at the rising of the bobbin and the going under of the float we shall remember them. in a letter home to his wife, one nottinghamshire soldier fighting in mesopotamia in 1917 wrote, “of all the flea-ridden, snake-ridden, scorpion tormented corners of the world this is it, and i’d swap all of jerusalem land for a bit of west bridgford just now”. funny how nearly a century later things have not changed.
in the garden nearly all the leaves are off the magnolia and the floor is half a foot deep in them. golden brown. the whole yard a wormery for late autumn perch, fallen soldiers each one. kettle on and bait box out with a smouldering fire at dusk.
wreaths rather than words on the birdtable