Sunday, 9 November at 10.30 am
in both churches
An opportunity to share in remembering those who gave their lives for us.
There are War Graves in the churchyard at Christ Church. For more details visit this page.
Also of interest may be these wall paintings
A reminder from the Muslim Christian Forum which shared this photograph
I WENT TO SEE THE SOLDIERS by Kenny Martin
I went to see the soldiers, row on row on row,
And wondered about each so still, their badges all on show.
What brought them here, what life before
Was like for each of them?
What made them angry, laugh or cry,
These soldiers, boys and men.
Some so young, some older still, a bond more close than brothers
Those men have earned and shared a love, that’s not like any others.
They trained as one, they fought as one
They shared their last together.
That bond endures, that love is true
And will be, now and ever.
I could not know, how could I guess, what choices each had made,
Of how they came to soldiering, what part each one had played?
But here they are and here they’ll stay,
Each one silent and in place,
Their headstones line up row on row
They guard this hallowed place.
PLEASE WEAR A POPPY:
by Don Crawford
“Please wear a Poppy,” the lady said,
And held one forth, but I shook my head,
Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there,
And her face was old and lined with care;
But beneath the scars the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.
A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on carefree feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun:
“Lady,” said he, “May I have one?”
When she pinned it on he turned to say,
“Why do we wear a poppy today?”
The lady smiled in her wistful way,
And answered, “This is Remembrance Day,
And the poppy there is a symbol for
The gallant ones who died in war.
And because they did, you and I are free,
That’s why we wear the poppy, you see.
I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to play and jump and shout,
Free as a bird he would race about.
As the years went by he learned and grew,
And became a man – as you will, too.
He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile
But it seemed he had been with us just a while
When war broke out, he went away,
And all I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the dreadful plight,
(I can see it still in my dreams at night)
With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
and the mines and bullets, the bombs and fire.
Till at last, at last, the war was won –
And that’s why we wear a poppy, son.”
The small boy turned as if to go,
Then said, “Thanks lady, I’m glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight,
But your son – did he come back all right?”
A tear rolled down each faded cheek:
She shook her head but didn’t speak.
I slunk away in a sort of shame,
And if you were me you’d have done the same:
For our thanks, in giving, is oft delayed
Though our freedom was bought - And thousands paid.
And so when we see a poppy worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne,
By those who gave their very all,
When asked to answer their country’s call.
That we at home in peace might live.
Then wear a poppy,
Remember
And give.