Thread Nine: Headstones and memorials require continual maintenance and often I have been delighted to see their work in progress as gardeners and stone masons tend the myriad of plantings and built landscapes.
Author: Paul Ferguson
The Colour of Peace
Thread Eight: Some are surprised to see that the Menin Gate Memorial is within the city, a short walk from the square where traffic is stopped for every evening’s Last Post by the buglers of the Fire Brigade.
Mrs. Kate Palmer’s Walk
Thread Seven: 1922 – Kate Palmer of Victoria, B.C. journeyed to Belgium to visit her son’s grave at Woods Military Cemetery, south of Ypres.
Upon the Ramparts
Thread Six: …and there it sat upon the rampart, left by someone who chose this place here by the stone, above the canal, towards the Kiplinglaan.
The Crunch and the Silence
Thread Five: The steady crunch of loose gravel beneath our feet announces our arrival to the names recorded here. As we move across from stone to grass the silence is heartfelt…it is respect. A mist upon the horizon, silhouettes at the Stone of Remembrance…
When We Are Absent One From Another
Thread Four: I move on, across the canal to bring myself closer to the British Legion flag bearers who have carried with them their identities from across the United Kingdom.
Tears of Heaven
Thread Three: After a day and a half of heat we are caught, at the end of the day, in a storm, the lightning – as if flares – and the roar of thunder – as if artillery. The Cloth Hall lights up time and time again as the sheets of lightning bask the building in a familiar glow of torment.
Something On This Wall
Thread Two: The moth flies in erratic fashion fleeing the notes of multiple bugles at the Menin Gate Memorial tonight. Many visitors are here this fine and warm evening armed with cameras and children held aloft for better views. What is it that they have come to see?
Thimble, Threads and Needle
Thread One: The heat is upon us as loose threads, from many previous investigations, are brought together in a single expedition across London.
This One is a Nickel
I suspect it has not always been in circulation, perhaps its been resting in a jar found in a desk, rediscovered but then let go. Perhaps its been lost? Discovered with the trowel that digs at dandelions on our manicured lawns. We can never know, but in my hands, it is a reminder…of the magic of storytelling and how there can always be more.