Thought for today:
This weekend the village of Haworth will again be presenting their 1940s weekend. If you have never been, it is a pleasure not to be missed. Although my cancer treatment will prevent me mixing with crowds this weekend, I am sending my good wife Sheila out with a few of her friends to join the fun. Say hello to her if you see her out and about.
Many years ago, I had occasion to find out about numerous women who'd lost their sweethearts and husbands during the First and Second World War years. I was particularly sadden to read the accounts of all those women who'd planned to marry their soldier sweethearts when the war was over, but whose death on the battle field made their wedding dress redundant. Many of these women never married and mourned their loss until the day they died. Whereas the grief and loss of war widows was recognised and sympathised with by all, this other group of women remained largely unsupported in their loss. Some who later discovered that they'd become pregnant after their sweetheart had gone off to war, planned to marry on his first weekend of leave. However, his untimely death meant that they'd been left unmarried and alone in motherhood to mourn in public shame. I was very fortunate to know one such woman called Henrietta who died 15 years ago at the age of 94 years. I penned the following poem called 'Arthur and Guinevere' in her memory and the memory of all women who lost their sweethearts during the war years:
'Arthur and Guinevere'
"The pleasure hills of time rolls down,
Haunting Guinevere with years gone by.
If only, she could remember still;
The walks, the talks, those promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of lovers' skies.
When shall we wed, oh Arthur dear?
When the fighting's done is time enough.
We'll have that cottage, children too;
The walks, and talks and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of calm, blue skies.
How goes the battle, Arthur dear?
How long must I wait before you're home?
I miss you oh so much, my love;
The walks, the talks, those promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of hopeful skies.
I fear I won't be back, my dear.
The heaven is filled with death's dark cloak.
My spirit's crushed, the legs are gone.
No more walks, talks, and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of moving skies.
Take heart, take love, take all I've got,
But please, bring thyself back home, my love.
Don't rob me of my treasured dreams;
The walks, the talks, those promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of married skies.
Your Arthur passed away last week.
In battle fierce he gave up his life.
He fought for freedom, country, home;
And walks, the talks, and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of English skies.
I'll ne'er forget you, oh my love.
I'll save the gown until next we meet.
I'll savour all my dreams so sweet;
Of walks, and talks and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of restful skies.
The flowers have withered on thy grave
And I've lost all image of thy face.
My spirit's crushed, the legs have gone;
No more walks, talks and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of moving skies.
Together once more, side by side,
Arthur and Guinevere share last space,
As final words of love are passed;
Of walks, and talks, and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of rainbow skies."
Copyright William Forde: May 17th, 2014
This weekend the village of Haworth will again be presenting their 1940s weekend. If you have never been, it is a pleasure not to be missed. Although my cancer treatment will prevent me mixing with crowds this weekend, I am sending my good wife Sheila out with a few of her friends to join the fun. Say hello to her if you see her out and about.
Many years ago, I had occasion to find out about numerous women who'd lost their sweethearts and husbands during the First and Second World War years. I was particularly sadden to read the accounts of all those women who'd planned to marry their soldier sweethearts when the war was over, but whose death on the battle field made their wedding dress redundant. Many of these women never married and mourned their loss until the day they died. Whereas the grief and loss of war widows was recognised and sympathised with by all, this other group of women remained largely unsupported in their loss. Some who later discovered that they'd become pregnant after their sweetheart had gone off to war, planned to marry on his first weekend of leave. However, his untimely death meant that they'd been left unmarried and alone in motherhood to mourn in public shame. I was very fortunate to know one such woman called Henrietta who died 15 years ago at the age of 94 years. I penned the following poem called 'Arthur and Guinevere' in her memory and the memory of all women who lost their sweethearts during the war years:
'Arthur and Guinevere'
"The pleasure hills of time rolls down,
Haunting Guinevere with years gone by.
If only, she could remember still;
The walks, the talks, those promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of lovers' skies.
When shall we wed, oh Arthur dear?
When the fighting's done is time enough.
We'll have that cottage, children too;
The walks, and talks and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of calm, blue skies.
How goes the battle, Arthur dear?
How long must I wait before you're home?
I miss you oh so much, my love;
The walks, the talks, those promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of hopeful skies.
I fear I won't be back, my dear.
The heaven is filled with death's dark cloak.
My spirit's crushed, the legs are gone.
No more walks, talks, and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of moving skies.
Take heart, take love, take all I've got,
But please, bring thyself back home, my love.
Don't rob me of my treasured dreams;
The walks, the talks, those promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of married skies.
Your Arthur passed away last week.
In battle fierce he gave up his life.
He fought for freedom, country, home;
And walks, the talks, and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of English skies.
I'll ne'er forget you, oh my love.
I'll save the gown until next we meet.
I'll savour all my dreams so sweet;
Of walks, and talks and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of restful skies.
The flowers have withered on thy grave
And I've lost all image of thy face.
My spirit's crushed, the legs have gone;
No more walks, talks and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of moving skies.
Together once more, side by side,
Arthur and Guinevere share last space,
As final words of love are passed;
Of walks, and talks, and promised kisses
Beneath the dawn of rainbow skies."
Copyright William Forde: May 17th, 2014
