing up, in the middle of the Vietnam War, my Mom hung a poem on the wall written by Andrew Lascelles called "The Box". It began:
"Once upon a time, in the land of Hush-A-Bye,
Around about the wondrous days of yore,
They came across a kind of box
Bound up with chains and locked with locks
And labeled "Kindly do not touch; it's war."
It's a long poem but it had quite the effect..especially the first day I walked past it wearing a bracelet with the name of a soldier who was missing in action. To this day, a copy of that poem hangs in my office.
But you're right, that last photo says it all. :)
Wow - picture = 1000 words.
Why is it that it is always the men doing the fighting and the women and children who suffer. It has always been thus. Indeed we don't need poetry - we need to look at the TV news - it is appalling.
Men suffer too, Weaver... and women have had their go at sending in the troops as well (Mrs Thatcher anyone?).
But let's not fight about it... that would be a very silly move.
x
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