Lest we Forget

Good morning all.

Another nice autumnal day here yesterday, we seem to be getting most of our rain through the night at the moment.

Sharing my current FB header today in remembrance of all those who've fallen in past conflicts. What a lovely programme last night from the Royal Albert Hall....I always end up in tears and last night was no exception! I did manage to cut out my next batch of wedding invites whilst it was on so today will be spent putting them together.

The kit was a freebie called Poppies which I found on the Daisytrail forum by a member called Bloggs and the layout was produced in Craft Artist.

The gravestone is that of my Great Uncle who died during WW1 and is buried in Sedan, France. The background is a general photo of the cemetery. My eldest took the photos last year on his way to Mongolia. 

Last night he gave me a pen drive with one of his friends photos from the trip on...so I've another 1000 or so to scrapbook now...don't think I'll ever finish this album!!

For the Fallen

Robert Laurence Binyon, by artist William Strang.

Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21^st September 1914.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall not grow 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.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

We will remember them.

Carol x