Did Rosetta sing as she landed on a four billion year old rock mixed with dust and ice? Or was someone there to greet her with a song? The chances are she was alone and 300,000000 miles away from her planet earth. Perhaps there is some scientific reason for the sound we heard or perhaps we will never know. But after a journey that took ten years with trips around Earth and Mars in order to gain speed, she eventually made it!

      But with just three of her four feet anchored to the comet, Rosetta has a tough time ahead. Her heart will need charging and despite hanging precariously to the side of the comet, a shadow hangs over her. And unless she can recharge her ‘battery’ her mission could soon be over.

      However, already, Rosetta has accomplished so much. A keen photographer, she has already started work and sent photos of the comet, one of trillions out there in our solar system, back to earth.

      And I shall tell you, that just the other evening, my kind and unassuming husband met up with an old friend of his, a scientist who took part in the construction of Rosetta, a European Space Agency-operated spacecraft. Together we had an amazing time, talking about Rosetta as if she too, was an old and endearing friend.

‘We wish you luck Rosetta and all who made you possible!’

Although I enjoy living by the sea, I am happiest when wondering through the woods. Closing my eyes and thinking about trees can bring my blood pressure down to below normal. I can see the roots, anchored to the ground and the tree stretching upwards as if holding up the sky. And I am always amazed that some have the strength to live for thousands of years. Incredible! I cannot help but feel emotional as I walk through the oak woods of Wales. This brings to mind the words of William Blake....

"The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way.  Some see Nature all ridicule and deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all.  But to the eyes of the man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself."
-  William Blake, 1799, The Letters

     If you look at the picture, you will see the trees I stumbled upon after a storm. The earth had been washed away, leaving the knotted and twisted roots exposed. But still determined to survive! And they will, for a long time to come! 

     ‘God is a fine artist,’ my father once told me. I was always thought that this was a strange thing for an atheist to say. But, I never said anything, of course, for I knew that deep down, his love and respect for all animals and nature was God enough for him.

      All kinds of birds fly through the great oaks of Wales. But for me, I love to hear the owl at nightfall, when the torch is out and we sit beside a campfire and smell the damp air in silence.       

       In West Africa, the Oubangui people plant a tree each time a child is born. As the tree grows, so does the child but they believe that same child’s health will be at risk if the tree ceases to thrive. From time to time, gifts are left by the tree and when the child becomes adult and dies, their spirit lives on in the tree.

       I think, just like the Oubangui people think, that I too would not thrive without trees.....none of us would!

Whenever I reflect on the past, I guess I only go as far as my childhood. Today however, despite working on the ward, I looked out across the quiet bay and reflected on times long before I was born. I tried to imagine what it was like a hundred years ago to this very day when it was announced on bill boards that Britain was at war with Germany.

    So many young men left home expecting to fight for their country and return in time for Christmas. But Christmas for thousands of men, never came. The loss of life was overwhelming!

     Mothers waited anxiously for a knock on the door, a painful, desperate wait, for their sons to return from a war that raged throughout Europe. As I stared out of the hospital window I found it hard to comprehend such a time.

      As the morning wore on, I found myself humming war songs my mother and grandmother sang to me when I was a little girl. My favourite was ‘We’ll keep a Welcome in the hillside’ but my grandmother’s was ‘Keep the home fires burning’.....This one is for you Gran and to the son you lost in WW2.

They were summoned from the hillside, they were called in from the glen,
And the country found them ready at the stirring call for men.
Let no tears add to their hardships, as the soldiers pass along,
And although your heart is breaking, make it sing this cheery song:

Keep the Home Fires burning,
While your hearts are yearning,
Though your lads are far away they dream of home.
There’s a silver lining, through the dark clouds shining,
Turn the dark cloud inside out, 'till the boys come home.

Overseas there came a pleading,
"Help a nation in distress."
And we gave our glorious laddies, honour bade us do no less,
For no gallant son of freedom to a tyrant's yoke should bend,
And a noble heart must answer to the sacred call of "Friend".

Keep the Home Fires Burning,
While your hearts are yearning,
Though your lads are far away they dream of home.
There’s a silver lining, through the dark clouds shining,
Turn the dark cloud inside out 'till the boys come home

Last evening, whilst passing through the woods close to our home, I saw a strange sight. A trail of lights flowed through the trees like a path of glow-worms. However, on close inspection, they turned out to be children and their parents (not worms) celebrating St Martin’s Day (11^th November) with a lantern walk. And as they marched (this is what it looked like) they sang a song that went like this.

I'm going with my lantern
And my lantern goes with me.
Up above the stars are glowing,
And glowing, too, are we.
My light is out,
We're going home,
Rabimmel, rabammel, rabum.

     And as they gathered together in a circle, on ground that once was inhabited by bands of Mesolithic hunters, they listened to folktales as a thunder storm wrapped itself around the valley.

     Later, as I spoke to some of the parents around a campfire, they told me the story of St Martin.....

     Once upon a time, in the year A.D 316, there was a knight called St. Martin, who joined the Roman Army. One day, St Martin was riding his horse to the city when he met a starving man. Feeling very sorry for the poor soul, St Martin tore his woollen cloak in two with his sword and gave half to the beggar.

     That night, St Martin had a dream. He saw Jesus, surrounded by angels, wearing his cloak, the part he gave to the beggar and decided that he would devote his life to Christ and lead a simple life. And that is exactly what he did. And right across many countries such as France, Germany, Scandinavia, and Eastern Europe and United Kingdom and further afield again, people celebrate this Saint and the kindness he showed to others.

     And on the eve of St Martin’s Day, we not only remember this kind and gentle soul, but it is alsothe eve of ‘Armistice Day’ when we remember the people who fought and died in World War 1. I will also take time to remember the animals that also went to war and died alongside the soldiers, in their thousands.

Let us never forget!

The Purple Poppy

(A tribute to animals of war)

By J.J.Moffat

Recruiting for the First World War was something pigeons, cats, dogs and horses were not prepared for and neither were the glow worms or the slugs. Millions of animals were taken from the comfort of their homes to join the Army. They marched beside soldiers, bewildered, frightened and without choice.

     In France, trenches soon became infested with thousands of rats, breeding young ones and spreading disease. And so it was, 500,000 cats were employed as ratters. Many a man welcomed these creatures, not just because they killed the rats, but they raised morale which helped temporarily to relieve the stress of war. Quite often, when the sound of the guns blasted above them, the cats lay with the dying soldiers.

     Above the trenches, come rain, wind, or snow, soldiers on horseback raced to the front. Over a million mules and horses had been deployed from Britain alone, with the rest being shipped from North America at a thousand per week. Eight million horses died during The Great War, mostly from war wounds; foot rot, influenza, ringworm, starvation and gangrene. Hunger was a major problem, so sawdust was added to their food to slow down digestion. And despite all their efforts, these brave animal soldiers of war, often succumbed to the relentless bombardment and suffered from debilitating shellshock.

     Once again, when threatened by mustard gas, the Army turned to animals for help. They tested many of them for the detection of gas but they all failed, with the exception of the innocent garden slug. Why, may you ask? Exposed to mustard gas, the slug closes its breathing aperture, so protects its lungs. Recruited immediately and without training, they were marched to war!

      Back in the dark, dank trenches, winter loomed with the promise of being the coldest that France could ever recall.  Soldiers struggled to read their maps and letters from home and morale was low. Then along came an enormous army of glow worms. Not your average soldier by any stretch, but they proved their worth by joining the ranks and living in jam jars. It seemed that nothing could escape this terrible war! 

     Soon, the trenches, built from sandbags and wood, were occupied not only by soldiers, but cats, glow worms, slugs and dogs. It is no wonder, that typhus, dysentery and cholera soon followed. The unsuspecting dogs, once someone’s pet, were trained as messengers and enemy detectors whilst others became Mercy dogs on the battlefield. Carrying medical supplies in a box attached to them, these brave canine soldiers sought out the wounded and dying. Sitting besides the bloodied men, their cries merged as one.

     Americans didn’t use dogs, until they discovered a stowaway on board one of their ships. That dog, ‘Sergeant Stubby’ became the most highly-ranked and decorated service dog in military history. Around a million of these dogs died in action.

     The war was not only being fought on the ground, but up in the sky where pigeon ‘spies’ flew between France and Britain and frontline trenches. Strapped to them were messages, vital to the soldiers. These amazing birds (100,000 of them and probably more) fought the enemy falcons, released by the Germans in the battle of the sky. These birds of prey could bring the pigeon spies down when all else failed.

     And so this bloodiest of wars, with a total loss of more than 9 million soldiers, not counting civilians and the animals that supported them, ended at 11 o’clock in the morning of the 11^th day of the 11^th month in 1918.  But for the animals, their war was far from over.

     The National Archives in Kew, London, tell a sad tale of thousands of animal ‘soldiers’ left behind at the end of the war, in the hands of Belgian and French butchers. The same thing happened after WW2. Churchill was furious when he heard of their plight and arranged for their safe return home.

     In November 2004, Princess Anne, the Princess Royal, unveiled the Animals in War Memorial in Hyde Park, London. This was designed by an English sculptor to commemorate the animal soldiers that served and died under British Military command, throughout history.

At the going down of the sun, we will remember them.