Just you wait and see

After a long day of war memorials and feeling emotionally spent, we loaded onto the ferry and headed back to England. Oh wait, did I mention going through customs? Well, first of all we missed our spot on our original ferry, so we sat for a few hours in a hot bus--hungry, tired, and so many noisy girls. It was a blast, let me tell you. Then when we went through customs, I was the first to get to the desk, and almost the last to leave--why they wanted to stop me? I'm not exactly sure, I guess I look pretty questionable or something. Fun fun fun. Don't worry though, I did eventually get through to the other side--they let me back into the country, thank goodness! Not that I didn't like France, but England is so much better. It was so great to see those beautiful white cliffs of Dover!

There'll be bluebirds over

The white cliffs of Dover,

Tomorrow

Just you wait and see.

There'll be joy and laughter

And peace ever after,

Tomorrow

When the world is free,

The shepherd will count his sheep

The valleys will bloom again,

And Jimmy will go to sleep

In his own little room again,

There'll be bluebirds over

The white cliffs of Dover,

Tomorrow

Just you wait and see.

JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE. :)

In Flanders Fields

For me, Spring in Utah fully comes into play with poppies. Tulips and daffodils may bloom first, but there is often still snow on the ground and the world is cold and dead. It is not until after the bulb flowers are gone that I feel Spring in the air as my family home is ablaze with orange and red poppies. Our yard is filled with them—haphazard, chaotic, and absolutely beautiful. It is the high point of the season in my opinion. Like most of the flowers in our garden, my great-grandmother brought them here from some far away place on one of her many adventures, and every Spring I sit among the fiery colors and think of her, my past, and my family—for me, poppies are all about memories.

The first day here in London I was surprised to find red poppies everywhere—cathedrals, Abbeys, churches, tourist attractions, restaurants, grocery stores, statues, the Underground, shopping malls, country fields far from civilization—you cannot go a day in London without seeing a red poppy of some kind, natural or manmade. So of course I had to ask: why? Why poppies, and why so many? I had heard a musical rendition of John McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields” a few years back so I knew the story, but could a single moment in history really be so influential on us even today? Just as the memories of my childhood find life in the poppies surrounding my home, the memory of the Great War presses on, materialized in something as simple as a red poppy. Transcending its natural purpose, the red poppy stands as an eternal monument to the dead, preserving their memory in its iconic presence. Here on our journey back from Paris there were red poppies on the side of every road.

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. John McCrae

Serre Road Cemetery No. 2

Our last stop: Serre Road Cemetery No. 2. The sacred ground was covered with headstone after headstone--I thought that they would never end.

Almost every one of them was engraved with the words "A SOLDIER OF THE GREAT WAR. KNOWN UNTO GOD."

Here we were each given a memorial cross to place within the cemetery; the small wooden cross was adorned with one simple red poppy, below the words "In Remembrance." I placed mine on a row entirely composed of unknown graves.

Behind the cemetery were more of these wonderful wheat fields.

In the distance was a small chapel

and another cemetery--these cemeteries dot the landscape all throughout Europe, one after the other.

The experiences throughout the day ultimately created an uncanny feeling within me concerning death: that is, I had no fear, no discomfort nor anxiety. Like Thomas Sidney Cooper's "Reposing on God's Acre," I felt completely at home in the peace and the beauty of the cemetery--it was most definitely holy ground.

Newfoundland Memorial Park

Third on our trek home: Newfoundland Memorial Park. The ground here remains almost untouched from when the war actually ended. The Newfoundland Regiment was part of the 88th Infantry Brigade within the 29th Division, attacked here on July 1, 1916.

The beaten battleground and trenches

"Danger Tree:" the legendary marker between the opposing lines, halfway across No-Man's-Land.

Flowers at the cemetery=beautiful! Unfortunately, they were plastered with bees, and Anne got stung--a nice token to remember the place by. ;)

Thiepval Memorial

Second on our memorial stop was the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing of the Some, dedicated to the over 72, 000 missing British and Commonwealth men who died in the Battle of the Somme who have no known graves.

"THEIR NAME LIVETH FOREVERMORE."

Lochnagar Memorial

On the way home from France we took the scenic route, making stops at several war memorials. The first of these was the Lochnagar Crater Memorial, set to the side of the road next to a large wheat field. The crater itself was absolutely monstrous and it is miraculous to me that anything has been able to grow back since the disaster, but there was wheat as well as new trees, flowers, and grass covering the ground. The Lochnagar Mine, containing 24 tons of explosives, was detonated at 7:28am on July 1, 1916, marking the first day of the horrific Battle of the Somme.

The crater itself:

and of course the caterpillar friend I made while visiting:

The new greenery growing back to cover the damaged landscape

The totally awesome wheat field in the middle of nowhere:

I have a strange fetish for thistles by the way.