Walking Blog - Day 7

It's not simply the seventh day I've blogged, or walked, for that matter: it's just the seventh day that I've had pictures to post from a walk I've taken - if that makes sense!

This morning the sun was shining, and early on there wasn't a cloud in the sky, tho by 10 or so there were a few puffy ones here and there. Today is one of our grocery days (we go every two or three days so we can keep ahead of the fresh produce) and as we were on our way to town, Himself said 'If you want, I'll get the groceries and you can visit George. I can pick you up when I'm done.'

'Visit George' is our shorthand for walking around the cemetery. George Formby was an entertainer in the English music hall tradition (his father had been such an entertainer as well). He got his start in the 1920s and continued performing until his death in the early '60s. Some of his songs are quite amusing, and he sang in a funny voice, exaggerating his northwest-England accent. At any rate, he ended up in the local cemetery - perhaps the only really famous person buried there - so when we walk in the cemetery, we 'visit George.'

It's a nice marble monument, put up apparently by his mother, who outlived him by some 30 years or more:



George also made some movies, and was on television as well as stage - he did some Royal Variety Performances, for example, and was awarded an OBE, so he was pretty popular in his day. I think of him as a cross between Rudy Vallee and Red Skelton. I found this picture on the 'net:



If you ever have a chance to listen to some of his songs, you might get a laugh. Some of them really are comical.

The bluebells have gone wild in the cemetery. There were several crews working there today, trimming and cleaning up, but they seemed to try to leave the bluebells as much as possible. I don't know if the white and pink ones are technically 'bluebells,' or are the flowers known as 'harebells.'





There's a pretty little chapel there, tho not as nice as the one in the Sale cemetery (the one we went to the other day). There's a fountain beside it; I didn't get a picture of the chapel, but the fountain - which had not been in good repair several years ago - was working today and had flowers around it:



I'm always mindful that walking around a cemetery is walking around someone's grief - even those who are long gone were (presumably) mourned by someone. This cemetery has a little area set aside near the chapel - it's called The Forget-Me-Not Baby Garden. It is probably the saddest place in the whole graveyard, to me at least, but the loving care lavished on these tiny graves of the stillborn and infants who had such short lives is so touching - pinwheels, stuffed animals, lanterns, and so many flowers:



There were small toys here and there, that put me in mind of the little cars Jeannie photographed the other day. Mostly when I walk in this section I count my blessings - my son is 29, my daughter is 27, and I know how very lucky I am to have them.

In Britain Veterans' Day - Armistice Day - is very special. There is a service held the Saturday before 11 November, in the Royal Albert Hall: the Queen and other members of the royal family are in attendance. On Sunday, there is a commemorative service and a big parade at the Cenotaph in London - again with the Queen in attendance - and poppy wreaths are presented by dignitaries, government officials, representatives from other countries, and by the various military and veterans' organizations. It is - for lack of a better way to explain it - A Very Big Deal. On 11 November at 11 AM, every store, school, office, hospital - every public place - pauses for two minutes of silence. You will read that it was moved to the Sunday nearest 11 November, but I can attest that the two minutes' silence happens at 11 AM on 11 / 11.

At any rate, every little village and hamlet, every town, every city, has one or more 'cenotaphs': monuments dedicated to those who died in The Great War. Some of these are at cross-roads, or near parish churches. Often they are in local cemeteries. Eventually, sadly, more names from other wars were added. Many places have a different monument altogether for those from World War II and so on. In the local cemetery, the graves of a number of local 'lads' who died in the First World War are set into a special small cemetery of their own, with a monument that is decorated with poppy wreaths every November. This area is very neat and carefully tended, with beautiful flowers:







Another place that reminds me to count my many blessings, even as I enjoy the solitude and tranquility.