as you know Iove listening, when you sing and when you read you poetry.  Thank you for your lyrics, always so very beautiful.

The sincerity and wisdom in the words cannot be overstated, in your element here Peter!

Sober reading and listening. Great single take!

Coming to this late my friend, seems I was frying other fish, but none as important as what you served up here.  The battle lines were drawn and opposing forces dug in by Christmas Eve of 1914, and God said, "I will try to get their attention one more time" and a beautiful and spontaneous armistice broke out that silent, holy night, and continued through the following Christmas day. It was precious gift to the trench weary, and a longer peace, perhaps permanent peace could have been figured out.  But the ones in charge of war also enjoy the profit of war, so the war must continue.  God placed his head in his hands saying "alright then, have it your way".  The rest is dismal, bloody history of so much lost and nothing gained.  Please pardon my going on, but dear friend, your beautifully written reflections and songwriting encouraged it.  Thank you for not forgetting.  I have been moved to tears every time I watch this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWF2JBb1bvM

Marvellous yet sad observation on the human tendency towards self destruction.  Lions led by donkeys...and the donkeys are still calling the shots. Foolish dictators and idiotic 'strongmen' seem to crawl out of the slime on a regular basis!

I'm way too late hearing this Peter;  these things are important to keep in mind, esp when someone with no skin in the game can try to send or even shame (like your other song) someone else into going into hell

A beautiful song. A wonderful singing voice to present stories!

A tender yet stark rendering that conveys so well the heartbreak of this cutting piece of history. So well done, crystal clear on all fronts, bare and rich all at once. Thanks for sharing this Peter. Durge

Yes, this is a relevant and sad as it ever was.

As each November approaches I try to make my own little Remembrance-time tribute.  Seems more relevant as each year passes...

Following the huffing and puffing empire lunacy in the summer of 1914, the next four years would see 40 million casualties, half of them deaths and of those, half were civilian.  

40 million.

40 million tales of poignancy, pain, grief and human tragedy, through times that can often seem littered with coincidence, symmetries …. bookends and mirrors.

In the Military Cemetery of St Symphorien near Mons rests John Parr.  At only five foot three inches and several years under age he (amazingly) managed to enlist in 1912 - hoping to see the world, and get the advertised “two square meals” a day.  He was the first British Army casualty, killed in the battle of Mons aged just 17, his body left behind, fate unknown until much later in the conflict;  the army unable to answer his mother’s letters of enquiry about her “silent” son.

By pure coincidence, John lies just a few yards from the last British soldier to die in the great war.  George Ellison served for four long years including at the same first battle of Mons as John, and most of the famously grinding, attritional infantry battles of the conflict.  His working life bookended by military service, George had first enlisted in 1902, leaving the army in 1912, just as John joined, he became a coal miner, re-enlisting at the outbreak of war to dig mud not coal and fight from trenches he helped excavate.  George was killed just 90 minutes before the armistice took effect at 11:00 on the 11th day of the 11th month.  The futility of the conflict was cruelly illustrated by the fact that George’s war had started and ended at exactly the same place, Mons in Belgium.  They had literally gone nowhere.

As a postscript to progress since "the war to end all wars" the human race is currently reckoned to be engaged in 7 major wars, 15 significant ongoing conflicts and 21 “minor” conflicts (the latter defined as up to "only” 1000 deaths per year).  By way of another macabre bookend, the longest of these has been going on, unbelievably, since the year .... 1918.

As always, this simple ballad is offered as a live one mic one take effort - please excuse the fluffs and gaffes.
_______________________

Bookends and Mirrors

Sun turned cold ‘cross every sky in the summer of ‘14
The Good Lord shook his head, and he placed it in his hands
Braided declarations flying, whose like was never seen
Lunatics in feathers stockpiled lead, bagged their sand.
Slapstick Mephistopheles, unleashing of his flame
Spiral minds lobotomised in the waltz of the insane
Simple lives unknowing of the mud that would become
A mirror in the resting place of two Holy Mother’s sons.

Signed the line, five years young, fingers crossed behind his back
Chance to see the world, grab a future, two square meals.
At 17, John’s angels sung, first to fall in dawn’s attack
Abandoned and forgotten, deaf to all his ma’s appeals.
Never knew the miner, his bookend pal to be
Fighting down the line, many battles that he’d see
Full four years in trenches, George’s hell lived through them all
Cruelty was smiling wide at England’s last to fall.

In service time they travelled nowhere, nothing to achieve
Embracing 40 million weeping mothers left to grieve
The crime of puffing chest bravado beggared to believe
Hall of mirrors seeping others’ blood of the innocent naive.

Now John and George lie facing each to seek their mirrored peace
Raise my eyes and brim a tear for the lessons never learned
Pray God, don’t ever let them know man’s insanity but increased
The war to end all wars a mere sequel oft’ returned 
By comedies of leathered fools stuck on infinite repeat
Bemedalled and bejewelled, they prosecute their moral defeat
But here, on sallow turf twixt heroes, broken mirror in my broken hand
Met by my own broken eyes, I still fail to understand.
_________
Photo by Michael Yuan on Unsplash

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