November is my busy month so the blog posts are a bit thin on the ground.
The last 3 weekends i've been out doing my thing & on one of the weekends celebrating my birthday.



Last weekend (13th-15th) i had a couple of mates over so i took them into Swanholme Lakes Nature Reserve, they were in their element & dare i say it loved the place.

We did manage some Rhododendron lopping & burning as well as enjoying the splendid wet & windy weather !!

Throughout the weekend i managed to spot a lot of wildlife, but alas my camera skills were way too slow, I'm pretty sure i spotted a Muntjac so it looks like they're back for the winter. We also sat & watched all the CORVIDS coming into roost, it's one of lifes simple pleasures, masses & masses of them heading for the trees.

Another important lesson i learnt is be careful with water treatment & who's bottle you drink from. I have THYROID problems so i am usually very careful with what i use to treat water. Usually it's a "Millbank bag" to filter & just boil water.


At the Brecons i used a second hand kettle & i think previous owner might of used IODINE in it,it knocked me off my feet & i was really rough.We used the same kettle this weekend & the same happened a severe rash & weak & feeling ill !! lesson learnt !!

LEST WE FORGET

This week i have been unable to find the time to get into the reserve, i have been busy collecting for the "British Legion POPPY appeal"

On Thursday i head for the hills in Wales (Brecon Beacons) & we'll be doing our remembering there with a good campfire & some Ale & like minded people.On REMEMBRANCE SUNDAY i'll take a bottle of Ale & a poppy & walk up Pen 'Y' Fan

PLEASE GIVE WHAT YOU CAN AFFORD to the POPPY APPEAL.



For The Fallen
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.



In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.