Armistice Day
The main commemorations were at the weekend but today is the real thing. You don’t think of Thomas Hardy as a war poet, but here’s his poem In Time of the Breaking of Nations
Only a man harrowing clods
In a slow silent walk
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
Half asleep as they stalk.
Only thin smoke without flame
From the heaps of couch-grass;
Yet this will go onward the same
Though Dynasties pass.
Yonder a maid and her wight
Come whispering by:
War's annals will cloud into night
Ere their story die.
Staying in Dorset, I’m so disappointed that I forgot to go down to town to see the Spitfire on display. The lady in the photo helped to build Spitfires during the war. Photo Blackmore Vale Magazine. More here.
Only a man harrowing clods
In a slow silent walk
With an old horse that stumbles and nods
Half asleep as they stalk.
Only thin smoke without flame
From the heaps of couch-grass;
Yet this will go onward the same
Though Dynasties pass.
Yonder a maid and her wight
Come whispering by:
War's annals will cloud into night
Ere their story die.
Staying in Dorset, I’m so disappointed that I forgot to go down to town to see the Spitfire on display. The lady in the photo helped to build Spitfires during the war. Photo Blackmore Vale Magazine. More here.
Shame you missed the Spitfire.
Kicking myself!