What’s the price of peace?
From this small village two men.
Duty paid in full.
n.b. In the churchyard of St. Margaret of Antioch, Cley-Next-The-Sea, Norfolk.
W. Porter, Sapper No. 31585
31st January, 1915
G. Mellor, Sapper No. 6743
6th April, 1915
Police seem reluctant to start
n.b. Surely a positive response would have been to engage with those wishing to hold a vigil and mourn for Sarah Everard on Clapham Common?
Instead, the use of regulation, confrontation and force was deployed to try and control and silence these women. Who decided that this was the appropriate response?
Over to you, Home Secretary, (or is this one question that the Prime Minister might actually answer?).
A security tag is supposed to be automatically approved and cancelled when scanned at the till.
“If it goes off at the exit, don’t worry. The security guard has gone home already and I know your face anyway.”
Great to know that the art of careless talk survives and no she doesn’t know my face as I always wear a face covering from neck to the bridge of my nose every time I am in the shop.
Coronavirus fatigue is kicking in. The vaccines are being distributed and the people are slackening their guards…and security guards.
Three of the points I raised yesterday are in the national news today:
- How much is a life worth?
- Who should be vaccinated first?
- What are the world’s wealthiest nations doing to ensure humankind all gets a fair share of the vaccines?
Meanwhile the UK had the highest recorded death rate in the world per hundred thousand Covid-19 infections.
Don’t even mention Brexit to me, please.
Alexander Johnson suddenly wants us all to be kind and civil when discussing political matters, so we are not like those ‘ghastly colonials’ (he implies).
Perhaps he might help by actually answering some very straight questions with some relevant answers?
I will stop there.
One I would rather forget
Finally ends here
Young men side by side
British, Czechs, Poles, and Germans
n.b. Farmers’ fields reclaimed from airfields, except this hallowed ground that holds sons of Europe, (and Australia, Canada and New Zealand), whose souls have flown.
Traveller’s weary heart breathes
Grass soft underfoot
n.b. God bless her and all who sail in her.
Bright, brighter, brightest
Venus tows Moon to zenith
Weary Sun awakes
Wounded but blessed
Arrow leaves scars forever
Touch them; they are real
n.b. Better to have had than have not. I have been blest.
The harsh-sunned pool laid flat still
Mirror to the willows’ feathered limbs
A float-glass plate decorated with green
Fronds and strands held still beneath
No flow, no breath
I lean on the stone parapet
See my silhouette’s sharp outline
I am about to leave this scene
When a metallic flash, a flip, a soft splash
The surface cut from below by a butterfly kiss
Yes, she’s there, but not for long
But she’s there
I smile to myself and wander happily on