There but not there

There but not there in the Marble Chapel at Mount Stuart House

Commemorate, Educate, Heal –

centenary of WWI Armistice

In previous Novembers I have used poetry to reflect on Armistice Day, the day 100 years ago, when on the eleventh hour of the the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918, the guns and weapons fell (mostly) silent. If only over 10,000 men had not been wounded or killed on the very day in 1918….If only politicians and powerful forces that mobilise wars were more skilful at negotiating to avoid armed conflict…. If only WWI had been the war to end all wars….The 2014 Tower of London ceramic poppies were a startling and powerful artistic symbol of the scale of the loss of life in World War One and this year the silhouette of a Tommy has been used widely to represent the memories of the men and women who have made the ultimate sacrifice in fields of war across the world throughout history. We should remember them. (Commemorative poem at the end of this posting.)

Benmore Botanic Gardens on the Cowan peninsula

Benmore Botanic Gardens
Paintings, photographs and moving images showing the devastation in the fields, villages, towns and cities of Europe are strong reminders of the folly of waging war – the destruction of the natural and the man-made world in addition to the loss of life – is a picture of hell. So it is all the more wonderful to keep reminding yourself of the glory of nature. On our recent holiday in Scotland – two astounding beauty spots are remembered in this posting. Benmore Botanic Gardens is set into a mountainside on the Cowan peninsula.

Nature's beauty at Benmore Botanic Gardens - worth protecting

Giant redwoods and golden gates
Miles of trails lead through avenues of gigantic Californian redwood trees to viewpoints across ponds and from elevated benches and sites like an astonishing Victorian fernery or the restored gleaming golden gates.

Mount Stuart
The “there but not there” Tommie featured in the collage at the top of this post is sited in the marble chapel of Mount Stuart House on the Isle of Bute. A short ferry ride from Colintraive brought us to this massive estate with its coastal walk (where we picnicked.) It must be one of the most magnificent houses I’ve ever visited – an eccentric gothic surprise of a place with hundreds of highlights.

Wee gardens, lush fernery
The grounds include a maze-like garden leading to fern trails, kitchen gardens, rockeries, ponds, pine trees, a sheltered “wee garden” and the Upper and Lower Policies (“pleasure grounds around a mansion”.)

Intricate details and lavish flourishes
The house is full of gothic touches: from the astrological ceiling in “the horoscope room” to the “Red, Blue and Purple” Libraries and the awe-inspiring Russian icon, The Marriage at Cana.

They shall grow not old
Wow factor moments include walking into the 80 foot high Marble Hall, walking up the Marble Staircase and entering the Marble Chapel (first picture in this posting). H W Lonsdale’s richly coloured stained glass windows represent the signs of the zodiac and the vaulted ceiling shows “the stars in their courses.” During the First World War the 4th Marquess and Marchioness of Bute turned the house into a hospital, Lady Bute ran the hospital and supervised the logistics of treatments and altogether over 2,100 patients were treated, breaking records for similar makeshift hospitals in stately homes.

For the Fallen
by Lawrence Binyon

• first published 21st September 1914 in The Times 
• composed on cliffs in north Cornwall, in tribute to the earliest casualties in the first months of the First World War (Battles of Mons and The Marne)

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, 
England mourns for her dead across the sea. 
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, 
Fallen in the cause of the free.


Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal 
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres, 
There is music in the midst of desolation 
And a glory that shines upon our tears.


They went with songs to the battle, they were young, 
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. 
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted; 
They fell with their faces to the foe.


They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. 
At the going down of the sun and in the morning 
We will remember them.


They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; 
They sit no more at familiar tables of home; 
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; 
They sleep beyond England's foam.


But where our desires are and our hopes profound, 
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, 
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known 
As the stars are known to the Night;


As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, 
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; 
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, 
To the end, to the end, they remain.

The zodiac windows at Mount Stuart House