Posts tagged ‘Poppy’

July 3, 2014

Random Light No. 9

Here are some photos taken in the last few months…

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A Worcestershire Poppy field

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Colourful Kinsale

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Evening Reflections at Trimpley reservoir, Worcestershire

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A family of ducks makes their way home in the last light of the day…

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One of Fota’s more colourful residents…

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Bantry harbour boats (with “cross-process” effect)

DSC_8811_wpMwnt, Ceredigion.

 

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November 11, 2012

We will remember them

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Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.

Winston Churchill.

 

These famous words come from Churchill’s speech to the House of Commons during the Battle of Britain.  The ‘few’ refers to the pilots of the Royal Air Force, who were so heavily outnumbered and yet prevailed and in so doing provided much needed inspiration to all those involved in holding back and defeating what until that time had seemed an invincible enemy…

They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old;
age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun
and in the morning,
we will remember them.

September 25, 2012

Garden life and colour

Some recent pictures from the garden…

God saw all that he had made, and it was very good…

(Genesis 1:31a)

September 9, 2011

Summer’s Curtain Call

November 11, 2010

Dulce et Decorum Est? (The old Lie)

We will remember them...

The poem of this name was one we had to learn in school.  The horrors of the first world war put to rest any ridiculous romantic notion of it being “Sweet and right to die for one’s country.” (Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.)

We will remember them…


Dulce et Decorum Est


Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori
.


Wilfred Owen.

(See link for more on this poem).