This week the children have been taking part in activities based around Remembrance and World War 1. We were fortunate enough to welcome Andrew and Elaine from the Royal British Legion on Monday who informed the children about the origins of the Poppy Appeal. They also announced the winners of the local poppy art competition and we were delighted to celebrate with Ben who won the under 18s category and with Verity and Millie who were runner up and highly commended for their work.
Nigel Wood, local historian, came to school with a treasure trove of artefacts, photos and information about the local people who are acknowledged on the Roll of Honour for their contribution to the war effort. Year 6 have spent the week exploring these and gaining empathy for those that served through the drama activities that they have done with Mr Brown.
The weeks events have culminated today in a wonderfully thought-provoking service in church. Classes contributed to this with poems, information and song and wreaths were laid to honour the fallen. We are particularly grateful to the parents, grandparents and members of the community that attended the service and those that have made donations to the RBL poppy appeal throughout the week.
Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21 September 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.