So Sad

              

                                     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 I'd 'ave tode 'er mooer times 'ow much I luved 'er an' tucked the kids up tieter in bed A good nite inthe boozer with me mates, me last goodbyes ter all But I thort I woz invincerbul I wor ever gooin' ter fall I woz gooin'ter do me bit, I woz that sort of mon I'd jine the Woosters, for I 'new they'd got many a Craidlee son. If I knew I wor cummin' back, I'd 'ave rote mooer oftun than I did I'd 'ave tode 'er it 'ood be alrite and sum of the things I'd done an' sid (seen) Me mates woz all around me, born an' bred in Craidlee town I thort we woz soopermen and wor ever gooin' down The Woosters 'ad trained us well, we 'new wot we 'ad ter do But we wor gooin' ter France, but ter sumw'eer new If I knew I wor cummin' back, I think I'd still 'ave gon She 'ood 'ave whanted me ter jine, an' be proud of 'er mon Ter plairces, sum I'd never 'erd on afower, we went Befower we got ter Gallipoli, w'eer we 'ad bin sent We landed at a plairce nairmed Helles, an' it woz truly hell On the sond we woz 'ommered with bullet, shrapnul an'shell If I knew I wor cummin' back, I think I'd 'ave tried ter med mooer of me life But I 'oodn't 'ave changed 'er, she woz the perfect wife We got used ter life under fire, we knew w'en ter duck and dive We woz the Woosters from Craidlee and knew 'ow ter stay alive Ower time 'ood soon be 'ere, we 'ood mek them Turks run We 'ood soon be up out of ower trenches, chargin' with bayonet and gun If I knew I wor cummin' back I'd 'ave rote that fineul day She 'ood 'ave red it ter the kids the last things thair dad 'ad ter say In swelterin' 'eat we waited for ower time ter charge the foe Wot'ood it be like? We woz soon gooin' ter know As we charged the Turkish lines, not a slacker woz there 'ere We went forward, feelin' a mixture of excitement, pride an' fear If I knew I wor cummin' back I'd 'ave left 'er picture back atcamp This lickwidcummin' from me chest ull meck it sticky an' damp A'ommer like blow 'ad 'nocked me down, an' I lay in the dust I'd got ter get up an'goo on an' 'elp me mates, I must Jimmy Clark, Tummy Green and Dave Reynolds were lyin' not far away It woz if the flower of Craidlee woz dyin' all around me that day I just lay theer, I felt so tired, I coodn't move, no matter 'ow I tried Surely this wor the end, this coodn't be 'ow yo felt w'en yo died Suddenly I saw the missus an' the kids sittin' around me bed I 'erd 'er say "Yo've dun yower bit, now goo ter sleep, rest yer weary yed" 'er fairce slowly vanished an' everything went black Then I knew - I wor never cummin' back

Dedicated to all who fought in the Gallipoli Campaign, especially the men from Cradley with the 4th and 9th Battalions of the Worcestershire Regiment.