On War and Peace
- Details
- Written November 2020
The day started with breakfast on a warm morning on the patio, followed by a mid-morning half hour of 'centering prayer' which André, while based in Richmond, Virginia, leads on Zoom for his Geneva church. Then there’s an hour's catch-up conversation with him by Skype over his breakfast and my lunch of a peanut butter sandwich with half a banana and a cup of tea. We were surprised to discover that while he'd been exploring some Civil War locations we'd been watching the film Lincoln. My respect for Lincoln grows.
Early afternoon found me in the garden shed turned art studio, where I'm encouraged to 'stop dobbing and start painting'. Not sure whether I'm any better as a result. Then chairs are unfolded on the pavement with cup cakes and an elderflower drink with neighbours, exchanging stories from the war. Both sides are helping us with shopping. Wendy shows off a 1945 picture in the Bournemouth Echo of herself as a dot in the Bournemouth crowd celebrating VE, and a newspaper cutting honouring her father's gallantry in disposing of a bomb. He was injured in WW1 and served in 'Dad's Army'. But a phone call from America interrupts, and it's Wendy's granddaughter, so we sing happy birthday, not We'll Meet Again, though I do hope we will.
We look up at the house with the Union Jack and the flags of South Africa, Zambia and India alongside. I had to remind the pavement celebrants that Churchill was wise enough to realise that Britain needed help to achieve victory in Europe so he managed to organise the Allies.
I told them the story of old Mr Mulonga from our Chikankata days. He used to come to the door selling small tins of home-grown peanuts. And whether winter or the peak of summer, always wearing his heavy khaki coat. When I asked him where he'd got that, he replied: 'I was in the war!'
Back to our pavement celebration: Roger next door, retired from the diplomatic corps some years ago, is a volunteer guide at Chartwell. He knows that on Churchill's desk there's a photo of South Africa's Field Marshall Jan Smuts. They were great friends, and Smuts played a significant role in military strategy planning. Roger understands why I've flown my flags.
And the evening we watch the celebrations outside Buckingham Palace before the Queen's 9pm address honouring those willing to lay down life for the sake of others.
My thoughts inevitably turn to my own limited involvement in conflict in the late 70s in Zambia during the Zimbabwe War of Liberation: stopped and searched on the Kafue Bridge with an AK in the back; cross-questioned by the military in the Zambezi valley; picking up a soldier shot in an ambush and dealing with his pneumothorax when arriving back at the hospital; being in a convoy that detonates a land mine, destroying the hospital ambulance, but we're all safe; seeing the shell of a Landrover from the previous night's attack by the Rhodesians; a house search, detention and then release; the concluding act of worship each Sunday evening, Margaret, the organist playing St Teresa's Let Nothing Disturb Thee. .... That's enough.
But as I reflect on war and the damage of war, I am grateful for the arrival of peace and for efforts to prevent further conflict. I remain determined to do what I can to make sure we all live together in harmony, sharing the joys of creation. I'm grateful that my Saturday morning breakfast buddies seem equally committed. I remember each of them with thanks, especially grateful for those who've been in touch this week and to whom I'm sending this Saturday's email.
Keep safe; keep smiling.
May 2020