'The lamps are going out . . .

. . . all over Europe, we shall not see them lit again in our life-time.'

It is these words, attributed to Sir Edward Grey*, on the eve of the first world war that will be remembered as our nation commemorates the beginning of that war and some 244 weeks of remembrance, reflection and homage.

Please make the time and take the opportunity to visit one of the many 'Lights Out' services that will be happening across this nation of ours on the 4th August 2014.

For those in Tamworth there will be such a service from 10 - 11 pm at St Editha's church in the centre of town.

There is also a service at the National Memorial Arboretum which will run from 8 - 9pm - the climax coming as all lights having been extinguished and the sun sets (20:54) the service ends with the playing of the Last Post.

Please check to see where your 'Lights Out' service will be taking place (and for those who know - post details here as comments.

Thank You

* whose father was the 1st Earl Grey


and yes I will do you one of these with your badge on Nick :-)

Christmas Cards - Dec 12

As we approach the end of the year and begin to think about the centenary of the 1914-18 war, I thought that this might be a fitting card to reflect upon and to pause for a moment to think of all who have died in wars and for those who serve in foreign lands as part of our forces this Christmas.

Please remember those who serve and those who wait for them to return this Christmas.

WWI poets - Wilfred Owen

4th August 2014 is the centenary of the beginning of the 1914-18 conflict.

Some people I have spoken to are thinking that this is it but in fact the four years, three months and eight days (or 223 weeks) that we cover from the first act of commemoration through the many (some one hundred and fifty) battles trough to the final act of thanks (and then a celebration for that war's end) on Armistice Day.

As I began to focus on what this marathon will mean for me I was led back to Wilfred Owen's poem:

'Anthem For Doomed Youth'
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.


Here in Tamworth we have a former Vicar in the form of Morris Berkeley Peel who died 'tending the wounded' in May 1917 to think about (plus a wall full of men from our community who marched away never to return).

What about where you are?