Memorabilia

I found these medals in an old tin that my dad kept tucked away in a drawer, to be handed on to the next generation when the time came when he was no longer around.

Inside were photographs of the sinking ship his brother was serving on before he died of exposure in mid Atlantic. The nursing home where his sister died at the age of 19. The medal his father won playing football, with the braided hair of his mother forming a chain for it. His regiment's badge from his time in the army during national service. He even got a campaign medal for his time in Palestine when, as he put it, both sides were shooting at him as well as each other.

Now, over 65 years later, both sides are still shooting at each other and with the breakdown of peace talks yet again this week it seems that they will continue to do so a while longer. Some things never seem to change. Hopefully they will change.

Poem

Sometimes things don't go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,
sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;
elect an honest man, decide they care
enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

Sheenagh Pugh, Sometimes.