All I Ever Wanted

Irish Peace Tower
Irish Peace Tower dedicated to the soldiers of Ireland who served during the Great War. Irish Peace Park. Messines.
P. Ferguson image, 2016.

Thinking Inside

Simple pleasures…and so it is…a few words…to remind of us of our hope for today.

Rest…rest my eyes…they feel moisture as they feel calm from strain. You will see them again…

Let go of our burden…allow one to carry with you…on this path – this road together…The want grows stronger…let go – give back…We see them, hear them, this day. A simple touch…(we can feel)…the steady rhythm of their heart…(we can hear)…I rest my eyes…

Ulster Tower, Thiepval, France.
Ulster Tower, Thiepval, France. Northern Ireland’s National War Memorial resembles Helen’s Tower, near Bangor.
P. Ferguson image, 2006.

A Few Words from Another

I make my way towards the café for my familiar brew…Americano – double milk…no sugar (no treats – must remember). Days pass without the new…a road I yearn made unavailable by the complexity of the microscopic. Where oh (?) new experience…new air…my unfamiliar familiar? Before the roast a few words from the broadcast…notes in the air…and then a voice…the few words of a lyric I feel akin too…I have found my flight…I have found a beating heart.

Sunken road L'Abre Rond, France.
The sunken road or lane near to L’Abre Rond, Le Cateau, France . When men are too tired to march, they must lie down and fight. General Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien, GCB, DSO (26 August 1914).
P. Ferguson image, 2006.

A Scene I See

Time and time again the soldier rests within his position perhaps his lair within a trench or more so, methinks today, alongside a sunken road or lane. Battle to begin…or just ended…perhaps a pause on the front? The soldier thinks this day…all I ever wanted…simple pleasures…the voices and touch of those who make our world…our best of days. The simple pleasures we left for granted now all we ever wanted…the soldier’s eyes rest…we will see them again.

Lifening
Snow Patrol

Lyrics

A hand upon my forehead, the joking and the laugh
Waking up in your arms, a place to call my own

This is all I ever wanted from life, this is all I ever wanted from life
This is all I ever wanted from life

Ireland in the World Cup either North or South
The fan club on the jukebox, the birds and yes the bees

This is all I ever wanted from life, this is all I ever wanted from life
This is all I ever wanted from life

Words of reassurance but only if they’re true
Just some simple kindness, no vengeance from the gods

This is all I ever wanted from life, this is all I ever wanted from life
This is all I ever wanted from life

To share what I’ve been given, some kids eventually
And be for them what I’ve had, a father like my dad

This is all I ever wanted from life, this is all I ever wanted from life
This is all I ever wanted from life

This is all I ever wanted from life, this is all I ever wanted from life
This is all I ever wanted from life

(Sung by Gary Lightbody, Snow Patrol)

For those I know whose ancestry is Bangor.

A New Day for Everyone

An inscription from a Commonwealth War Graves Commission headstone. Its letter in all capitals. Three lines - two ending with four dots for cadence.
Headstone inscription of Major Charles Davies Vaughan DSO, Border Regiment.
Killed 25 April 1915. Pink Farm Cemetery, Helles, Gallipoli
P. Ferguson image, May 2012.

Three People Never Having Met

Beneath the sky, the moon – the sun – this ground, this coast, valley, or ridge. Along the long, long trail that is our path through Gully Ravine – or our crest at Lone Pine. I return this day to wanderings across places of conflict and to now distant interests. A new voice has encouraged my new words…gifted from Nottinghamshire…connections we find when curiosity is harvested. Our voices, our words, our interests share a common bond…cherish this breath…a new day for everyone.

Climbers near W Beach, Gallipoli ascend the steep twisting path to visit a water feature (not in view. The photograph taken from the base of the scramble.
The difference between a scramble and a cliff? You can climb a scramble.
Near W. Beach, Gallipoli.
P. Ferguson image, May 2012.

First, I watch…then I search…

The camera is placed…the soundtrack begins…the low cries of cattle are heard…our host appears…their voice…grateful to others…it’s in a beautiful location – it’s a bit misty at the minute. I have now found the track to lead this new day…having waited seemingly for days to let go of rainbows…follow, follow the sun…

Now I have searched…now I will listen…

The voice is Australian and with the soundtrack I return to class – Dr. Alkire’s ethnography of Australia…Dr. Welch’s class of Australian filmmakers…this is the Dreamtime…one day perhaps I will stand before Uluru and walk no further, but enjoy this island mountain glow red at dawn – glow red at sunset. From generation to generation…elder to youth…a new day for everyone.

The famed Gully Ravine., Gallipoli Visitors rest at the natural rock wall. The trail is rugged and the short wall must be scaled. On the other side (out of view), a pond - best avoided after climbing over the wall.
Near the natural rock wall. Gully Ravine, Gallipoli.
P. Ferguson image, May 2012.

Of all things Australia, and related to my present interests, I witness the race and runners of Peter Weir’s Gallipoli (1981). I learn, with this evening, that Weir’s Gallipoli followed graduation,…and I see again the beaches and ridges, the 2012 hikes we made across steep terrain…difficult narrow paths that I would return to in a single heartbeat…what does your heart say?. I see Crowe’s Water Diviner (2014)…you have to feel it. Çanakkale, Geilbolu…as fast as a leopard. As water is to Tiddalik and Joshua Connor, rainbows are to Kermit and Archy Hamilton…dream with care…

Xavier Rudd…the Australian voice…acoustic in hand…kapo at the fifth…the metronome foot – our heartbeat…harmonica and song. As I listen, I seek the chords, my right hand finds the notes. Like my previous soloist, I do not opt for the original recording but studio live. When this day is done…a new day for everyone…brand new moon brand new sun.

Three people never having met.

Follow the Sun
Xavier Rudd
2012

Follow, follow the sun

And which way the wind blows
When this day is done

Breathe, breathe in the air
Set your intentions
Dream with care
Tomorrow is a new day for everyone,
Brand new moon, brand new sun

So follow, follow the sun,
The direction of the bird,
The direction of love

Breathe, breathe in the air,
Cherish this moment,
Cherish this breath
Tomorrow is a new day for everyone,
Brand new moon, brand new sun

When you feel life coming down on you,
Like a heavy weight
When you feel this crazy society,
Adding to the strain
Take a stroll to the nearest waters
And remember your place
Many moons have risen and fallen long, long before you came

So which way is the wind blowin’,
And what does your heart say?

So follow, follow the sun,
And which way the wind blows
When this day is done

Previously published Pipes of War website, 23 May 2020

Someday We’ll Find It

A rainbow on a horizon of trees. Another rainbow, barely visible can be seen to its left.
Rainbow
What so we think we might see…
Rosemary will know.
P. Ferguson image, July 2016.

The Sweet Sound that Calls

Every once in a while we are able to step outside the shade and into the light. I enjoy seeing little suggestions turned by creative minds into joy and laughter. Two recent ideas have proven popular and with each day in the shade I continue to try and cast a little email of light. The results are spectacular. Racecourses are built, rocks are found. There is building, there is painting…the reward – perhaps a picture or two, a video of glee.

Since this shade has arrived, I have found words to help with the light. Sometimes the ideas come quickly…at other times it is a struggle. As I turn the virtual pages of historic tomes, card files and indices, in search of breathe in tumultuous times, it can become overwhelming. Amongst these pages there is a proliferation of tragic tales…and so at times I will search for ideas outside my usual genre. Late one evening, last night in fact, I turn to virtual auditions…someday we’ll find it…the sweet sound that calls.

There is an idea, though the brew percolates…it takes time to build flavour…first Willie, then Alison, then others. Still after several worthy deliveries I turn to the original – close – but is it possible there can be something more? And yes there is. Now with the right spirit, I become disparate for connections. I grab at thoughts – seemingly arbitrary and then – by harnessing these chirping calls my craft begins. Building on ideas that are perhaps best known to persons best familiar with one and other…I sit within the stillness…question and deviate and return…it is the craft (the light) that counts…maybe some chirping for my reader’s shade will conjure ink from their pens?

Each day – each evening I chatter with Rosemary providing her with thoughts for her now online youngsters (students). Marble races and rock monsters…laughter and joy. But so too within our virtual connection there is the shade of alonenessness. In helping Rosemary, she helps me…she encourages this mind to bring thoughts together that though perhaps here and there…are my racecourses, my rock monsters…she knows this mind…she knows my experience.

Today there is light…an unlikely connection of a July rainbow (that she will understand) and a marsh (because in its unobviousness it is obvious to her)…its not our usual history here…but Rosemary will recognize…light is more fun than the shade…the sweet sound that calls.

For Rosemary
The Lovers, the Dreamers and Me

Someday We’ll Find It

Bringing Light to Us All
The Rainbow Connection
From The Muppet Movie (1979)

My Grateful and Special Thanks
to
Kermit the Frog
Jim Henson
Paul Williams
Kenneth Ascher
Matt Vogel
Disney Magic Moments

Previously published Pipes of War website, 6 May 2020

In Love and Light

A statue of a woman holds onto a wall of names atop a crest of rocks. A poppy wreath lies in the foreground of the memorial.
Mother Peace
The Oak Bay War Memorial, Uplands Park, Victoria, B.C.
James Saull, sculptor.
P. Ferguson image, April 2020.

“Everything Starts With Light”.
Ara Güler
Photojournalist. The Eye of Istanbul.

Dearest Mother Peace,

I passed your way this morning to climb an old friend…Mt. Tolmie…to see this city…to visit a solitary tree near to its crest. A bonfire here once signaled an ending…for miles around all were made aware, from its flame, of a peace so yearned for.

Fog this day has claimed our abundance of water between lands. It lies heavy atop deep blue stillness. Within this density of storied mist, it is as if all that has once been, passes once more this way. Standing as distant witness to this gift…awareness…my heart steadies as I sip within the vision.

Looking from Mt. Tolmie towards the water. It is a heavily foggy sea.
Fog this day…all that has once been, passes once more this way.
P. Ferguson image, April 2020.

Perhaps you have heard, the Bourdon bell sounded at Notre Dame? A year to the day of its fiery plight, testament to Our Lady’s survival and to those of the front-line during our current engagement with the darkness. An invisible wrath, the darkness slips into the crevices, worming its way on its diet of calamity.

But with this day my path has brought light amidst the tremors. At my place of learning, words written upon a walkway, “There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in”. Leonard Cohen has spoken, a gift from an anonymous student. Cohen – poet, songwriter and ordained Buddhist monk, whose Dharma name Jikan (Silence) aligns with my penchant for stillness…More words from Cohen’s anthem will echo with the Bourdon bell…though not so silent there is peace from the tintinnabulation.

A solitary tree near the crest of Mt. Tolmie.
Solitary tree close to the crest of Mt. Tolmie.
Near this place a bonfire once signalled peace.
P. Ferguson image, April 2020.

Below the crest, I gaze upon my solitary tree and am reminded of a previous light, of another day, when amongst pages of remembrance, a simple drawing with few words – candle, poppy, “in love and light”, heart. (Glenn & Nikki, Belgie, War Graves Visitor’s Book, Larch Wood Railway Cutting Cemetery). My seeking path is contented this day bringing observations together… having wondered many times what will bring connection to these discoveries. All the while I continue with my encounters choosing when to find the shutter. The process is reaffirming…all the while an open eye to the light…I continue to walk.

In closing, my dearest Mother Peace…upon your vigil continue…your eyes upon them. Hold them close within your arms. Repeat their names as nearby water lies still and unbroken, swept with whitecaps or covered in the mist of all that has passed. Somewhere, in the mists of time, a distant bell signals as stillness is sought upon the trail.

In love and light…I remain…

“Ring the bells that still can ring”.
(Leonard Cohen, Anthem, 1992)

A handwritten illustration and note written in a Commonwealth War Graves Commission visitor's book. A candle, poppy and heart.
In love and light.
Thanks to Glenn and Nikki…a piece of the trail continues to shine.
P. Ferguson image, September 2017.

Previously published Pipes of War website, 19 April 2020

Structure, Skirt and Wheel

A runner crosses the finish line as the coach observes the watch to observe the time.
From Peter Weir’s Gallipoli (1981).
Archy Hamilton triumphs in achieving a racing record.

Reoccurring Imagery in Film

Near the start of this New Year I turn again to films whose peninsular lands I have wandered. From Peter Weir’s Gallipoli, that galvanized my interest in film-making, to Russell Crowe’s The Water Diviner whose pilgrim father is a character to whom I relate. In Weir’s Gallipoli it is the runner, within Mark Lee’s Archy, at the distance finish line and at life’s ending…the similar film sequences that remain within my person…evoking the cycle of life from triumph to disaster…a life won…a life lost.

The recreated motion of the runner at the finish line reoccurs in this image of the runner's last moments at Gallipoli.
From Peter Weir’s Gallipoli (1981).
Archy Hamilton aka Lascelles lost at Gallipoli…the reoccurring image

Similarly there are many themes to choose from in Crowe’s The Water Diviner. Perhaps the reoccurring touch of a caring hand, the symbolism of wells and water…discovery or escape as birth and rebirth? There are magic carpets and Arabian Knights, scenes of earth, wind and sun and so too homage to Crowe’s Gladiator as rider along the road or kneeling with earth in hand.

We have seen similar things in our own realities – images of memory that we carry for our cycle on this earth. Perhaps it is as witnesses to the elder who touches drum to earth before the rhythm of the heart begins to beat or to the Sensei whose belt touches cheek and temple before the belt is tied? These observations remain within us for some purpose…they can be effective teachings…but how to place them in story…where to use them…as reoccurring imagery or as symbols in our presentations. They are here for a purpose…finding their place can be significant as the journey they explore rather than their ultimate definition.

Today I turn to whirling motion in The Water Diviner...the cyclical energy that appears and reappears throughout the film as structure, skirt and wheel. This reoccurring theme places itself as backdrop and main sequence to Russell Crowe’s Joshua Connor as father and Ryan Corr’s Arthur Connor as son. Windmill, whirling Dervish and locomotive…I see these motions as the cycle of Crowe’s story…symbolic kinetics that subliminally move the Connor story along. Background or passing actions, symbols perhaps missed when we become mesmerized with the front of house large screen.

In particular I use these, my meditations, to critique film reviews. As historian I applaud historical accuracy but I also applaud the film-maker’s art. Perhaps history has not recorded an Australian Gallipoli soldier swirling with the Sufis but look for meaning within the whirling Dervish scenes of Arthur Connor and relate theme to the torment of his Gallipoli. Perhaps Arthur dances to be closer to God…to be closer to the mystical rather than the reality he has faced, setting himself apart from earthly things.

My one only hope for Ryan Corr’s character…that Arthur Connor continues to dance upon his return home.

Whirling Dervishes in motion, their clothing a similar colour to the walls and the room in which they spin.
Whirling Dervish scene from The Water Diviner (2014) featuring Arthur Connor.

A secret turning in us makes the universe turn.
Head unaware of feet, and feet of head. Neither cares.
They keep turning.
(Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī 1207 – 1273).

Video: Step Inside the Mind of a Whirling Dervish.
TRT (Turkish Radio and Television Corporation)

Previously published Pipes of War website, 4 January 2020

As the Stars are Known to the Night

The canal outside the Menin Gate Memorial. It is after sunset. The sky is indigo blue-black and the earth's feature darker. Lights reflect off the canal in a row towards a vanishing point.
Waiting for the stars above Flanders. The Kasteelgracht near to the Menin Gate Memorial.
P. Ferguson image, September 2006.

Remembrance

I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.
Augustine Mandino II (Author and WWII USAAF B-24 Bombardier)

This one night, seemingly so long ago, I lie awake looking from the window of our Brandhoek stay. The view is the stillness of the indigo blue-black night, the quiet beckoning of the stars. There are shapes to see and mist around the forms. It is the end of the day. Nearby, soldiers rest at Brandhoek’s cemeteries. That evening vision has remained with me, that night between Ypres and Poperinghe…so often I wish, perchance, to have this night…to show it here…it is not to be.

A light blue-green rosary is draped over the top of a Commonwealth War Graves Commission marker. W. Allen's name can be see with details above the insignia of the Royal Field Artillery emblazoned on a christian cross.
The Rosary.
Shoeing Smith W. Allen. “B” Battery, 177th Brigade, Royal Field Artillery.
Killed 27 July 1917, Age 31.
Brandhoek New Military Cemetery.
P. Ferguson image, September 2009.

Brandhoek is a small hamlet once used as a Casualty Clearing Station and Field Ambulance during the war that consumed this region from 1914 – 1918. Here we find Brandhoek Military Cemetery (601 burials), Brandhoek New Military Cemetery (514 burials) and Brandhoek New Military Cemetery No. 3 (849 burials).

And here all the light we cannot see…as the stars are known to the night. Stories of lives lived…if we can only find the keys, like the rosary hanging from one marker…there is story here. At light…at darkness, beneath the indigo blue-black night where stars shine above the mist and forms that is Flanders remembered.

Previously published Pipes of War website, 11 November 2019

John Macnaughton’s Walk

A sepia toned portrait image of Ian Macnaughton wearing his officer's uniform with Sam Brown belt. He looks towards his right.
Lieutenant Ian Robert Reekie Macnaughton. From the McGill Honour Roll 1914-1918”.
Canadian Virtual War Memorial.

One Day Soon…

There is another place to visit, following in the footsteps of Professor John Macnaughton’s walk to his son’s grave at Dickebusch New Military Cemetery, West-Vlaanderen, Belgium. Found within the pages of the Canada Illustrated Weekly, a letter of thanks to St. Barnabas Hostels, a brief note of gratitude….

Will you kindly allow me to express, through your columns, my gratitude to the St. Barnabas Hostels…for their hospitality and invaluable assistance to me in the course of a recent visit to the grave of my son, killed at Dickebusch, Flanders, in April, 1916? [sic] Without them I should never have been able to find the grave, and so missed the object of a long journey from beyond the sea. Hundreds of others I have no doubt, have had a similar experience, such persons will agree with me in setting a very high value indeed on the help and sympathy received by them at a very distressing moment from this admirable organization which, without the least public backing, is doing such indispensable work for private persons…(Canada Illustrated Weekly, 3 July 1920, p. 8)

…We will pick a day one day soon, to walk the distance from Ieper (Ypres) to Dickebusch, approximately 5.3 km away. It will be reminiscent of an earlier journey made in August 2018 to Roy Palmer’s place of rest at Woods Military Cemetery and where, in 1922, his mother Kate visited. The Palmer visit is often in my mind and so too I now think about Professor Macnaughton and his journey. Their stories have led to a new interest – investigating the pilgrim stories of the post-Great War (1919-1922) to learn of those who went, those advertising tours and those, like St. Barnabas, who provided assistance.

An elder citizen visiting at Menin Gate raises his cell phone to take a picture of the names on the memorial.
Upwards they look. A visitor at the Menin Gate Memorial, Ieper (Ypres), Belgium.
P. Ferguson image, November 2018.

As well together, Macnaughton and Palmer remind me that they are but two of hundreds of thousands…..from then to date…..of pilgrims who visited. Sadly it reminds me that for many of the souls buried here or commemorated on the memorials, no one has come. Yet these fallen should know that when visitors open these gates and enter we cannot help but follow their names…their lives… row by row, or look skyward upon panels of names. We read, we come to terms with the vastness of these lost lives…and in doing so we find our Palmers and Macnaughtons who guide us.

So too I will one day visit at Gommecourt British Cemetery, France to read one epitaph, one inscription on the marker of Captain Richard Lennard Hoare…And the leaves of the trees were for the healing of the nations. For someone like myself it is not the knowing it is the being. What I learn I plant within, and take it on all my journeys. Somehow it is about connection…individuals I have not known yet through some finding they become points of purpose…we will remember them…the fallen and those left to mourn…

Villers Station Cemetery from outside the entry. A low brick wall surrounds the markers and Cross of Sacrifice that can be seen at the back of the cemetery though the archway of the entry. Trees filled with green leaves have been planted along the inside of walls. A farmer's field in the background.
The entrance way with gate at Villers Station Cemetery, France.
P. Ferguson image, September 2005.

Lieutenant Ian Robert Reekie Macnaughton was killed 26 April 1916 serving with the 24th Canadian Infantry Battalion. Prior to his service during the Great War he attended McGill University, Arts 1909-11, Law 1914-1915 and attended Royal Military College 1912-1913. Ian’s father John Macnaughton was Professor of Latin at Toronto University and on 17 March 1921 he spoke to the Empire Club of Canada where he mentioned his travels to France and to Ypres.

my real object in going over was to visit France, where I had to look out two graves, and I had to go to a part which was well known to our Canadians; we heard a great deal about that ploughed salient of Ypres…There one saw graves, graves in dreadful desolation. There one saw the desolation of all the buildings; scarcely one stone left standing on another…I am glad to say that those graves are being gradually brought to order now. In France I saw one of the completed cemeteries, and really it was very beautifully done…Then, of course, one had many reflections there. Around Ypres, was the peculiarly deadly part for our Canadians, and one felt: What a loss we have had in those boys, our very best! What a loss Canada has had. Yes, indeed, a great loss, a loss to which there is no way of doing adequate justice. (The Olde Country Revisited, The Empire Club of Canada Addresses, 17 March 1921, p. 114-128)

Previously published Pipes of War website, 10 November 2019

After the War

A light brown brick building with a stepped gable in the Belgian city of Iper (Ypres).
1922
In Ypres (Ieper) look upon the gables, rooftops and walls…there are reminders here.
P. Ferguson image, August 2018.

Reminders

After the war…each day’s new peace is punctuated by the craggy and weighted fragments of former ambition and rubble. Once these were buildings…these were homes. The exclamations, and pauses, the commas, the full stops of life.

With each day a small section of peace is renewed as foundation is revealed…the rebuilding continues. Brick by brick, stone by stone, breath to breath…the people reclaim their spaces, their places. There was war once here…the rat-a-tat-tat of the machine gun replaced by the tat-a-tat-tat of the stone mason’s hammer and chisel. The war continues each day, the staccato of steel…as stone chips fall…year by year. These are the signs 1 9 2 1 1 9 2 2 1 9 2 3. Read them here at Ypres, hear them from their walls, their rooftops, their gables. This is their chorus of rebirth. These are reminders of war.

At Ypres they came…the pilgrims and people knew they would come…to find their loves, their sons and daughters, their families caught by this land. They came soon…on their own or with help…St. Barnabas… the YMCA…the British War Graves Commission…the Salvation Army…the Church Army…a father…a mother…family in search of their love…their kin amidst this soil, forever sacred, forever light. The darkness shall not find them.

And here amongst the foundations a new stone is placed. There will be a new beginning, building or home…as pilgrims wander, fallen fragments. These are reminders of war.

Previously published Pipes of War website, 28 October 2019

Never say goodbye

A well-worn copy of "The Story of Peter Pan" sits with crumbled old papers. A much loved book read time and time again.
The Story of Peter Pan for Little People.
R. Ferguson image, March 2019.

Far away in the Never-Never-Never-Land, the Lost Boys lived in a forest…
They lived like moles under the ground.
The Story of Peter Pan For Little People (A New Home, pp. 32-33)

Alone and discarded among other former memories. Spine broken – fitted with an assortment of mending tape. Once read…many times read, the life passed from its pages..now reborn by a caring hand that knew another story it could tell…of a lost boy close to author James Matthew Barrie.

The Peter Pan statue at Kensington Gardens, London. Peter with his flute or trumpet atop a much sculpted plinth featuring animals.
George Frampton’s Peter Pan statue at Kensington Gardens, London.
P. Ferguson image, March 2017.

George Llewellyn Davies served in the Great War…a Second Lieutenant with the 6th Battalion, King’s Royal Rifle Corps, attached to the Rifle Brigade. In his youth George was Barrie’s inspiration for the character of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys.  One famous line, described as memorable,  To die will be an awfully big adventure succumbs to Davies’ Great War when on March 15, 1915…George joined the lost boys of many families. George Llewellyn Davies is buried at Voormezeele Enclosure No.3, Voormezeele, near Ieper (Ypres), Belgium.

A magical photo of ducks floating peacefully top the Serpentine. Colourful birds on gently motioned water.
The ducks in the Serpentine, Kensington Gardens, London.
P. Ferguson image, March 2017.

Frampton’s statue was commissioned by Barrie and appeared overnight, without permissions, 30 April 1912. Barrie published the following note, There is a surprise in store for the children who go to Kensington Gardens to feed the ducks in the Serpentine this morning. Down by the little bay on the south-western side of the tail of the Serpentine they will find a May-day gift by Mr J.M. Barrie, a figure of Peter Pan blowing his pipe on the stump of a tree, with fairies and mice and squirrels all around. It is the work of Sir George Frampton, and the bronze figure of the boy who would never grow up is delightfully conceived. (The Times, 1 May 1912).

The red petals of a floral plant next to the Commonwealth War Graves Commission headstone of George Llewellyn Davies, the inspiration for Peter Pan.
Alongside George Llewellyn Davies, at Voormezeele Enclosure No. 3, Belgium.
P. Ferguson image, September 2006.

Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away, and away means forgetting.
Peter Pan
J.M. Barrie, 1904

Previously published Pipes of War website, 16 March 2019

To the Light of the Morning…

A Commonwealth War Graves Commission headstone detail recording the next of kin of Private W. Fletcher's grave. His parents chose the inscription "Some Day We'll Understand". A wooden poppy cross with a red poppy and hand lettered inscription is in the foreground.
The inscription on Private W. Fletcher’s grave at Ypres, Belgium…Some Day We’ll Understand.
P. Ferguson image, 9 November 2018.

…I’ll let it in

This day, 11 November 2018…a hundred years has passed and in my time I have hoped to bring to you…connection. These words have followed my path as I have followed the trails of the Great War from the June heat of Gallipoli to the cold gusts of a November Western Front.

It was not long ago that I wrote the 100ths are soon upon us…and now, a little more than four years later, it is time. Not to let it go…but to let it rest…there is more to follow…but for now, allow me this chance for quiet thoughts…to rejoice in today’s silence…some regeneration…but a few more lines please…

…In August 2018  I visited here at the Menin Gate, bringing Rosemary to this and all the other places that I have experienced. Vimy…Thiepval…Spoilbank, and more. I have mentioned, many times, searching for peace in the chaos…I have found new ways, new designs, new messages…I have become more aware. I have invited connection…and it has provided. There is symbolism here, there is metaphor…there is peace in this chaos. One needs to let it in…

If the Great War teaches us anything, it is that it continues to provide its lessons…It offered me the chance to find a voice and I accepted…I can only hope that in some small way I have, through my clatterings, found the voices of those with whom I have visited whilst searching for my peace.

In August last year Rosemary and I stayed in Ieper (Ypres) and discovered a kindred spirit…Elodie…whose similar taste in music offered another chance at reclaiming the peace I sought. Through Elodie, we discovered Bon Iver. I was connected immediately. Again this morning, at 8:22 a.m., its words came to visit once again…I have searched for its meaning…you can too…It is, for Bon Iver, an awakening of understanding…it is a metaphor of my journey…to the light of the morning…peace in the chaos…if we let it in…

To all those who served…We all have a voice.

Thank you!

Previously published Pipes of War website, 11 November 2018