In the church with the two porches and the unusual font cover are these two memorials. The brass to the vicar's young son shows him in his bed with his shoes under the bed. The memorial to the very old lady is on the wall a few feet away from him. Either one of them would, on their own, be both noteworthy and rather touching. But in such close proximity they form together a comment on the human condition. One had lived through more than a century; the other was barely out of babyhood, but both during their allotted lifetime had inspired enough love to cause their families to create moving memorials to them. I'm not putting this very well, but I think I mean that the love that caused those memorials to be put up lingers enough to cause us who see the memorials to feel some love for both of them. And perhaps for the child's bereft parents and Mrs. Hyam's sad friend's too. This is getting a touch involved, so will close before it gets too tangled. Goodnight all.
In the church with the two porches and the unusual font cover are these two memorials. The brass to the vicar's young son shows him in his bed with his shoes under the bed. The memorial to the very old lady is on the wall a few feet away from him. Either one of them would, on their own, be both noteworthy and rather touching. But in such close proximity they form together a comment on the human condition. One had lived through more than a century; the other was barely out of babyhood, but both during their allotted lifetime had inspired enough love to cause their families to create moving memorials to them. I'm not putting this very well, but I think I mean that the love that caused those memorials to be put up lingers enough to cause us who see the memorials to feel some love for both of them. And perhaps for the child's bereft parents and Mrs. Hyam's sad friend's too. This is getting a touch involved, so will close before it gets too tangled. Goodnight all. 
5 comments:
Fine observation and fair sentiment, clearly expressed.
To love someone is joyous, to be bereft of the object of our love is grievous.
The intensity of our love is highest when its object is young and in need of our care - but deepest when we have experienced the enduring familiarity of passing decades.
We cannot but empathise more keenly when seeing the juxtaposed memorials of two such temporally contrasted lives. The parental anguish for their young son in sharp counterpoint to the descended generations' sense of aching emptiness at the loss of one who has been a senior presence throughout their entire lives.
The bell tolls for us all now and for us each eventually.
But love abides.
Hi Crowbard. Yes, that's exactly what I meant, but you put it better than I am able. Luv - Big Bruv.
Beautiful
Thanks, Nea. Even better.
Thanks, Nea. Even better.
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