BBC News: Jack Greenwell: From Durham miner to Barcelona FC coach

Jack Greenwell: From Durham miner to Barcelona FC coach – http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-tees-36139073

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Victoria Park

In Sydenham, East Belfast. I used to play in this park as a child in the 1960s and 1970s. This view is from an earlier era and that definitely looks like an Olympic class liner in the background, Olympic, Titanic or Britannic?

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Billingham Signal Box

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Sergeant George Thompson

From the Durham At War website this is a DLI  Sergeant’s memories of his time serving in WW1. He was at the 2nd battle of Ypres where my Great Uncle Moses was killed. Although not great literature it’s a fascinating story from a man who cared about his comrades and his horses…
http://www.durhamatwar.org.uk/material/498/

Elvington Air Museum

With Ann on Saturday
Just follow this link to see and comment on this album:
https://flic.kr/s/aHskf3XZKN

World War I Hospital Trains

The trains that saved soldiers in WW1 – http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-32695829

5960 Private Moses Dickson, Royal Irish Fusiliers

My great uncle Moses died at Ypres 100 years ago today. He was 21 years old.

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For the Fallen

Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21stSeptember 1914.

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.