Such kindness
Yesterday, I received a beautiful bouquet. Not all that surprising, given what has been going on lately, but the exceptional thing about this one was that it was sent by a fellow blogger, someone whom I have never met. I shall not identify this person here as I don't think that is what they would want, but to say that I am overwhelmed by their thoughtfulness and kindness is an understatement so, thank you once again - you know who you are.
A Mother's Story: Thursday August 20th
I have set up my other blog as a diary of the days since August 19th. If you would like to read my first entry, have a look here A Mother's Story: Thursday August 20th.
Hugh, 28th August 1979 - 19th August 2009
When all this first happened, last week, I was sure that I would not want or be able to mention it at all on this blog. Now, however. I feel ready to do so.
August 28th thirty years ago was such a happy day. It was the day I gave birth to my second child and first son, Hugh.
August 28th this year was very different. It was the day of his funeral.
Last Thursday morning, I had a phone call from Elder Daughter, Kathy, to tell me that Hugh had taken his own life during the night. He was due to go to Afghanistan in September and had a bad feeling about it and, to tell the truth, so did I but more important than this, he had also been undergoing a lot of problems with his ex-partner and the struggle to gain access to his son, Paul. Because of the break-up, he had also incurred a lot of debt and his house was about to be repossessed. He was suffering from depression and I also believe that the PTSD he suffered twelve years ago after his tour in Kosovo had never been properly dealt with because he was unwilling to undergo adequate therapy at the time.
Whatever the reasons, although he had all the support possible from family and friends, that night, he decided that nothing and no-one could help him further.
He had a full military funeral yesterday. The army did him proud and the huge numbers of friends and colleagues bore witness to the esteem in which he was held.
I have been keeping a record of the days since his death which I will post on here over the next few days.
August 28th thirty years ago was such a happy day. It was the day I gave birth to my second child and first son, Hugh.
August 28th this year was very different. It was the day of his funeral.
Last Thursday morning, I had a phone call from Elder Daughter, Kathy, to tell me that Hugh had taken his own life during the night. He was due to go to Afghanistan in September and had a bad feeling about it and, to tell the truth, so did I but more important than this, he had also been undergoing a lot of problems with his ex-partner and the struggle to gain access to his son, Paul. Because of the break-up, he had also incurred a lot of debt and his house was about to be repossessed. He was suffering from depression and I also believe that the PTSD he suffered twelve years ago after his tour in Kosovo had never been properly dealt with because he was unwilling to undergo adequate therapy at the time.
Whatever the reasons, although he had all the support possible from family and friends, that night, he decided that nothing and no-one could help him further.
He had a full military funeral yesterday. The army did him proud and the huge numbers of friends and colleagues bore witness to the esteem in which he was held.
I have been keeping a record of the days since his death which I will post on here over the next few days.
Hugh was a complex person and not an easy child but I loved him very much and my heart is breaking to think that he's gone. I can only hope and believe that he has found peace at last.
All over within a year?
The poem is not an example of great literature maybe, but more importantly, was obviously written from the heart by a soldier who wanted to express his feelings about the current situation in Afghanistan. Staff Sergeant Andy McFarlane, 47, wrote it while flying home from there with some of his comrades who had not been as lucky as him, having paid with their lives. His poem, entitled Repatriation, tells of an anonymous 'hero' being driven through the town of Wootton Bassett in Wiltshire, where crowds now regularly turn out to pay their respects on these occasions.
You will notice that one verse refers to the conspicuous absence of ministers from the now regular repatriation ceremonies.
This is the full text of the poem:
The leviathan of the sky does land
In England's green and pleasant land.
Its cargo more precious than gold
The body of a hero, bold.
Once the giant's engines stopped
The cargo ramp is gently dropped
Carried by six on shoulders true
The hero is saluted by the crew.
The coffin draped in Union Jack
Is slowly carried out the back.
Out of the dark and into light
Slowly down the ramp and to the right.
The six approach the hearse all black
And place the hero gently in the back.
The six then turn and march away
Their duty has been done this day.
Politicians usually have much to say
No sign of them near here this day.
They hide away and out of danger,
Much easier if the hero is a stranger.
The hearse with its precious load
Moves slowly out on to the road.
The floral tributes line the route
While comrades snap a smart salute.
At the edge of a Wiltshire town
The cortege slows its pace right down.
The streets are packed, many deep,
Some throw flowers, most just weep.
The crowd have come to say farewell,
The church bell rings a low death knell.
Regimental standards are lowered down
As the hero passed through the town.
The cortege stops and silence reigns
The townsfolk feel the family's pain.
The nations' flag lowered to half mast
Our brave hero is home at last.
So unimportant does our soldiers' sacrifice appear to be to our politicians, that we have Gordon Brown choosing not to interrupt his holiday to attend the opening of a centre for troops injured while on active service even though he was only seventeen miles away. What a positive message that must send to them.
As the mother of someone about to be sent out to Afghanistan next month, I'm distinctly unimpressed by the lack of will on the part of the government to ensure that our troops are properly resourced and by the lack of knowledge and intelligence of Defence Secretary Bob Ainsworth, who would have us believe that this war could be won within a year and that the troops have everything they need.
"Everything will be fine, lads. It will all be over by Christmas." Does that sound familiar?
You will notice that one verse refers to the conspicuous absence of ministers from the now regular repatriation ceremonies.
This is the full text of the poem:
The leviathan of the sky does land
In England's green and pleasant land.
Its cargo more precious than gold
The body of a hero, bold.
Once the giant's engines stopped
The cargo ramp is gently dropped
Carried by six on shoulders true
The hero is saluted by the crew.
The coffin draped in Union Jack
Is slowly carried out the back.
Out of the dark and into light
Slowly down the ramp and to the right.
The six approach the hearse all black
And place the hero gently in the back.
The six then turn and march away
Their duty has been done this day.
Politicians usually have much to say
No sign of them near here this day.
They hide away and out of danger,
Much easier if the hero is a stranger.
The hearse with its precious load
Moves slowly out on to the road.
The floral tributes line the route
While comrades snap a smart salute.
At the edge of a Wiltshire town
The cortege slows its pace right down.
The streets are packed, many deep,
Some throw flowers, most just weep.
The crowd have come to say farewell,
The church bell rings a low death knell.
Regimental standards are lowered down
As the hero passed through the town.
The cortege stops and silence reigns
The townsfolk feel the family's pain.
The nations' flag lowered to half mast
Our brave hero is home at last.
So unimportant does our soldiers' sacrifice appear to be to our politicians, that we have Gordon Brown choosing not to interrupt his holiday to attend the opening of a centre for troops injured while on active service even though he was only seventeen miles away. What a positive message that must send to them.
As the mother of someone about to be sent out to Afghanistan next month, I'm distinctly unimpressed by the lack of will on the part of the government to ensure that our troops are properly resourced and by the lack of knowledge and intelligence of Defence Secretary Bob Ainsworth, who would have us believe that this war could be won within a year and that the troops have everything they need.
"Everything will be fine, lads. It will all be over by Christmas." Does that sound familiar?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Plaster board and dust
So, we're still no further forward on the British Gas smart meter front and I've given up making non-existent appointments with them...
-
So, we're still no further forward on the British Gas smart meter front and I've given up making non-existent appointments with them... -
This is the beach at Burbo Bank, Crosby, home of Antony Gormley's cast iron statues, collectively known as 'Another Place'. We... -
Well, we came to an amicable arrangement, quite unplanned as it happened, because Keith got to navigate the car through people's back y...