Need to Get Out More!
Join Date: Aug 2006
Location: in the border area
Thanked 1,134 Times in 745 Posts
Have just found this on the bbc website ...
BBC News - WWI Christmas truce football matches 'to be replayed'
now i think its a good idea .. but the team would have to be from scotland, ireland and wales as well as england and think this would be good to commemorate something good in all the horror that was the first world war. Though i do not agree with mr cameron putting £50 million to one side to commemorate the beginning of the war .. the end yes .. but not the start.
BBC News - WWI centenary remembrance plans given £50m by government
we've had the longest day
and according to the weather forecast
the first day of summer
we are now on the countdown
to the shortest day
the days will be getting shorter
the nights be getting longer
but first of all …
can we have summer first
the blue skies, the sun beaming
I tried .......
Join Date: Jun 2010
Location: under a bridge, like a troll!!
Thanked 991 Times in 672 Posts
Maybe the teams could be picked from politicians, an after the match they can all shoot each other.
That'd be good. An add a touch of realism as well.
Need to Get Out More!
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: 'Back Home' up Woodcroft.
Thanked 680 Times in 459 Posts
Could we miss out the 90 mins of football and just shoot them? The bunch of lying, thieving, cheating, corrupt....
Some people call me lazy.....I prefer the term 'energy efficient'.
Need to Get Out More!
Join Date: Mar 2008
Thanked 853 Times in 524 Posts
I can't see a better opportunity coming up to share this; one of my favourite poems, and one of the very few that I can actually recite from memory (no great feat, as I make a point of refreshing that memory a couple of times a year at least.)
Philip Larkin's work is well worth diving into head-first and I push it at people (gently!) whenever I get the chance. Here's a chance...
He wasn't a 'war poet' as that term is generally understood - not a Sassoon or a Graves - he wasn't even born until 1922, and I could argue convincingly, were I so minded, that MCMXIV isn't a 'war poem' at all, but...ah, I'll shut up. It's Philip Larkin. The Dude.
Oh, just two little things I feel I have to mention: . Both are totally and utterly irrelevant, so skip to the main event by all means.
Anyone left? Okay, now where was I? Ah, yes...
MCMXIV is a poem that immediately reminds me of Rossendale. Every time. It's purely a personal reaction to 'those long uneven lines' and the description of the shops, which always conjures up an image of Bank Street, Rawtenstall at the outbreak of war in 1914. I believe that I may have mentioned this before, possibly in response to an actual photograph of Rossendale men queuing to enlist that appeared here on RoL.
The second thing is better presented in parentheses. Imagine I am loudly whispering through gritted teeth and looking vaguely menacing:
( I am always compelled to rush to a pre-emptive defence of Larkin - the man - on the off-chance that someone is poised over their keyboard, eager to sully his reputation by referring to the 'offensive' and 'non-PC' nature of some of the language in his personal letters. He was a product of his generation and environment (as we all are surely) and it's my firmly held belief that certain critics and 'other' elements failed miserably with their trendy (at the time - 1992) attempt at liberal-lefty Islington revisionism. Larkin 'wins' - the poetry stands. So don't start. )
Those long uneven lines
Standing as patiently
As if they were stretched outside
The Oval or Villa Park,
The crowns of hats, the sun
On moustached archaic faces
Grinning as if it were all
An August Bank Holiday lark;
And the shut shops, the bleached
Established names on the sunblinds,
The farthings and sovereigns,
And dark-clothed children at play
Called after kings and queens,
The tin advertisements
For cocoa and twist, and the pubs
Wide open all day
And the countryside not caring:
The place names all hazed over
With flowering grasses, and fields
Shadowing Domesday lines
Under wheat's restless silence;
The differently-dressed servants
With tiny rooms in huge houses,
The dust behind limousines;
Never such innocence,
Never before or since,
As changed itself to past
Without a word--the men
Leaving the gardens tidy,
The thousands of marriages,
Lasting a little while longer:
Never such innocence again.
Philip Larkin (1922-1985)
Last edited by chuckwow : 10-02-13 at 02:05.
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