Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whitchurch,_Cardiff
On this glorious summer day teenagers lounge on benches in the library gardens, chatting, smoking, texting, oblivious of the cenotaph where I read row after row of names….Collier, Fowler, three Huttons….imagining the grief in this village a century ago.
I doubt that these kids even know the dates of this terrible war which decimated Whitchurch’s youth, and doubt that their freedom is worth the ultimate sacrifice of these forgotten souls.
“Ignorance is bliss,” I mutter scornfully, then think let it be, not wishing to spread the darkness burdening my heart, recalling the poet’s words, ‘humankind cannot bear very much reality.’
I doubt that these kids even know the dates of this terrible war which decimated Whitchurch’s youth, and doubt that their freedom is worth the ultimate sacrifice of these forgotten souls.
“Ignorance is bliss,” I mutter scornfully, then think let it be, not wishing to spread the darkness burdening my heart, recalling the poet’s words, ‘humankind cannot bear very much reality.’
