A favorite encounter along the path to the London Zoo…He won’t let you tumble. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
The Written and Spoken Word
And as we walk…our words become golden. Strung together in all manner of combination, words, their resonance gathers the emotion of an event. Together with an image that speaks a thousand words…what also of the few words that eclipse the obvious and provide the greatest impact to our being?
I watch for and listen for words, they are everywhere. Single and multiple words upon a wall, from the angled sticker on passing lamp posts, to graffiti abstractions on the wall, prose along the beachside…from a blatant voice in a corner…or a dynamic whisper…tone is everything. Wait for them, the words will appear, they will themselves to be heard.
Along the beachside. For wind or water roar.
P Ferguson image, July 2022.
I enjoy the chance to walk towards the cursive to read them. Or the chance to record the spoken voice heard…(or what have you) as I hurriedly race through my multiple pockets in search of paper and pencil in order that I might remember (all those moments). Perhaps these happenstance words I gather may become useful, perhaps they will bond with me to capture Orion’s (the hunter’s) day from the Tyndall Blue?
Astronomer Johannes Hevelius drawing of the constellation Orion, 1690.
Wiki image.
Someone has spent time to connect your person with this/that/their/my place…isn’t this how it can be? Not wanton words but those left on this world in common places…slow down…wherever you are headed there is always time. Plan your destinations – include the intermittent experiences of the unexpected. After all these micro-pleasures will allow us to enjoy our day (and night)…we’ve seen things.
Irish physicist John Tyndall, whose Tyndall Effect explains why the sky appears blue. Wiki image.
These words today started days before as remembrances of Orion, Tyndall Blue and some former words its better when it rains. Together and connected with 42 words voiced by Rutger Hauer’s character Roy Batty words make a difference. Their connection one to the other, my experience to them and to my journeys create the spark of keystrokes. Its this day I enjoy when all comes together. Words and images racing to the imagination…
David Peoples’ original Blade Runner (1982) draft and final script for Batty’s final words were to read…
People’s Draft
I’ve known adventures, seen places you people will never see, I’ve been Offworld and back… frontiers! I’ve stood on the back deck of a blinker bound for the Plutition Camps with sweat in my eyes watching stars fight on the shoulder of Orion… I’ve felt wind in my hair, riding test boats off the black galaxies and seen an attack fleet burn like a match and disappear. I’ve seen it, felt it…!
People’s Final Script
I’ve seen things… seen things you little people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion bright as magnesium… I rode on the back decks of a blinker and watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments… they’ll be gone.
Hauer’s 42 Words
I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off (the) shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.
The rabbits were all here and there. This as all creatures know was not like them. Christmas baking had not gone according to plan 5-46-1A. Cookies had failed. Stuck to the countertop, on kitchen gadgets ranging from spoons to rollers the rabbits were in a rare state of a-flutter. As Christmas carols played…this was the fourth round of the St. Paul’s Christmouse choir, the rabbits were in desperation hop mode.
Learning of the distress a neighbourly bear came to the rabbit’s assistance.
Seldom and rare…bear came to the rescue. Not that bear could make cookies…he had been banned from the kitchen, due to his own cookie catastrophe, years ago. Rather… this time…the bear was about for encouragement coaching. If anyone could fix the cookie flummox bunnies could, they just needed some down time and calmness and bear knew this. Time to make the bunnies laugh…time for reminders and memories.
Wantmore loved this Bear and Bunny story (Volume 1). He had read this Bear and Bunny book numerous times, enjoying the illustrations and looking for the mice within the pictures. The book illustrator, also the author, had written of this grand search and seek quest on the earlier pages…How many mice can you find? There are forty-three mice in all…well – maybe more…enjoy!
Wantmore enjoys a fuzzy attic pillow especially at Christmas mousetime.
Wantmore counted his mouse pictures and as he reached his 46th…closed the pages. This mouse size book was given to him by his Auntie Miniver who was an olden mouse when she gave Wantmore the book. Auntie Miniver had written inside the book, “To my dear nephew Wantmore love from Auntie Miniver, Christmastime at Kemmelberry”. Though not dated Wantmore well remembered opening the present some years back, was it 1970, maybe 1974…perhaps later…perhaps earlier…this caused confusion…time for tea and non-mouse Christmas crumbles for joy.
As the hot tea was sipped, Wantmore sitting on his mouse-made chair looked at his Christmouse tree decorated with goodly things…a bit of pinecone…a bit of twig…some shiny things found from the forest trail and a small silver-gilt button tree-topper from that Waterloo tunic of the non-mice Bailey family. Alone this night hoping for a knock at the door Wantmore recalled how Auntie Miniver sailed to Dunkirk in a little ship in 1940. The non-mice crew had brought soldiers from the shore to the destroyers at sea. Several times Auntie made the journey to the beaches until home again.
Auntie Miniver, veteran of Dunkirk and Wantmore’s greatest mentor.
Auntie Miniver was a youngling mouse then…not quite known for knowing what to do…until those May-June days of 1940. There had been much noise and commotion, cries for help, airplanes and great splashes of water, rifle fire, cannon fire. So much noisy time for a mousetime Auntie Miniver, after 1945, settled in her Kemmelberry meadow home and with pen and a paper began to write…
Once upon a time it was Christmas and the rabbits were making Christmas cookies for the bears…then with paint brushes and colours Auntie Miniver began to paint blended mice within the written pages. Wantmore opened his gift book again starting at page one and at about page three…a knock at the door…family mouselings…Wantmore’s oneziss… arrived with Christmouse bits and crumbs, Christmas cheer and a desire for Auntie Miniver stories again…volumes one through eleven…that stories never grow old.
Read together stories for a lifetime. Read and reread. Joy for all hearts.
All images by P. Ferguson, December 2024 Merry Christmas to one and all…mouse and non-mice!
Heinkel 111 over London’s Surrey Commercial Docks, 7 September 1940. German Luftwaffe image via Wikipedia.
Send all the pumps you’ve got – the whole bloody world’s on fire! Station Officer Henry William “Jerry” Knight, 7 September 1940 Pageant’s Wharf Fire Station, London Fire Brigade Died 8 September 1940, Swedish Yard, Surrey Commercial Docks King’s Commendation for Brave Conduct (Posthumous)
Twice in the past while, I have taken my seat within a large recliner of the cinema, eager with anticipation, McQueen’s Blitz is about to feature. Having studied many aspects of the Blitz I am hopeful to learn new stories this night, and am pleased to not leave without – to learn of one new personality missed in my page turnings and one new investigation – why the reoccurring imagery of daisies?
There are few here with me to witness 2024’s eye on 1940/41. The film focusses on three days of the monster thrashing London. A Godzilla unleashed to wreak havoc, the deliberate attack of civilians from 7 September 1940 to 11 May 1941. London, Liverpool, Birmingham, Plymouth, Coventry and more, large and small pummeled, young and old lost – what will we find with this film?
I have an advantage with this viewing – the understanding of the British home front network and the role of emergency services, those on the ground – witnesses to counter the stomping giants of Junkers, Dornier and Messerschmitt. Who were these witnesses, the sons and daughters of Father Thames, and other waterways throughout the United Kingdom – the Auxiliary Fire Service, and town fire brigades. As well as their near cousins Air Raid Precautions, Shelter Marshalls, Voluntary Services, Red Cross, St. John, Transport, the military and police forces…the people themselves.
Café de Paris. song, Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny Oh! by Celeste.
One scene of McQueen’s Blitz film informs us of a date, Saturday 8 March 1941, a depiction of the Café de Paris. Orchestra Leader – conductor, dancer Ken “Snakehips” Johnson, his swing band – the West Indian Dance Orchestra – lively, dynamic, festive, with flowing beverages and attendants. The stage filled with perpetual motion and enlivenment by band leader Johnson as Oh Johnny, Oh Johnny, Oh! fills the lounge with the high rising jazz of the day. The dreary constant of war forgotten…amidst the jazz a chance to escape. But the dancing stopped.
Orchestra leader Ken “Snakehips” Johnson lost his life in the Café de Paris. bombing. Wiki image.
At about 9:45 PM a single 50 kg. Luftwaffe high explosive bomb, Sprengbombe Cylindrisch, ended its earth-bound path on the Café de Paris dance floor. Located at #3 Coventry Street, London, between Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus, thirty-four civilians were killed and some eighty others injured. Military fatalities are also known. Among the civilian and military revelers – Canadians.
I have many times, on visits to London, wandered past the Café de Paris, once hopeful to visit but this did not come to pass. And now gone from the streetscape the Café’s moments are slipping away to past memory until this McQueen film brings for all a “Snakehips” Johnson, music-filled night, wardens and youth, mothers and grandfathers.
There is much here in this McQueen film…optician and shelter marshal Micky Davies short of stature and great of heart, challenges to the myths of the blitz, the home-front national service turning of munitions, simple attention to details – black and white enamelware mugs and the path of bombers guided by moonlit reflections on the Thames. So too McQueen’s ode to Emak-Bakia (Basque: Leave Me Alone) with daisies careening from surrealist abstraction to reality…this is the blitz 1940/1941…this is the film Blitz 2024.
Café de Paris: 8 March 1941
Civilian Fatalities: Martinus “Martin” Poulson, age 50, Owner, Café de Paris (Golders Green, London)
Ken R.H. “Snakehips” Johnson, age 26, Orchestra Leader (St. James’s, London)
David Ronald “Baba” Williams, age 25, Saxophonist (St. Marylebone, London)
Kathleen Euphemia Humphreys (nee Dunsmuir), age 48 (Daughter of former BC Premier)
Robert Campbell Clarke, age 37 (Northamptonshire)
George Elefteriadas Ellison, age 33 (Kensington, London)
Joannis Stylianos Livanos, age 22 (St. Marylebone, London)
Charles Wiederrecht, age 46 (Hertfordshire)
Francisco Scipioni, age 33 (Islington, London)
Rosina Ann Allen, age 21 (St. Marylebone, London)
Marjorie Catherine Townsend (nee Boyman), age 26 (Hendon, Middlesex)
Charles Pezga, age 47 (Morden, Surrey)
Spros Joannis Frangos, age 37, Captain Merchant Navy (St. Marylebone, London)
Angelo Rezzani, age 48 (St. Marylebone, London)
Charles Henry Austin, age 27 (Willesden, Middlesex)
Alec George Impey, age 42 (Paddington, London)
Celia May Kerstein, age 21 (Hillingdon, Middlesex)
James Leslie Bennett, age 30 (Barnes, Surrey)
Christakis Takis Haji-Costi, age 30 (St. Pancras, London)
Matilda Florence May Hallett, age 19 (Kilburn, Middlesex)
Ulf Erik Larsen, age 20, Home Guard (Wisborough Green, Sussex)
Joan Emma Bessie Wilson, age 24, Auxiliary Fire Service (Reading, Berkshire)
Ben Gurvitch, age 27 (Hillingdon, Middlesex). Parents lived Montreal, Canada.
Edith Maud Elizabeth Wybrow, age 37, Air Raid Precautions (Willesden, Middlesex)
Hanna Duszynska, age 28 (Hampstead)
Rose Woodland, age 18 (St. Pancras, London)
Epaminondas Cominos, age 34 (St. Marylebone, London)
Christina Mary Watson, age 23 (Curry Rivel, Somerset)
Judah Alfred Jerry Brafman, age 20 (Petersham, Surrey)
Norma Gullick, age 30, Air Raid Precautions (Mayfair, London)
Eric William Bignell, age 34 (Northampton)
Marjorie Cicely Darwen, age 20 (Unknown)
Sir Vyvyan Donald Cory, age 34, 3rd Baronet, Special Constable (London)
Meg M.A.S. Hargrove, age 33, Auxiliary Fire Service & Women’s Voluntary Service (Buckinghamshire)
Canadian Military Fatalities:
Captain Philip Frowde Segram, 48th Highlanders of Canada
Corporal Gordon Wapren Quinn, age 40, Royal Canadian Army Service Corps
Lieutenant John David Wright, age 28, Royal Canadian Engineers
Warrant Officer II Richard Albert Bradshaw, age 24, Royal Canadian Army Service Corps
Dikkebus (Dickebusch) town sign. We have found our way. P. Ferguson image, August 2024)
John Macnaughton’s Walk (Part Two)
There must be a plan to the intermittent church bells we hear from St. Peter’s, Ieper (Ypres). Try, as we do, the logic escapes us. It is, as if, someone keeps watch.
Lieutenant Ian Robert Reekie Macnaughton. From the McGill Honour Roll 1914-1918” (Canadian Virtual War Memorial)
Today is our John Macnaughton walk (+ cycle) to Dickebusch New Military Cemetery to keep a promise once written to visit with the son, Ian Robert Reekie Macnaughton. Our bicycles have been secured, we will be off shortly. Before we go…a few thoughts…a preamble…about a fluttering visitor to Menin Gate.
Covered in the activity of restoration, only some of the Menin Gate’s names are visible to be read, scanned upwards and side to side whilst others point to names perhaps of some connection. The Last Post continues to be played every night at 8:00 PM. But on this one night amongst the crowd, a singular messenger darts between persons in search of an arch to fly away. For those of us in search of messengers we have our familiar. We have found our arch.
Dickebusch Church and town memorial…the sound of eleven bells. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
With some reckoning of our trail and with a fair sense of direction we head south-east and arrive at Dickebusch. It is not unnoticed that as we arrive the church bells ring eleven times. We glide to the site just beyond the church. Two cemeteries on opposite sides of the roadway. We walk…I read each name of the Canadians here and reach Ian.
I have been. A small piece of connection. P. Ferguson image (reversed), August 2024.
As I stand and sight-read each chiselled line my mind travels to my silent thoughts. It is here that your father once stood. It is here that the words of your father were spoken. Oh my dear boy…today…is about you and your father, souls known in passing, by my reading of small notes in contemporary pages. With this walk, this journey of many years before, I am empathetic to walk these former steps…to suspect the nature of John Macnaughton’s thoughts and of his anticipation of being together once again…oh my dear boy.
A few words to record our visit… P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
As the wind blows across this garden of loss, it remains in this peace…still…a site of conflict. I am glad we have visited but no longer do the bells ring…we have reached our arch…the bells will ring again.
Notes for words. Music from another experience of conflict. Ryuichi Sakamoto.
We have walked for miles…
…(kilometres) about London in search of shelters, water reservoirs, wood cobbles, Bond and clubs. Now we are here in Ieper (Ypres) our rest begins. Though there are things to do, more importantly, the gentleness of our home here is self saving.
As notes from the piano bring solace to the morning I watch from my perch towards the garden. Bricks and ivy finds its place in a hall of green as the wind brings movement and tone to notes from above.
Soldiers illustration along the Menenstraat, Ypres. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
Here amongst Ypres, a place of such former conflict, I begin to settle in my peace. One step less today – to benefit two steps tomorrow. Though the path to Dickebusch remains with me as a constant.
In a world that struggles with much perpetual unhappiness, shared misery and comparative trauma, I recognize the pain but for me self saving is in the rising of a new day. It is the alonenessness that is deeper…when weary feet unable to find joy in standing, require rest, a reminder it is okay to slow down…at least for a while.
An accidental image proves timely. Tired legs and feet. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
Today, perhaps Sunday, Dickebusch, where there is one to see, where words will follow like touch and tone from the piano all in the right instance.
Statue to the Euzko Gudarostea, Basque Army, Guernica. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
…what has happened here
Day three starts at 10:55 and as we walk beneath the trees, the early morning mist drips from the greenery on to our persons. Fireworks start promptly at 11:00…today is a day of clarifications…find the interpretive panels missed, save for panel two blocked by festival events.
While Rosemary visits with the gothic Santa Maria Church I wander off to pick up images of the few Guernica day of days panels we did not cover previously. A walk through the town’s industrial area finds various appeals to the eye. Images of distress, rust, shapes, textures, discordance, peace, patterns and so on. A watchful eye can break up the perpetual sameness of historical site pics.
Graffiti artwork featuring two figures from Picasso’s Guernica. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
My time draws to a close after a final review of the two air raid shelters. The first with its fine overhead wood construct protecting it from the elements. This one near to the hydro building. The other exposed alongside the former armaments factory. Much of what I photograph requires translation…Euskara…to English. I have the content but no clear understanding.
Continually I think of Stephen O’Shea’s book, Back to the Front, which when first read challenged my understanding of remembrance and conflict history. Yet time and time again I think upon his words…not so untrue after all. I wish I brought my copy…there are O’Shea thoughts I could contemplate.
Stairs leading to the Church of Santa Maria, Guernica. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
In the center of Guernica I search for a cold beverage and instead find two pieces of small jewelry items useful to Rosemary at Santa Maria where the call has gathered the similar together. I climb the stairs and gift her the two icons. More to follow at St. Martin’s Cathedral, Ieper.
I have taken endless pictures thinking about our invented character from our landing at Bilbao. Later I am amused to learn that with Bond’s The World Is Not Enough, the film starts at Bilbao’s Guggenheim. Not so far off…perhaps my character, lost to the cutting room floor, was employed by Renard, Elektra or Valentin? We will know more upon landing in London…[and indeed Simeon Lumo…The Icebreaker…has followed…as the same sawing of metal returns upon landing].
Air Raid shelter near to the former armaments factory, Guernica. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
Three days of Guernica has been enough for flavour (to start). Though it is hard to get a sense of place here it is not hard to have a sense of what has happened here. We have been immersed in the Festival of Guernica. This was not our intention. Generally I look for solitude but this was difficult these past three days.
Only this morning, within the presently darkened landscape, have we had peace from the gregarious but happy celebrations. With the call of the owl I know it is time for us to leave. I have snatched the pebbles from Master Kan’s hands. The rice paper is intact….and Grasshopper…our taxi has arrived.
Early morning, Guernica. P. Ferguson image, August 2024.
Within the city itself…stonework version of Picasso’s Guernica.
Wiki image.
Alternative Levels
Our day begins at the untimely time of good gracious with stealth-like movement across floors of betrayal. Each step the creak of wood seeking alternative levels. Our neighbours murmuring, no doubt, from below. I have failed the rice paper test of Caine. I will forgo the snatching of pebbles. It is time for me to go regardless.
We leave our base at 03:45 hours…through the dark to Gatwick’s north terminal. Our flight is filled with mirthful moments as we read through the in-flight magazine’s descriptive pitches of men’s fragrances…this is too much…
Good Gosh I cannot write this way. I have never considered fragrance as providing me with the will to succeed. I know myself well enough…but I ask mockingly can fragrance truly improve my position on life’s upward mobility climbing ladder? It reminds me of a single rambling by another who asked I’m not insecure….am I?
Perfume bottle…primed to succeed – focussed, determined and ambitious…integral to…personal quest for success.
Pixabay, by NoName_13.
I do not fret too much about how my own muses are perceived. I really do not care. Love them or hate them. It’s mine…not theirs. Punctuation for self is more art than understanding. I like the look of my punctuation choices, I like dashes, dot-dot-dotses and new words. My failure? Always the need for amusement. Read these moments of my time slowly…do not rush. A little slower pace is best before next steps with adventure.
The MV Ciudad de Barcelona was sunk by an Italian submarine 30 May 1937. Amongst its passengers 200-250 volunteers of the International Brigades. Wiki image.
We land at Bilbao, Spain to the Foley artist sound of someone desperately sawing through metal bars attempting to escape. Our supporting cast member, an antagonist, has been created, a caricature, from a 1960s animated film opening. In all seriousness I have wanted to visit here for many years. As a conflict and home front historian who knew a member of the McKenzie-Papineau Battalion, Rowland Liversedge, a Great War veteran and survivor of the sinking of the MV Ciudad de Barcelona and interested in the bombing of Guernica by the Lufwaffe’s Spanish Condor and Italian Aviazione Legionaria, I have finally at long last visited. Our arrival is unplanned to coincide with the Festival of Guernica…an amazing experience of Basque culture.
Ruins of Guernica, 1937. Wiki image.
Upon the hill of Hotel Neguetxea Samba, Bossa Nova and perpetual 1960s greatest hits and soundtracks play…I feel immersed if not living in a Bond film. Goldfinger is sure to drive up the roadway as the camera pans to the left with my steady gaze stirred but not shaken. Please though, no more soft tones of the Saxophone…no more shakey, shakey percussion instruments…death by a thousand cuts…Coming Soon! Cue main theme…
The sign above…W.H. Smith, Portugal Street, London, England. P. Ferguson image, 13 August 2024.
…And I Wander Off It must have been forces…that took me on them wild courses…
There can be no doubt, touch-down (the landing), is the refreshment to a new day. Awake for hours, but now in London, the drive past the Ark or the more familiar Fuller’s Brewery with its London Pride advertisement for their famous amber ale is a welcome landmark…The name is also that of a common enough flower (a weed to many) but one known to grow quickly amongst the ruins of the London Blitz. Apart from London Pride, another plant, a fireweed, Rosebay Willow Herb blossomed amongst the ruins in June.
The Haberdasher’s Hall, 8 May, 1945, by Eliot Hodgkin includes Rosebay Willow Herb. Imperial War Museum Collection.
Throughout the day Bon Iver’s lyrics from 00000Million return to me…a reminder of an earlier visit when I learned of the singer/songwriter along the Rijselstraat, Ieper, Belgium. Soon we will be there too, a second refreshment, similar to the joy of sipping iced, cold lemonade after a successful hot day. Wild courses through the streets of London (and Ieper) in search…And I wander…
We fill our first half day with visits to familiar places…a war damaged sign from the Blitz off the curving Aldwych…and then on to the Cabinet War Rooms…familiar yes, but I seek the original entry door. My search is not so difficult, but many may not know that the original entry is not today’s main entrance to the popular attraction.
I-beam supports brace the walls of two buildings across a Firth Street blitz site, Soho, London. P. Ferguson image, 13 August 2024.
For day two – first to Soho to photograph a blitz-site largely not rebuilt and how I wonder how its managed to remain and probably unnoticed by many. Always look up…look down….search…the images and stories are there. Next along the Strand to a site (one office actually) that ran counter to Britain’s pre-Second World War concerns. The Link, established in 1937, was a British pro-Nazi organization that has slipped (fallen) from most people’s remembrance. This non-historical plaque site of London remains to this day and is a reminder that ,with military and home front history, one cannot pick and choose the memories to be told. It is conflict, nations at war, with all the cruelty, hurt, killing, quislings, horror, honour, glory, remembrance, and loss. I could go on but decidedly some of these words change in meaning and stature when told from previously un-encountered positions of historical learning and teaching.
James Smith & Sons Umbrellas, Oxford Street, London. P. Ferguson image, 13 August 2024.
Afterwards on to the 38 bus to Smith’s, an aged establishment of fine and classic umbrellas and canes in an attempt to refine a personal project…mind you without success…but featuring bountiful mirth as French is translated into English and reviewed in Canadian understanding. It’s wonderful. Without material joy but with a glowing heart on to Hatchards (as one must – it’s a bookstore) and to Fortnum and Masons for a fine tin of Florentines for Rosemary and her mother who left us a while back. The number of Florentines and white chocolate helmets, the latter from Ypres, were readily available to SMR upon request.
And so this was our first day and a half…the tone is set…And I wanderoff.
Paved road leading to Veterans Cemetery, Esquimalt. P. Ferguson image, 24 May 2024.
Section B…Row 7
For some hours during the darkness of my early morning I have sat…held by the Denmark Strait. As I ponder, within my oversized chair, rain falls creating rhythms and influencing themes for the day. I have duties but with these grey skies and abundance of rainfall…first I will walk…before I trek… …my previous duties now seem irrelevant…remembrance comes first.
The pride of the Royal Navy…HMS Hood. Image via Warfare History Network.
With this 2024 day, I look back to 24 May 1941, when HMS Hood was sunk by the German battleship Bismarck at about 0600. Hood received a devastating blow that broke its back taking the pride of the Royal Navy to the deep sea of the Irminger Basin. Only three Royal Navy sailors survived – Briggs, Tilburn and Dundas. At least 1,415 of Hood’s complement became memories to friends and families. Their voices lost…their stories remembered.
At the crossroads leading towards Veterans Cemetery, Esquimalt. P. Ferguson image, 24 May 2024.
Three Royal Canadian Navy midshipman, all from British Columbia served aboard HMS Hood…Thomas Norman Kemp Beard (Age 20. Victoria)…Francis Llewelyn Lloyd Jones (Age 20. Revelstoke)…Christopher John Birdwood Norman (Age 19. Victoria). Additionally, 16 sailors from Newfoundland (before it became Canada’s 10th province in 1949) were lost. One Royal Navy sailor, Samuel Charles Milburn, born in Halifax, Nova Scotia is not recorded in Canadian war dead records.
Cross of Sacrifice, Veterans Cemetery, Esquimalt. P. Ferguson image, 24 May 2024.
With my change in appointment, I set off into the rain passing through the ginnel towards my car – we must drive before we walk. I have gathered my notes and determined that today’s writing shall be about the walk…similar to previous steps as Kate Palmer’s Walk (Woods Military Cemetery,) or John Macnaughton’s Walk (Dickebusch New Military Cemetery) both of West-Vlaanderen, Belgium. Our visit today… with the parents of Thomas Beard…Commander Charles Taschereau Beard and Kathleen Adele Beard at God’s Acre – Veterans Cemetery, Esquimalt.
Midshipman Thomas Norman Kemp Beard. Image via HMS Hood Association.
I am familiar with this place having been here for family with the loss of Uncle Bob, a former Royal Canadian Navy sailor and where my own father resides amongst his armed forces brethren. There is not a step I can take, at this place, without thinking of them. On site, I walk towards the far fence and place a reminder for my one to know I have returned this day. I acknowledge my chat with him…a debriefing, so to speak, on life’s events and knowing in life he would be interested in today’s wander.
Three Robins in search of quarry amidst the markers at Veterans Cemetery. P. Ferguson image, 24 May 2024.
And then I walk and read – read and walk – row by row – using my own interpretation of naval Zig-Zag Though it is easy enough to walk to the gardener’s cabin and peruse the map layout for Area B – it is of considerable comfort to wander. There is no golf today though the sounds of mowers and leaf blowers is present and not dissimilar to the noise of harvesters near to Villers Station Cemetery, France. I am alone here save for the few Robins wrestling with those which wiggle from the rain-drenched earth.
Veterans’ Cemetery Chapel, Esquimalt. P. Ferguson image, 24 May 2024.
I have now wandered one half of Veterans Cemetery, bordered to three sides by golf course. I am unsure of the fourth border. It starts from the path on a gentle incline towards the pin. Sand traps to the left and right with its uppermost crest a border of tall trees. I continue to the gardener’s shed (also about mid-distance) and view the map and find my grid – Section B. I walk towards the family Beard and find them amidst the other names here – some of which are marked with painted poppy stones with brief inscriptions. The rain has rather drenched the two family Beard markers but for this day it is perfect here amongst the acre.
The Beard family plot at Veterans Cemetery; Charles and Kathleen. P. Ferguson image, 24 May 2024.
Today is about a gentle walk for the Beard family son Thomas…and to his parents on this the day of the Denmark Strait. With each step a thought of all those aboard HMS Hood this fateful day and of its final rest within the Denmark Strait – 2,845 meters below the surface…a depth of 1.7 miles (9,334 feet).
There is always something more here…a little extra…Lest We Forget. P. Ferguson image, 24 May 2024.
Victoria Butterfly Gardens. P. Ferguson image, May 2024.
Thoughts About Cupcakes
The wedding ring stands out from his hand. He sits alone…bringing to the table a small oval container with two iced cupcakes whose colours are as gentle as butterflies. He waits. On the diagonal a family sits…Dad, son, grandson, grandmother and. daughter-in-law. The elder face familiar to me but it is a reach to find in these 40 – 50 years passed. In this place of echoes one cannot help but overhear pieces of good conversation… Memorial Arena is heard…perhaps there…perhaps another time?
Butterfly at rest, Victoria Butterfly Gardens. P. Ferguson image, May 2024.
And there I was at that arena, where so much of youth passed…time with my own family. Globetrotters, Ice Capades, lacrosse…hockey…but not the bands but oh so how the bands played. Loud they were – my first exposure to the adrenalin of harder rock…Bachman-Turner Overdrive and then to Rush, Max Webster, Triumph, Zon, Van Halen, Heart…
Heart’s Nancy Wilson and Roger Fisher. Wiki Image.
Sitting alone, Granddad and his cupcakes, I sense loss as he waits but then…on this the best of days – he is not forever alone…a family comes together – perhaps minus one – but still – son, daughter-in-law and two girls whose destiny is cupcakes. Grandad’s expression turns gentle with happy smiles. Part of him has become whole again. Being alone always makes me reflective – observation makes me take sense of place and time. Seeing families together helps harness the years passed and to acknowledge the generations to follow. Be together and be well…these are the times we can remember…gentle things these powdered wings.
Gentle Things These Powder Wings. P. Ferguson image, May 2024.
Having worked, this day, through the loss of my favorite breakfast hash I have chosen the Healthy Start as thoughts come to me. Today’s designated path will continue as I walk with my other through the gentle heat of life as butterflies pass by my person bringing calm to my beating heart. Each step of time I watch as others share the day. And yet with each step I think upon those no longer by our side, Mum, Dad…grandparents…family…the cats…the dogs…friends at arenas. Thoughts arrive like butterflies but don’t chase them away…hold them – as the bulldog keeps surfing.
Bulldog surfing at today’s Healthy Start. P. Ferguson image, May 2024.
