Inheritance

 Dear Reader,

 

The years go by so quickly, I can hardly believe it was a year ago that I wrote to you about my father who served in WWI.  I have just been watching the amazing sight of all the veterans marching past the Cenotaph and thought of my father, Major Harold Huth of the Royal Army Service Corps.  He was mentioned in dispatches on three occasions and I have a letter written in 1916 congratulating my grandparents, from a Colonel Harrison, and his other officers, on their son's distinguished conduct and gallantry. 

Every year this unbelievable performance on Rememberance Sunday by so many of my fellow countrymen, brings tears to my eye, thanks to them I am able to live a good and peaceful life. 

Thanks today to all of you who took part in these wars, for us.

                                                                              *

W.H. Longfellow   1807-1882

Lives of great men all remind us
we can make our lives sublime
and, departing, leave behind us
footprints on the sands of time.

  

                                                                                *

 

From Thomas Hardy   November 12th 1877 in Dorset

'A flooded river after the incessant rains of yesterday.   Lumps of froth float down like swans in front of our house.  At the arches of the large stone bridge the froth has accumulated and lies like hillocks of salt against the bridge; then the arch chokes and after a silence coughs out the air and froth and gurgles on.' 

From Gilbert White  November 13th 1776 in Hampshire

'Nuthatches rap about on the trees.   Crocuses begin to sprout.  The leaves of the medlar-tree are now turned of a bright yellow.' 

 

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Inheritance

 

 

 

 

What was it that made me

think of you, who

are bone-dust now,

with no statue or monument

to bear your witness?

Was it the apple-bruised spots

on the Gloucester Old Spot pigs,

their legacy from apple orchards, long ago,

to mark them out?

 

In the afternoon sunlight

as I bent to touch their skin

I saw that my hands, brown-spotted,

were your hands, identical.

Was this your legacy to me,

something to say that you were here?

 

More precious than possessions,

you passed to me our inheritance

from some ancient eastern shore.

Your browness, your hands, brown spotted,

which marked you.

 

 

                                                                               *

With very best wishes, Patricia