Sobering stories

I slept well and woke up late, just after 'Sunday Worship' had started on Radio Four, with a service of Remembrance from Northern Ireland, telling a few stories of war time individuals who lived to tell the tale. Clare set her mind on attending the Welsh language Eucharist at St Luke's this evening, so I went to St Catherine's on my own. As well as the act of Remembrance there was an act of re-dedication for panels of a stained glass window repaired after it had been smashed by thieves during a break-in attempt. It contained the names of two brothers born and bred in Llanfair Road killed in the first World War. One was a soldier, the other was in the newly formed Royal Flying Corps, both in their twenties. A group of Brownie Guides on Church Parade presented their standards at the altar, and the Union Flag. 'God save the King' was sung at the end.  The Sunday School made their own Remembrance poppies. We were fifty adults and fifteen children. It was very traditional, not dumbed down, an all-age service as it needed to be.

After the service, I was asked to distribute Christmas Fayre publicity leaflets in our neighbourhood. Clare usually agrees to do this, so I could hardly say no and took about a hundred and fifty leaflets away with me. I went out straight after lunch, and delivered them, it only took me an hour and a quarter. I ended up lacking fifteen leaflets. Maybe I didn't take quite enough, or the total number needed was underestimated by ten per cent. This wouldn't surprise me, as a number of houses are now divided into separate dwellings.

It was an interesting experience, giving an impression of how many houses have undergone renovation in recent years, and those renovated 10-20 years back, and ones which haven't been renovated in forty years, and ones that look neglected. Interesting to notice how many houses have new wrought iron front gates, those that have gates which don't shut properly due to a dropped or broken hinge, those that now have no gate, and those which still work as they did half a century ago, but haven't been painted in decades. Also those whose front garden paths are unswept or unmaintained, and those that are kept clean. 

Lastly the letterboxes. Half the front doors are new with narrow letterbox apertures, requiring effort and dexterity to insert a leaflet into, lined internally with bristles, with strong springs in the lid. A few doors have letterbox openings almost at ground level. A few have vertical openings, most are horizontal, but at varying heights depending on the size of glass panels in the door. A few houses had mailboxes attached to an outside wall or fence.

Such diversity offers a small insight into domestic design history, with different styles from different eras. Older ones have no anti-theft or anti vandalism measures incorporated, they just cover a hole in the door, and mail plops perfectly on to the floor inside. Houses in Llanfair, Meadow, Bloom and Beacon Street were built piecemeal around 130 years ago. Some of the nicest looking letter boxes made of iron with door knockers attached must be a century old. The least interesting are ones in replacement modern doors, uniformly bland, designed to keep stuff out (including draughts of course) as to let stuff in. 

Delivering leaflets isn't as dull a job as it sounds as you need to pay attention to each house visited in turn. Behind each gate and front door are stories to be told about occupants past and present. Since this today's Remembrance service, I'm wondering which house in Llanfair Road saw the birth of the boys destined to die in World War One, and whether the present occupants have any idea about the tiny domestic fragment of history they have inherited.

As I returned from delivering a group of Clare's study group colleagues were arriving for a session. After a quick cup of coffee, I went out and walked in the park for an hour. For the first time in more than a week, the sun broke through the cloud layer, just above the horizon, offering a glimpse of blue sky and a little extra autumnal light for the hour before sunset. I stopped opposite the stables and sat on a bench for a while, enjoying the sight of golden leaves falling from the trees around me. Clare left for church shortly after I arrived home, leaving me to reflect in solitude and write, as darkness descended.

Clare returned from church in time for supper and The Archers. Then I watched a documentary which Fr Sion had recommended in his sermon this morning. 'Helmand' is a collection of interviews with a group of Welsh Guardsmen who served together on a six month tour of duty in the Afghan province sixteen years ago. It was a mercilessly brutal affair with the battalion commanding officer, an interpreter and eight soldiers being killed. Among survivors interviewed were men nearly died losing limbs, nearly drowned and others suffering from PTSD and nervous breakdown. Spouses were interviewed too. It was a powerful moving testimony to the price paid by those who are sent to the front line, but also an account of the deep bond between brothers in arms for whom shared experience of life together is as strong if not stronger than those of family life.

It was very intense watching, so I watched the first episode of the ninth series of 'Shetland' with its beautiful calming scenery, such a contrast to the desert landscape of Afghanistan, before going to bed. It's heartbreaking at this time of years to be living with wars in Eastern Europe, the Middle East, the Horn of Africa, and the hundreds of thousands of deaths and crippling injuries among military and civilians alike in the unending struggle for power and control over each other's destinies. For all our sophistication as a species we are far from being able to exist without doing violence to each other - and our planet.