We will remember them

 

We will remember them

The latest post box topper draws attention to Remembrance Day. It is not a celebration of war and it is pleasing to note that there are purple and white poppies, as well as the more familiar scarlet flowers. The purple poppies symbolise the many animals that have been killed in so many wars. The white poppies represent remembrance for all victims of conflict and a wish for peace. White poppies are often worn by Quakers.

‘They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old,

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn,

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them.’

These words, the fourth stanza of Robert Laurence Binyon’s ‘Ode of Remembrance,’ are spoken at the Cenotaph in London and at countless village memorials and military bases throughout the world on Remembrance Sunday. It is a solemn, poignant moment and is followed by the deepening quietness of the two-minute silence. Whatever the size of the gathering, it is moving to observe the reverence displayed, in particular by the very old and the extremely young. 

At 11 a.m. on November 11^th, the moment at which the Armistice came into effect in 1918, having been agreed at 05.10.am, many businesses, schools, and other organisations, observe the silence.

It was first observed on November 11^th, 1919, to mark the first anniversary of the cessation of the First World War. It was initiated by King George V, who issued a proclamation appealing for a two-minute silence ‘to remember the fallen.’ The first minute was to remember those who had died in conflict, soldiers, and civilians alike, and the second was to give thought to those left behind, the maimed and the bereaved, who must continue with their altered lives.

Laurence Binyon wrote ‘For the Fallen’ in September 1914, a few weeks after war was declared when many casualties had been suffered at the Battles of Mons and Le Cateau and the First Battle of the Marne.

In 1915, aged forty-six, he volunteered as a hospital orderly in France and later, in England, cared for the returned wounded from the ten-month long Battle of Verdun.

A pubful of dads . . .

 

A pubful of dads . . .

One day, with a class of 7-year-olds, I talked about collective nouns and the children became quite excited and started making up their own. I wish I had noted them all, for they were imaginative, but the one that stuck in my head was ‘a pubful of dads.’

'Two pints of your best, please, Landlord'

The latest post box topper marks Fathers’ Day, which was 16^th June.

I wonder if the next – if there will be a next – will celebrate the local biennial carnival, the election, the Olympics, or something else entirely.

Postbox topper, May 2024

This postbox topper celebrates 200 years of the existence of the RNLI (Royal National Lifeboat Institution)

Pumpkin Mice Tales

 

Pumpkin Mice Tales

The Pumpkin Mice liked their home on the Tower. They especially liked the little children who passed by every day, chattering with their friends and their mothers. Then, suddenly, the little children stopped coming. The Pumpkin Mice were puzzled and sad and wondered if they had done something wrong. They didn’t think they had but there was no-one they could ask.

One day they saw a mother with a little child and overheard her saying, ‘Half-term’s nearly over. Back to school next week.’ The little child began to cry, saying, ‘I don’t want to. I don’t like school.’ The mother said, ‘You’ll be fine. You’ll like it when you see all your friends again.’ They wandered off, the little child still sniffling.

The Pumpkin Mice were sorry for the little child but there wasn’t anything they could do and then something rather strange happened which drove out all thoughts of grizzling little children. Coming out of their pumpkins one morning they noticed that there was a sort of umbrella over them. That was nice because it kept the rain off but it felt odd. The umbrella, if that’s what it was, moved. It had eight red and black hairy poles and when they skittered outside the shelter of the umbrella and looked up they saw that it was red and black and had a big smiley face, so they weren’t afraid. You can’t be frightened of a smile.

The mothers and children began to walk past again every day. ‘Oh, look,’ said one mother, ‘There’s a big spider on the pumpkins now.’

‘Will it eat the mice?’ asked her little child.

 ‘No, no,' said the mother. It’s a friendly spider. Goodness, look at the time. We must hurry or you’ll be late.’

The Pumpkin Mice looked at each other. ‘Spider,’ they said, trying out the new word. The smallest mouse, Little Grey, asked, ‘Where is the time? The mother told the little child to look at it, but I can’t see it anywhere. What does it look like?’

Big Brown Mouse, the oldest and wisest of the Pumpkin Mice, said, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s a thing that humans fret over and nothing to concern us.’

Then White Mouse with the exceedingly long and beautiful green tail said, ‘I heard one of the mothers telling her little child that the clocks went back on Sunday. Where did the clocks go back to? And why?’

 Big Brown Mouse sighed. ‘The clocks don’t actually go anywhere. They stay right where they are. The humans just reorganise the hours to make the most of the sunlight in the mornings. It means that night falls earlier.’

The Pumpkin Mice had noticed that big orange pumpkins were appearing on the doorsteps and in the windows of the houses nearby. They wondered why and then they saw them all lit up one night and the street around their tower was filled with lots of children, little and big, dressed up in strange clothes and going from house to house. 

In their hands they carried small baskets and some of the bigger children had torches that they shone to show them the path. One or two of them held their torches under their chins and that made them look scary. Tiny Grey, Small Brown and Little White were frightened but Big Brown Mouse told them to be brave. ‘They don’t want to hurt us. They’re trick-or-treating because it’s Hallowe’en’ and before any of them could ask any more questions, Big Brown Mouse said, ‘It’s bed-time, Mousekins. Good night.’

Once upon a time

 

Once upon a time

In a field full of fat, round, juicy pumpkins, six mice had found a perfect place to tarry awhile and enjoy a feast. They called themselves the Pumpkin Mice. They were related, as all mice are, but they were cousins rather than siblings. They were descendants of mouse aristocrats, the Fancy Mice, and some of their ancestors had won prizes at Mouse Fancy Shows and had their photographs taken with a big silver trophy.

Though the Pumpkin Mice were not show mice, they had beautiful, large ears and bright blue eyes which were quite remarkable, having never before been seen in the mouse world. The length of their tails varied considerably and most of them were pink but one was a startling green and quite the longest tail ever seen in Mousedom.

They had scurried away to hide inside the pumpkins when they heard movement in the field. Too many of their friends and relations had met an unpleasant end at the teeth and beaks of larger creatures. Quaking and shivering, they awaited their fate. After a very long time, they emerged blinking into the daylight and gazed around, thankful still to be alive, but what was this? The pumpkins were no longer in the field but lifted high on a tower. They peered over the edges, wondering if it would be safe to attempt an escape. Where would they go? Everything was so unfamiliar. They decided it would be safer to stay where they were, with shelter and food.

As the days went by they noticed that lots of passers-by stopped by the pumpkins on the tower. When they realised they were quite safe and that the little children and their parents were just looking and didn’t want to take their pumpkins away they became braver and began to peek at the people.

The mothers said, ‘Look at the little mice’ and ‘Aren’t they sweet?’ and the little children said, ‘Ooh’ and ‘Ahh’.

The Pumpkin Mice were happy in their new home. The squirrels didn’t worry them, as squirrels don’t bother with pumpkin when there are so many other delicious things to eat. The crows and magpies noticed them but didn’t disturb them. Life was sweet, just like the pumpkins.

First day at Big School

 

First day at Big School

Children starting Big School for the first time yesterday will have been excited to see the latest post box topper. The clever, thoughtful creators have been hard at work again. Look at those big, fat crayons, just right for little fingers. You can almost smell the wax!

‘Big School’ is what we call the first ‘proper’ school our children attend. It’s an exciting time for four-year-olds and an expression that has been used for better or worse in the year(s) leading up to that momentous occasion in September.

 Big School may be used as an inducement to encourage acceptable behaviour, as in, ‘You can have X, Y, Z when you go to Big School if you A, B, C. (Fill in your own bribes!)

Naughty children – are there such things these days, or is that too damaging? – well, then, children who are not cooperating with their parents or carers, are told, ‘You won’t be able to do that when you go to Big School’.

It may be said in tones of disappointment - ‘I don’t think anyone will think that’s very clever/funny/kind/grown-up at Big School.’

I like the googly eyes on the post box!

So Big School is built up in the child’s mind as a wondrous place full of Big People ready to praise or disapprove of them. Those who have siblings will take all the blather with a huge pinch of salt. They have seen their brothers and sisters return from school unscathed and know that it’s all in the noise and it’s just the grown-ups trying to maintain some sort of control.

So the little ones trot off to school in their smart new uniforms, socks pulled up neatly, new shoes blindingly polished, shiny faces wreathed in smiles with not a hair out of place – some may even be wearing pretty ribbons. Holding tightly to Mummy’s hand, (for the sake of argument, we’ll say it’s Mummy) they skip along, chattering happily, eager and a little apprehensive, even the worldly-wise ones with the older, experienced siblings. They reach the classroom door, go inside and find their pegs with their names on, it’s all new and thrilling . . . and then they have to say goodbye. Some will part without a backward glance, but others will cling, chin wobbling, tears threatening, as they realise they’re going to be left in this big unfamiliar place, even if they’ve been in and out of the school for years with their siblings.

No matter how well children have been prepared for this day, the reality strikes hard, for Mummy as well. This is the 4-year-old’s first step into the big, wide world, having to acknowledge another adult’s expectations. The end of the day is an unimaginably long way off.

Those whose children have parted from them with astonishing aplomb should not feel too self-congratulatory, for once a small child realises that the excitement of school is not just for a few days but what seems like FOREVER, the tears come, perhaps three weeks after the start of term. By this time, the nervous children have settled happily and look askance at their previously assured peers. There’s always at least one kind child who will offer comfort, and sometimes it’s to the now distraught parent as well.

Being told that such behaviour is perfectly normal and children survive, the tears drying as soon as the adult has left, is little consolation, but these tribulations pass.

The end of the first day comes and anxious parents wait to greet their youngsters, but what’s this? The children rush forward, shoes scuffed, socks at half-mast, untidy hair sticking to hot, grubby faces, a grazed knee or two. Can these rascals and hoydens really be the same beautifully-turned-out children of the morning?

Everyone has survived and tomorrow they’ll do it all again and it will become another of life’s routines. There’s often one child, though, who will be disappointed.  ‘He thought he’d be able to read,’ said one mother apologetically after her son’s first day. That little boy did learn to read, after about three days, but that’s unusual. Another might say, ‘I’ve been to school,’ not realising it’s an experience to be repeated for several years. Reality is so hard to take!

Gull

 

Gulls

The latest post box topper near my home features a gull, an ice cream and a bag of chips (fries for the Americans among us). These are all features of a British summer.

The gull has a chip in its beak. Gulls are notorious in seaside locations for their thieving ways, swooping down on unsuspecting visitors to steal a lump of fish, a tasty chip, a piece of cake or any other toothsome morsel. In short, anything a human is eating is considered fair game. They can be very aggressive and difficult to deter. Probably the best way to escape being targeted by ravenous gulls is to avoid eating outside!

There is no such species as a ‘seagull’ but we all call the flying creatures around the seaside seagulls, even when they come inland to scavenge in rubbish tips. They are very difficult to identify and change their vestments according to the season and their age. The bird on the post box is probably a Lesser black-backed gull, with its yellow beak and legs. The Herring gull has a yellow beak, but its legs are pink.

On reflection, the post box gull looks very like the seagull in one of the Wallace and Gromit films!

Crowthorne-on-Sea

 

*Crowthorne-on-Sea

The latest post box topper depicts the beauties of the briny. From purple-haired sirens of the sea, to daring deep-sea divers, all ocean life is there. Sinuous seaweed, scuttling crabs, perfect prawns and more, much more, to tantalise the senses and fire the imagination.

The (school) summer holidays are nearly upon us (for some they have already commenced) and this cheerful little tableau sets the scene for rest, relaxation and rehabilitation.

*For the avoidance of doubt, Crowthorne is nowhere near the sea. 

Another lovely topper

 

Another lovely topper

I hope it’s still there when the children return to school after half-term!

How doth the little busy bee

Improve each shining hour, 

 And gather honey all the day 

From every opening flower!

How skilfully she builds her cell! 

How neat she spreads the wax!

And labours hard to store it well 

With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labour or of skill, 

I would be busy too;

                     For Satan finds some mischief still

                    For idle hands to do.

 

                    In books, or work, or healthful play, 

                               Let my first years be passed,  

                       That I may give for every day 

                       Some good account at last. 

                               

                                  Isaac Watts (1674-1748)

Post box topper update

 

Post box topper update

The post box, which suffered the unwelcome attention of person or persons unknown when its pillar box topper was stolen, stands in front of a large, ivy-covered tree.

A few days ago this notice appeared.

 With bated breath, we now await developments.

Although our postal address is Crowthorne, we actually belong to Wokingham Without (we don’t specify what we are lacking!)

Wokingham is a market town in Berkshire, England, with a population of about 48,000.  It is often referred to as Woky by its residents (though not by us J)

During George III’s reign (1760 – 1820) there was a flourishing silk industry in Wokingham. Silk stockings were knitted by hand until knitting machines began to be used. A hand-knitter could make six pairs of stockings a week. By the end of the 16^th century England required 10 million pairs of stockings. England also exported hand-knitted silk stockings, particularly to France.

The first mechanical knitting machine was invented by William Lee of Calverton in 1589, though it may have taken some time before such a machine came into general use.

When Queen Victoria came to the throne, one of Wokingham’s most important industries was brick production.

In association with a local Hookers group and a Children’s Charity,  Wokingham Town Council initiated a Coronation Post Box Topper Trail to celebrate the Coronation.

This, from MyWokingham, explains more:

Wokingham Town Council has teamed up with the Barkham Hookers Charity Group and First Days Children’s Charity to create a fabulous post box topper trail for the coronation!

The ‘hookers’ successfully entertained the public all throughout lockdown with their crochet creations and their magnificent post box toppers for the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee, so they thought they would create a new Royal themed trail for you all to enjoy for the upcoming coronation.

All of the toppers should be in place by Monday 1st May.

Gaynor White from the Barkham Hookers said: “We’ve really enjoyed making the post box toppers over the last few years and love to get involved in community projects with the town council. Being able to use our skills to raise a smile and bring people together is a wonderful thing”.

 You can find a handy map of all the locations at https://www.wokingham-tc.gov.uk/the-coronation-post-box…/ and hope that it inspires you to take a new direction on your daily or weekly walks or provides a fun activity for those with children to go ‘topper spotting’.

Make sure you take photos as you go around and tag the council on social media #wokinghamcoronation or on facebook Wokingham Town Council

                     Everywhere you look there's red, white and blue. It all looks very cheerful and sufficient to gladden the heart of even the most morose citizen. Enthusiasts are already setting up camp to get the best possible view of proceedings - in the streets, that is. There's no chance of getting anywhere near Westminster Abbey.

Royalist or Republican, there's no way of ignoring the wall-to-wall coverage that will be all-encompassing on 6th May. The compensation, should you require it, is that the following Monday is a bank holiday.