January Weather

 Dear Reader,

St. Merryn, Cornwall, is a village with ancient roots, named after a 6th/7th century community hub evolving through centuries of construction, and thriving today as a peaceful coastal area known for its beautiful beaches near Padstow, blending history with its popular modern holiday destination status.

The name links to a Welsh missionary possibly St. Mirin who spread Christianity in the region.  The village church has always been central, undergoing many building phases and extensions over time, and its history reflects a close-knit community with strong family ties.

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For some reason the poem I put on last week a "Soldier's Meditation" has been enormously popular. Particularly in Singapore and Hong Kong.  So I will put it up again this week along with "January Weather" a poem I always love.  Gosh the weather has been terrible hasn't it?  As someone with a difficult and weak chest I can hardly go out to walk and find I get "cabin fever" if I don't go out for days.  Well at least there are snowdrops in the garden so spring is on its way, thank goodness.

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 From Gilbert White  January 20th  1775  in Hampshire

'Lambs fall, and are frozen to the ground.'

 

From John Constable  January 20th 1834 in Hampstead

'The trees and the clouds seem to ask me to try and do something like them.'

 

From Katherine Mansfield   January 20th  1915  in Buckinghamshire 

'A man outside is breaking stones.  the day is utterly quiet.   Sometimes a leaf rustles and a strange puff of wind passes the window. The old man chops, chops as though it were a heart beating out there.' 

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Soldier’s Meditation

 

 

 

 

My cigarette time-burns,

my body trembles,

only minutes now

until the action starts.

 

Am I brave?   no, not brave

I am shit-scared,

my body reeks.

The last drop of whisky

wets my parched lips.

I light another cigarette.

 

I hold this gun to hide behind.

With it, I will aim and slaughter

someone unknown, someone’s son,

mother, father, daughter.

 

 

If killed, I want no part in bands playing,

or speeches glorifying my sacrifice.

I want no weeping, seen or unseen,

pitying those who were,

those who had been.

 

Go, action, ready, time to start.

Dear God, do leaden wings always fly

a universal soldier’s heart?

 

 

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January Weather

 

We know from recorded history, 

that in St. Merryn

a hundred years ago,

there blew great winds

and the sea was smoking white.

 

We know that it was warm in Kent,

where the thrushes thought spring

had come, and piped away.

And primroses were a yellow carpet

in North Norfolk,

or so the parson wrote.

 

We know of cutting winds in Hampshire,

of icicles and frost, and in Skiddaw on a mild day,

a brown spotted butterfly was seen.

We know that hungry church

mice ate bible markers,

hungry people died of cold.

 

And we know that this dark winter month

had days of snow, that wild clouds

gathered in the sky unleashing icy rain,

churning up the plough.

 

And yet, again, we also know 

the sun shone in that distant year,

it was warm enough to push through

early snowdrops, and Holy Thorn.

Light was glimpsed, here and there,

all life struggled for its moments. 

 

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With best wishes, Patricia