Today marked what should have been the first in our 2020 season of guided Radnor Street Cemetery walks, but sadly due to the current coronavirus crisis these have been cancelled for the foreseeable future.
This does not mean we cannot continue to enjoy the beauty and the history of the cemetery, albeit remotely.
If you have enjoyed this week's series of virtual walks you might also enjoy my companion blog Radnor Street Cemetery, a collection of stories told in a slightly different format. Here is an example.
I stood in front of the Baptist Tabernacle and watched the crowds gather, ten, twelve, fifteen deep in some places, packing all the approaches to the Town Hall.
Hundreds upon hundreds of people had come to pay their respects. Grieving parents stood next to those who had welcomed home their shattered sons, everyone touched by the horror of four long years of war.
Soldiers on crutches, soldiers with no obvious injuries. Widows holding the hands of little children, who even at such a young age appreciated the solemnity of the occasion.
Gathered immediately around the shrouded war memorial were the Mayor and civic dignitaries standing next to members of the clergy from the various Swindon congregations. Alongside detachments of the local military units were a group of Boy Scouts and Girl Guides, all standing to attention.
I went to school with the Preater brothers. I was in the same class as Bert, the youngest. Six sets of brothers were lost from Sanford Street School and I knew them all. Reginald Corser, an Engine Room Artificer who died on board HMS Defence in 1916. His brother Horace died on the Western Front two years later...
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This does not mean we cannot continue to enjoy the beauty and the history of the cemetery, albeit remotely.
If you have enjoyed this week's series of virtual walks you might also enjoy my companion blog Radnor Street Cemetery, a collection of stories told in a slightly different format. Here is an example.
I stood in front of the Baptist Tabernacle and watched the crowds gather, ten, twelve, fifteen deep in some places, packing all the approaches to the Town Hall.
Hundreds upon hundreds of people had come to pay their respects. Grieving parents stood next to those who had welcomed home their shattered sons, everyone touched by the horror of four long years of war.
Soldiers on crutches, soldiers with no obvious injuries. Widows holding the hands of little children, who even at such a young age appreciated the solemnity of the occasion.
Gathered immediately around the shrouded war memorial were the Mayor and civic dignitaries standing next to members of the clergy from the various Swindon congregations. Alongside detachments of the local military units were a group of Boy Scouts and Girl Guides, all standing to attention.
I went to school with the Preater brothers. I was in the same class as Bert, the youngest. Six sets of brothers were lost from Sanford Street School and I knew them all. Reginald Corser, an Engine Room Artificer who died on board HMS Defence in 1916. His brother Horace died on the Western Front two years later...
