Recently, there was a flower festival in Crowland Abbey church in the extreme south of the county of Lincolnshire. The theme was decades over the past one hundred years.
Poppies are a special symbol for the British losses during World War One.
World Cup 1966 – England 4 West Germany 2.
copyright words and pictures Francis Barker 2019
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
copyright Francis Barker 2019
Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com
copyright Francis Barker 2019
Inside the church at Cherry Willingham.
Mid May comes along and it’s time once again for the annual Lincolnshire Churches Festival in eastern England.
Taking place over two weekends in Lincolnshire’s ancient northern riding of Lindsey, the festival is split between the first weekend of the 11th and 12th and the second weekend of the 18th and 19th.
Nearly 100 churches are taking part and a very warm welcome will be had in each one, with food such as cake and scones, plus drinks and some stalls to browse. The proceeds go towards the upkeep of these wonderful buildings.
Over the next two weeks, I shall be writing several pieces about this wonderful event which celebrates Lincolnshire’s fine Christian heritage and the glory of its architectural variety.
Today it’s about 10 at best and with the lack of sun and the cool wind it feels more like 4!
That said it got me wondering, laterally as usual, about why the famous ship the Mayflower was called as such.
According to the sources I came across it’s because the original owner of the ship was Florentine (from Florence, Italy) called Guicciardini; the Mayflower, or ‘Giglio’ in Italian, is the symbol of Florence. And the ship was due to set sail, in May.
By William Halsall – Pilgrim Hall Museum, Public Domain. Wikimedia.org
So the Mayflower became the symbol of new beginnings in the so-called New World and is still one America’s greatest cultural icons.
I don’t know for sure but there may be other explanations. At least according to the above its naming had little to do with the Pilgrims who sailed on it, nor indeed Plymouth in western England from where they sailed.
Nevertheless it’s fascinating to hear of people in America who can trace their lineage back to the Mayflower. I will have to look out for examples of this, I would love to speak to some of them.
The gerberas you were given
had all wilted within two days.
The thought that counted
didn’t linger beyond its significance,
save to remind you to move on,
that old things are thrown away
English: A male House Sparrow in Victoria, Australia in March 2008 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The Sparrow
The sparrows are gone and now the winter is lonely.
Their spaces are taken by the gravelled drives
and the paved gardens. There will be no reprieve
but as the little bird leaves, like the wise man
deserts a fool, know that everything has its time
and that ours, too, is almost run.
*
The horse chestnut’s elephantine trunk glows warm
in the low winter sun, its clawing bareness stretches
into a cleansing sky. A narrow shaft of yellow light
dispels the rime on the whitened sward,
and the hanging orange globes of the passion flower,
like tiny suns, remind us of long gone warmth,
a hint of the approach of solstice day.
*
The lone robin stands guard, like a redcoat
patrolling his shed roof, punching way above his weight
to see off the bigger birds, those who would dare
plunder his own private space. He has nothing
but disdain for the squabbling starlings
who strut around in their shiny suits
in vain shows of bluster and pretence.
*
Even the cowslips thought it was spring.
Over keen, they showed their yellow hats
when the weather was mild and now they’re
caught out in a sudden arctic blast.
So too, the evergreen rosemary, whose lilac flowers,
though welcome, reveal the underlying unease
at the heart of the garden.
*
So we grew to like mowing the lawn, put up
with cutting the hedge. We let the poppies grow wild
and the elderflower rampage. We even learned
to love nettles and the funny little weeds –
but the sparrow never came back. They say he lives
in tiny enclaves now, in the fringes with red squirrels,
quite unknown in these parts, where the blackbird
chinks a meagre winter song.
poem © copyright df barker 2012
*first published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, available on amazon.com
Please also see this: http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=sr_tc_2_0?rh=i%3Astripbooks%2Ck%3AMilly+Reynolds&keywords=Milly+Reynolds&ie=UTF8&qid=1338013925&sr=1-2-ent&field-contributor_id=B0056IY4OE
