'Sowings for new Spring'
Whether you like the end result or not, you cannot fail to have some feelings about it. The result of a 'competition' the 'winning' design is one that will have everyone talking, debating and remembering and to me, that is what really made this project.
A memorial for the town
Led by an inspired team, organised by Claire Isbester and assisted by a great many others, a brief was created in order to create a "serious and monumental memorial of the 1914–18 war" – the war to end all wars.
Whitchurch now has that Memorial and it was unveiled at the Town Hall by Lady Portal, Sheriff of Hampshire on Saturday 4th July 2015.
Designed by Rhiannon Williams, this impressive 2.4 x 2.0 metre piece of textile art is now on public display in the office of the Town Hall.
It could have been a statue, a plaque, a sculpture but this is arguably far more interesting.
Click the picture to enlarge it > > >
A mass of memories
But it was all the stories, recollections, conversations and memories that are really the core of this interpretation. When people met in the Silk Mill early in 2014, it became such a poignant day. I meant to stay an hour but remained all day. One proud local resident's words stuck in my mind "These are the medals of my grandfather". This was being shared so that the ribbon colours could provide inspiration and become part of our town's history. Stories were told that recalled many of the human emotions of the time, even though it was a period over which many kept quiet about the reality of their dreadful experiences.
Talking and sharing
My own grandfather lied about his age so he could go to war – but I know little more about his experiences – he never spoke of them, but I know he was proud to have served his country – opening up and sharing emotions is sometimes hard. This project has not just recorded historic facts – it has also allowed some to talk of their memories and maybe remove some of those demons of silence. Talking and sharing also heals.
More than just textile art
Yes there were many speeches at the official unveiling, but we must not just see this as a piece of textile art, but something that has brought people together and allowed many to express their deep and heartfelt emotions and feelings over memories, often of lost relatives at such a horrific part of our country's history.
The importance
Call into the Town Hall office during normal opening hours and look, admire, and contemplate – what is the most important aspect of the design; of the project?
Is it the dog's eyes, the patchwork, the soldiers hat, the use of silk from the mill, the forget-me-nots? Or is it a recognition of the strength and importance of local people talking, sharing, opening up and supporting each other; something that can never be placed inside a display case?
Everyone will have different views, but to me it is that human interaction.
1914
War broke: and now the Winter of the world
With perishing great darkness closes in.
The foul tornado, centred at Berlin,
Is over all the width of Europe whirled,
Rending the sails of progress. Rent or furled
Are all Art’s ensigns. Verse wails. Now begin
Famines of thought and feeling. Love’s wine’s thin.
The grain of human Autumn rots, down-hurled.
For after Spring had bloomed in early Greece,
And Summer blazed her glory out with Rome,
An Autumn softly fell, a harvest home,
A slow grand age, and rich with all increase.
But now, for us, wild Winter, and the need
Of sowings for new Spring, and blood for seed.
With perishing great darkness closes in.
The foul tornado, centred at Berlin,
Is over all the width of Europe whirled,
Rending the sails of progress. Rent or furled
Are all Art’s ensigns. Verse wails. Now begin
Famines of thought and feeling. Love’s wine’s thin.
The grain of human Autumn rots, down-hurled.
For after Spring had bloomed in early Greece,
And Summer blazed her glory out with Rome,
An Autumn softly fell, a harvest home,
A slow grand age, and rich with all increase.
But now, for us, wild Winter, and the need
Of sowings for new Spring, and blood for seed.
Wilfred Owen (1893 – 1918)
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