Emily is on the right.
I’m so upset. I came home from school after a good morning. I gave my Remembrance Day presentation to the year group for our classroom Assembly. I’d made a few improvements on last year and it went down very well, although it could have been better. I fluffed my words a couple of times, which didn’t bother anyone except me.
So when I got home I was feeling quite happy. I decided to go and plant some Wild Daffodil bulbs down in my wilderness garden.
As I went down the garden Abigail came to meet me on the bridge and I could tell she was upset. There was no sign of Emily and I supposed she had found her way through the fence, she’s done it a couple of times before.
While I was planting the bulbs I came across a lot of feathers. I think it’s quite safe to assume that Emily is no more. She was a large , heavy bird and there was no sign of blood, nor was there any feather’s other than in one small area. I think it may have been a Buzzard, as a fox would have to have left a trail of feathers as he dragged her away.
I feel awful for Emily and also for Abigail, who is distraught, she kept running around as if something was chasing her. When I went near the Ark she followed me and ran straight up to bed, so I’ve locked her away for the rest of the day.
I don’t know what to do now. Do I let her out tomorrow, knowing she will probably suffer the same fate. She loves having the freedom of our large garden. She will be so lonely and miserable being shut in her run.
Do I get her a friend from the ‘Rescue a Battery Hen’ people? But they might not get on and Abigail is nearly 4 years old, so she might die soon and then the new one will be left on her own.
I’m worried sick that there is an injured Emily somewhere but being realistic I think, probably not.
This is such a horrible thing to happen.
I was going to share a poem which has particular relevance at this time of year and I think I still will, even though it makes this entry totally depressing.
It’s a poem I copied from a now defunct Black Country Website, called Cradley Links.
It is written as ‘way spake rahnd ere.’ You might wish to amuse yourselves trying to translate it. The dialect where my family come from is very close to Anglo Saxon and has many similarities with German.
If you can manage to get through it, its a very touching poem, which never fails to bring a tear to my eye.
I hope to do a more cheerful weekly entry over the weekend but tonight I think I will drown my sorrows. Why on earth had I chosen chicken for dinner tonight?
I know this picture doesn't go with the poem as that is about Gallipoli and this is a scene from Chateau Wood in Flanders but to me it sums up the horrors of WW1 and it is near where my Great Uncle Albert Harrold died in 1915, he was aged 32 and his body was never found. His name is on the Menin Gate at Ypres.
It may help if I explain 'Wor'means wasn't and 'ood means would. Try your best with the rest.
'Let us never forget'
IF I KNEW I WOR CUMMIN' BACK
If I knew I wor cummin' back, thairs things I 'ood 'ave sed
Dedicated to all who fought in the Gallipoli