A war memorial at the edge of our village.
Most days I see this beautifully kept little square with its distinct and very sad beacon of man's folly. War, shouldn't be allowed, but that's another story.
Often I stop and read the names on this tall memorial and it is a daunting thought to peruse the First and Second World War's fallen. Our village is very small and seeing the familiar surnames makes it poignantly sadder, and highlights the sad reality of a lot of wives who were suddenly thrust into the role of matriarch.
The other reason I often stop there is due to the fabulous floral oasis that someone keeps cheerful and full of vibrantly coloured flowers. Nary a weed or drooped blossom to be seen...
Yesterday I saw the lady who makes it so very special doing a bit of garden tweaking. Normally I just give her a wave & a quick greeting, but I stopped to tell her how wonderfully the memorial always looks. She was pleased that I had noticed and we started talking, as one does, about this particular memorial which happens to be right on the edge of her front garden.
Her mother-in-law had started years ago to look after this plot as her husband had fallen during the 2nd World War and his body was never returned home. To her, this memorial was his grave and she kept it beautiful until the day she died. Now, her daughter-in-law has taken over.
These kind of stories are so special and heartwarming. They make you realize that everyone has their own individual burden but also that most know how to overcome it.
As I was saying goodbye to her, she asked me to have a look at her other garden, the one next to her house. Magnificent, colourful, natural and thankfully not designed a la mode. A real garden and I was thrilled that she showed me it. A lovely start to yet another divine day in paradise.
Biggi
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