MAY 2ND, 2025.

Another year has passed. It's been fourteen years now since my father died.

On Monday, May 2nd, 2011, at about 22.05, my father left this world after four weeks on Intensive Care.

Only some weeks before, on March 24, 2011, he had turned 77. Apart from some minor troubles normal for a man his age, he was a healthy person. Not a week before being admitted to the hospital, he went with my mom to the annual dinner event of his old Institut Technique Ath schoolmates, and was by all accounts the healthiest and fittest of the group. Four days later he was on Intensive Care. Four weeks after that he was dead.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." ~ Psalm 23:4 ~

I went with my mom, 85 now, to the cemetery this afternoon. Since she's having major troubles with her back, right hip and right knee, it fell to me to clean pa's gravestone. I was grateful that we interred him the way he always insisted was the right one: in a coffin, under a sculpted granite slab, with a cross and a headstone. Like me, he abhorred cremation and putting away the ashes in an urn. Or worse: these days they disperse them on a small grassfield for the purpose. Good riddance! Typical for this cursed age of hedonism, broken families, vanity and emptyness. In 2011 it hadn't become mainstream yet, now it is. Dad would have bristled at the practice.


Anyway, because of his insistence on being buried the classical way, my mom, siblings and I have an anchor to get back to, a digified place where his mortal remains rest, having been reclaimed by Earth. Earlier this Spring, I reserved the plot just behind his - and my mom's. I want to be buried near those who gave me Life.


Rest in Peace father. It's been fourteen long years, but we still think of you. God Bless.


MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM ANDRE GLEISSNER.

Prayers are asked for the victims of the Magdeburg islamic terror attack, in particular for André Gleissner:

André 9 years old, innocent victim in Magdeburg. The real responsible for what happened in Germany are the German socialist politicians. pic.twitter.com/5UJWzpyDab

— RadioGenoa (@RadioGenoa) December 21, 2024

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.
Amen.

André kam übrigens direkt aus meiner Gegend. Wer für die Familie spenden will, kann das hier tun 🙏 pic.twitter.com/IZD3zsKmjp

— Anabel Schunke (@ainyrockstar) December 21, 2024

MFBB.

MAY 2nd, 2024.

It's been 13 years since my father died.





I visited my father's grave a couple of hours ago. It was overcast, cold, windy, and raining slightly. An almost complete reversal of the weather yesterday, which actually resembled a hot and sunny day in early July.

I said some prayers there, looking at my father's photograph, a good one which shows him at his best, and as he was in his final years, still a handsome man. The photo is about six inches high and 4 inches wide and thankfully its colours haven't faded yet in those thirteen years.

When I had finished praying I laid my hand on the dark polished granite, as I always do, telling dad that he is not forgotten.

I can only continue my life till I, too, arrive at the end, and I can only hope that I live it as decently as my father lived his. That, and hopefully being able to fulfill a couple of crucial goals I have set myself. I asked and got so much help from my father - and my mother, of course - during his lifetime. Would it be selfish to ask him to help me accomplish those goals from beyond death? Perhaps it is. At the same time these goals are not exactly for my own benefit, so perhaps it's not so bad after all.


My father. What an example. Even thirteen years after his passing.




"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me."
~ Psalm 23:4 ~


Rest in peace dad. You are not forgotten.



MFBB.

MAY 2ND, 2023.

It's been twelve years since my father died:

On Monday, May 2nd, 2011, at about 22.05, my father passed away after almost one month on Intensive Care.

He was 77. He had some little troubles typically connected with his age, but was otherwise a healthy person. Four days before he was admitted to the hospital, towards the end of March 2011, he participated in the annual dinner event of his old schoolmates from the Institut Technique at Ath (Hainaut Province), and he was by all accounts the healthiest and ablest of the group. Four days later he was on Intensive Care. A month later he was dead.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." ~ Psalm 23:4 ~

It's been twelve years father, but we think of you every single day.


Rest in Peace. You are not forgotten.


MFBB.

MAY 2ND, 2022.

It's been eleven years already since my father died.





For many of my in memoriams I've been using Bachs beautiful "Ich ruf zu dir, Herr Jesu Christ" (BWV 639). And I would have done it again this time, were it not for a conversation on Twitter I had with a friend of mine whose father, too, passed away, just one week ago. That friend was asking for suggestions for musical accompaniments during the church service.


I did suggest BWV 639, but then my friend himself wondered whether Bedrich Smetana's Ma Vlast would be okay as the final musical piece, when the coffin is carried outside...


...and it suddenly sounded like a good idea to me! Not for its length, because it's a full twelve minutes, too long for this intended purpose, although you could truncate it at the 5th minute or thereabouts...


... but for its inherent optimism, and why not? For Christians, Death is not the end.


On this humble blog of mine I do not face the same constraints as the pastor who may suspect - rightfully - that many churchgoers would not be, ah, at ease with a twelve minute composition at the end of the service. So... this In Memoriam will, for once, have Ma Vlast as an homage to the excellent human being my father was:





Rest in Peace, father. You are not forgotten.



MFBB.

MAY 2ND, 2021.

Ten years ago to the day, my father died:

On Monday, May 2nd, at about 22.05, my father passed away after almost one month on Intensive Care.

He was 77. He had some little troubles typically connected with his age, but was otherwise a healthy person. Four days before he was admitted to the hospital, he participated in the annual dinner event of his 'copains' at the Institut Technique in Ath, and was by all accounts the healthiest and most able of the group. Four days later he was on Intensive Care, only to leave it when he was not among the living anymore....

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." ~ Psalm 23:4 ~

It's been ten years dad, but we think of you every single day.


Rest in peace, dear pa.


MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM DR. WALTER E. WILLIAMS (1936-2020).

A great man has left us. Dr. Walter E. Williams, George Mason University economics professor and syndicated columnist passed away at the age of 84 on DEC 2, 2020.


Via Economic Policy Journal:

"He was the author of over 150 publications which have appeared in scholarly journals such as Economic Inquiry, American Economic Review, Georgia Law Review, Journal of Labor Economics, Social Science Quarterly, and Cornell Journal of Law and Public Policy and popular publications such as Newsweek, Ideas on Liberty, National Review, Reader's Digest, Cato Journal, and Policy Review. He authored ten books: America: A Minority Viewpoint, The State Against Blacks, which was later made into the PBS documentary "Good Intentions," All It Takes Is Guts, South Africa's War Against Capitalism, which was later revised for South African publication, Do the Right Thing: The People's Economist Speaks, More Liberty Means Less Government, Liberty vs. the Tyranny of Socialism, Up From The Projects: An Autobiography, Race and Economics: How Much Can Be Blamed On Discrimination? and American Contempt for Liberty."

Rest in peace and God Blesss, Dr. Williams. You will be sorely missed.


MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM MY COUSIN CHRIS (1938-2020).

Last Monday, November 23, my cousin Chris died. He got to be 82. Today was his funeral.

About three weeks ago he landed in hospital after suffering a stroke, which left him paralysed to one side. Even before the stroke not in stellar condition, he contracted Covid-19 while in hospital. A swallowing problem, no doubt aggravated by loss of coordination due to the stroke, led to saliva entering his lungs, which in turn caused pneumonia. Chris did not have a chance. Less than two weeks after entering hospital, his body gave up.

Perhaps worst of all, due to stringent corona regulations, neither his wife nor close family members were allowed to see him during his time in hospital. Only in his last hours, when hospital staff sensed death was imminent, was Chris' spouse allowed at his bedside - when he was already in a coma. Chris died lonely and miserable, deprived of the consolation his partner and soulmate could have offered him in his last moments.

Other corona regulations stipulate that funeral attendance cannot exceed 15 persons, which meant that only the closest family circle of the deceased can attend. It was a decent enough Mass, and this is one of the musical works that were played, Beethovens Mondscheinsonate:





The only good thing about today was that the weather was decent, so that after Mass we were able to follow the hearse on foot to the cemetery and at least have our minds lifted somewhat by bright sun and azure sky.

I regret that I was not able to greet the body one last time - another consequence of the corona regulations. I regret that Chris' mortal remains were cremated - but if that was his wish, or his wife's, so be it.

With my cousin's passing, yet another huge character from my childhood days disappears, after my father in 2011, and my uncle, my father's brother, in 2018. Chris, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you have meant for me.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me." ~ Psalm 23:4 ~

God Bless. And let us also pray for his wife A., 23 year his junior. By all accounts, it was a happy marriage, and A. is heartbroken.



MFBB.

MAY 2ND, 2020.

9 years ago to the day, my father died.




My father never claimed to be a leader; indeed, he was of a rather individualistic nature, far too much a perfectionist to ever direct, and allow, personnel to do his job.

And yet he was a leader. By example.




"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me."
~ Psalm 23:4 ~


Rest in peace father. You are not forgotten.



MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM SIR ROGER SCRUTON (1944-2020).

At a time when the West is rocked by turmoil, for which it is to a large degree itself responsible, a Great Conservative Mind has left us:




But his parting gift offers a ray of hope:

"We have entered a spiritual limbo. Our educational institutions are no longer the bearers of high culture and public life has been deliberately moronised. But here and there, sheltered from the noise and glare of the media, the old spiritual forces are at work. Popular culture contains pockets of gentleness and melody. Architects, writers and composers produce works which are neither kitsch nor 'kitsch'. Prayer and penitence have been interrupted, but not forgotten. To those who wish for it, the ethical life may still be retrieved. Ours is a catacomb culture, a flame kept alive by undaunted monks. And what the monks of Europe achieved in a former dark age, they might achieve again."

~ Sir Roger Scruton

God bless.

Rest in Peace, Sir.


MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM NEIL PEART (1952-2020).

Say it ain't so....

Neil Peart September 12, 1952 - January 7, 2020 pic.twitter.com/NivX2RhiB8

— Rush (@rushtheband) January 10, 2020

BEST. DRUMMER. EVAH.

Via UCR:

"A big influence on me was John Steinbeck’s The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights, which he never finished in his lifetime," Peart told Rolling Stone in 2015. "It opens with a little preface that said, ‘Some people there are ... .’ I said, why? Strange turn of phrase. But he had obviously deliberately chosen it. And some of those formal phrasings were because I was very much driven by rhythm of words – and still am. A line will strike me just because of its drumming rhythm."

Rush had already put out a self-titled debut album before Peart made his performance debut with them, when they opened for Uriah Heep on Aug. 14, 1974, at the Pittsburgh Civic Arena. But that concert marked a critical turning point for Rush, for their gangly new 21-year-old drummer – and for rock.

"Among the many memories of that life-changing experience, I would never forget standing on the floor beside stage left while Uriah Heep played 'Stealin'," Peart said in his 2006 book Roadshow – Landscape with Drums: A Concert Tour by Motorcycle. "The big dark building, colored lights on the heroic figures up on the stage, the roaring audience, the sheer electricity in that place. Halfway through their show, the retractable dome of the Civic Arena had peeled back, open to the summer night."

He'd almost given up on this dream, resorting to working at the parts counter at his father's farm equipment dealership in St. Catharines, Ontario. Peart memorably arrived for this tryout driving his mother's Ford Pinto, with his drums packed into garbage cans.

"I remember thinking, 'God, he's not nearly cool enough to be in this band,'" Lifeson said in Beyond the Lighted Stage. "And then he started playing, and he pounded the crap out of those drums. He played like Keith Moon and John Bonham at the same time."

Peart's studio debut on 1975's Fly by Night is now recognized as the group's true starting point. That kicked off a creative then commercial juggernaut marked by critically lauded triumphs like 1976's 2112 and multi-platinum smashes like 1981's Moving Pictures.

Peart provided a steady presence through stylistic changes, as the '80s saw Rush move into then-modern synth-forward sounds, before a return to their sturdy bass-guitar-and-drums trio approach. Personal tragedy also played a role: Peart's first daughter, and then-only child, died in a single-car accident in 1997, just after Rush ended their Test for Echo tour. Her mother died of cancer 10 months later, and Peart's professional life ground to a sudden halt.

Peart hit the highway. He said he racked up 55,000 miles on his motorcycle during the lengthy sabbatical that followed, roaring throughout North and Central America in a journey chronicled in his 2002 book Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road..."

Well, this hurts. I got to know Rush sometime around 1981, via John D, still one of my best friends...




... who made me listen to their then brand new album Moving Pictures...





...which features a.o. Tom Sawyer...


God bless Neil, and Rest in Peace. You are now reunited with Selena and Jacqueline. May Carrie and Olivia find the strength to carry on. And... thank you from the bottom of my heart for your contribution to GREAT music.


MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM ALEXEI LEONOV (1934-2019).

A sad day for humanity as a 'stellar' human being, Alexei Leonov, the first man ever to walk freely in space, has died.






Via Space.com:

"Soviet-era cosmonaut Alexei Leonov, who in 1965 became the first person to walk in space before co-leading the first joint mission between Russia and the United States, has died at the age of 85.

Leonov died on Friday (Oct. 11) at the Burdenko military hospital in Moscow after a long illness.

"One of the first cosmonauts of the world space era, forever devoted to his country and his work, he inscribed himself in golden letters in the world history of space," said Roscosmos, Russia's federal space corporation, in a statement. "With Alexei Arkhipovich a whole era has gone."

Selected alongside Yuri Gagarin among the first 20 Soviet Air Force pilots to train as cosmonauts in 1960, Leonov flew twice into space, logging a total of 7 days and 32 minutes off the planet."

Launched on Voskhod 2, the world's 17th human spaceflight, on March 18, 1965, Leonov made history as the first person to exit his spacecraft for an extravehicular activity (EVA).






"The Earth is round!" he exclaimed, as he caught his first view of the world. "Stars were to my left, right, above and below me. The light of the sun was very intense and I felt its warmth on the part of my face that was not protected by a filter," said Leonov in a 2015 interview with the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale (FAI) on the 50th anniversary of his spacewalk.

"What remain etched in my memory was the extraordinary silence," he said.

Leonov's historic EVA, however, almost spelled his end.

After several minutes outside, his spacesuit ballooned, making it very difficult for him to maneuver. His crewmate, Pavel Belayev, unable to do anything to assist, Leonov made the decision to release air from his suit in order to be able to re-enter his capsule.

"I decided to drop the pressure inside the suit ... knowing all the while that I would reach the threshold of nitrogen boiling in my blood, but I had no choice," Leonov told the FAI, the world governing body that certifies aviation and space records.

Ultimately, Leonov made it safely back inside after 12 minutes and 9 seconds floating outside his spacecraft. He and Belyayev returned to Earth the next day on March 19, 1965, having shown it was possible for a human to survive working in the vacuum in space."

Try to imagine the sheer guts Alexei Leonov must have had, getting out of the relative 'shelter' offered by a spacecraft whizzing around Earth at 27,000 kloms an hour or thereabout, into the Great Icecold Void. Nothing between you and that but a flimsy spacesuit. Respect!




Rest in Peace, Major General. God bless.



MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM DYMPHNA.

Two days ago, June 23, I checked out Gates of Vienna, whom I consider to be the guys in the next foxhole in the Counterjihad - not that I want to imply DowneastBlog has the magnitude of GoV - and to my great shock and dismay I read the following in a post written on June 17:

"Dymphna died suddenly last night, or more accurately, early this morning. I took her to the emergency room early in the evening; she had a high fever and a terrible cough. But it didn’t seem like anything that could ever be fatal.

I will be pretty much out of action until at least after the funeral, so this blog is officially on hiatus for a while. I’ll be back, though, when I’m ready to handle things again.

Tipsters are advised not to send any more news feed tips until you see another post appear here besides this one.

I’ve been up all night, so that’s all for now."

Gates of Vienna is, or now rather was, run by the Baron and Dymphna, who happened to be a couple. They have been at the forefront of the Counterjihad for well over a decade, and during all that time their prodigious output has never slacked, at least not that I noticed. GoV is and, hopefully, will continue to be a treasure trove of myriads of facts and anecdotes detailing the seemingly irresistible invasion of our civilized countries by the gruesome death cult that is islam.

I frequented often, commented from time to time, and slowly got acquainted, if only digitally, with the owners, though more so with Dymphna. As fleeting as these contacts were, they sufficed to me to leave a lasting impression of her as a gentle, friendly and deeply caring person. Caring not only about our beautiful civilization, but also caring for her friends and loved ones, above all her soulmate. I have no reason to suppose that their marriage was anything other than a sound and deeply fulfilling one, and as such I can imagine - or rather no, I cannot imagine - the pain the Baron must go through now.

When I checked in again on GoV today I found out the Baron posted a photo of his late spouse, which I will now put up on these pages too. I will readily admit that I did not ask permission for this to the Baron, but something tells me he would approve... as would Dymphna herself. Correction, as Dymphna approves. Gates of Vienna and DowneastBlog were and are partners in the same fight, and besides, this is what Dymphna's husband wrote:

"I buried my wife late yesterday afternoon in the graveyard of our little rural church in Central Virginia. The Episcopalian service was everything that one could have hoped for, and I know that Dymphna was pleased with the liturgy, the music, and the fellowship in the parish hall after the Committal.

A year or two ago, after a discussion about this eventuality, Dymphna gave her assent to the publication of the photo below. It was the only photo of her that she would allow to be posted. It was taken a number of years ago, in happier times."

There follows an immensely touching post by a man torn by grief yet grateful for the time allotted to their union. I suggest you should read it.


Pray for Dymphna and Ned.



MFBB.

MEMORIAL DAY 2019.

We remember Captain Jesse Melton lll, USMC.

"Captain Jesse Melton lll served in the Marine Corps for 11 years. He died on Sept 9, 2008, while on active duty with the United States Marine Corps in Afghanistan (Operation Enduring Freedom Campaign). He was assigned to HQ Battery, 12th Marines, 3rd Marine Division, Marine Corps Base Hawaii Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii at the time of his death."

God bless...




... and never forget.



MFBB.

MAY 2ND, 2019.

It's been 8 years since my father died.




My father started working at age 14 and quit at 74. He died three years later, not a month and a half after his 77th birthday. He enjoyed a full pension a whole three years and three months. And I find myself wondering, was all that toil, all that labour, all that sacrifice, necessary?

For him personally, perhaps not. He could have had an easier old day. But it enabled my three siblings and me to pursue higher studies. It was my parents' daily travail - cause let's certainly not forget my mother - day in and day out, year after year, that made our lives more rewarding and comfortable. It's not that we grew up to be carefree and spoiled brats; it's that their efforts gave us a very serious head start in life. Something the four of us benefit from to this day. May my wife and I be able to do the same for our kids.

My father. What an example.




"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me."
~ Psalm 23:4 ~


Rest in peace dad. You are not forgotten.



MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM BARTOSZ NIEDZIELSKI.

Via PI-News:

"Miły wieczór z przyjaciółmi przerodził się w najgorszy koszmar. Pochodzący z Katowic, a od 20 lat mieszkający w Strasburgu, Bartosz Niedzielski 11 grudnia wybrał się na koncert ze znajomymi. Na papierosie przed klubem zauważył terrorystę z karabinem maszynowym, który zmierza w kierunku klubu. To Niedzielski z grupą znajomych odcięli mu drogę do środka! Do niedzieli walczył o życie w szpitalu. Po południu podjęto decyzję o odłączeniu go od aparatury podtrzymującej życie. Bartosz zmarł ok. godz. 18. Był piątą ofiarą zamachowca.

– Bartek razem ze znajomym dziennikarzem z Włoch i dwoma muzykami stali przed wejściem. Wyszli zapalić. Wtedy zobaczyli zamachowca z bronią. Od świadków wiemy, że rzucili się, żeby go powstrzymać. Dzięki nim drzwi zostały zamknięte, sprawca nie wszedł do środka. Inaczej doszłoby do masakry. Byłoby jak w paryskim klubie Bataclan, gdzie terroryści strzelali do ludzi jak do kaczek – mówią dziennikarce „Gazety Wyborczej” Renata i Bogusław Bojczukowie, znajomi pana Bartosza.

Bohaterowie zatrzymali zamachowca, ale za swój czyn ponieśli olbrzymią cenę – zostali ranni. Włoch zmarł w miniony piątek w szpitalu. Niedzielski z raną postrzałową głowy trafił do szpitala, gdzie walczył o życie. Jego stan jest był krytyczny. Bliscy otoczyli go opieką i modlą się o cud!

– W modlitwie siła i tak naprawdę, to jedyne, co można zrobić. Pomodlić się za Bartka, ale też za wszystkie osoby ranne i te które zostały zabite w zamachu – mówiła dla Radia5, Marta Ornet, ciotka Polaka.

Niestety, Bartka nie udało się uratować. Jak udało się dowiedzieć Fakt24, w niedzielę po południu podjęto decyzję, o odłączeniu Polaka od aparatury podtrzymującej go przy życiu. Informację o jego śmierci potwierdził w emocjonalnym wpisie na facebooku jego brat. „Mój brat Barto Pedro Ornet-Niedzielski właśnie nas opuścił. Dziękuję wam za waszą miłość i siłę, której mu dostarczyliście. On zawsze będzie tam czuwał nad nami i nadal przynosił nam radość. Dziękuję wszystkim”. Dorota Orent, matka Bartosza Niedzielskiego w rozmowie z dziennikiem „Le Monde” powiedziała, że „serce Bartka przestało bić po godzinie 18”."

This is the gist of the Polish text:

"A pleasant evening with friends became the worst nightmare. With some friends, Katowice native Bartosz Niedzielski, who for the past 20 years had been living in Strasbourg, visited a concert.

While having a smoke in front of the club he noticed the terrorist with his machinegun (sic), heading in the direction of the building. Thereupon Niedzielski with his group of friends blocked the entrance!

In hospital, he fought for his life till Sunday. In the afternoon, it was decided to decouple him from the life-saving equipment. Bartosz died at about 6 pm. He was the perpetrator's fifth victim."

Again, Poles succcesfully stood in the way of muslim invaders and again, they paid a blood price. And the photo suggests that Mr Niedzielski leaves behind a partner and at least one child. What makes this tragic loss even more bitter is the knowledge that while Bartosz was still clinging on to life, in his place of birth Katowice, our treacherous political class busied itself force-feeding costly - and insane - climate scare measures down the western taxpayer's throats, which will in the end amount to nothing more than a giant socialist redistribution scheme solving just nothing.

And not only that, but simultaneously the same leacherous politicians basically legalized mass immigration from the Third World into Western countries, an absolute folly bound to cost many more brave citizens like Mr Niedzielski their lives.

These are immensely sad times.

Prayers are asked for Bartosz and his loved ones.

God Bless.



MFBB.

IN MEMORIAM MY UNCLE.

No music today, because I don't feel it's appropriate. In the week that was, my uncle R., my late father's sole brother, passed away at the age of 82.

I knew his wife was quite religious, but that he himself was too, came as a bit of a surprise to me. I had never heard him utter, or seen him display, anything that hinted to Christian zeal. Yet he insisted on receiving the Last Rites, which for me is as much a consolation as it seems to have been for him. He also asked his wife and sons that a small and intimate service be held at the church depicted in the background of this painting...



The Parable of the Blind (1568), by Pieter Bruegel the Elder

... and I was glad to be able to attend, together with my family.


I know he suffered a lot, had been suffering for years actually, and especially his last months and weeks were excruciating, so his wife, my aunt, told me. He took it as a Man, complained little, and even apologized profusely to his wife for the burden that he had become - my aunt insisted on taking care of her husband herself, instead of hospitalizing him.

With my uncle's passing, an important bloodlink to my late father also disappears. Born only two years apart, it was evident that they would spend their childhood together and by all accounts, they were inseparable in that timeframe. Only later, when R. made a career in the industry, and work and marriage took him to other areas physically, did they grow apart somewhat. Yet both lived and laboured honorably, had sound marriages, and raised their offspring admirably. My cousins are the closest to the brothers I never had, and I am grateful for them.

Now R. is no more, and I wish I could say from the bottom of my heart that he is now reunited with his brother, my father. Yet at least four decades of living in a sick society where daily assaults on Christianity are the rule, have taken their toll... and I admit that right now it's hard to be assured of their being together again. Still, let us recall Pope Benedict XVI saying bravely that "doubt is the handmaiden of faith", and, regardless, I keep going back to feeling and being a Christian as if it's the most natural state in the world. I guess I should feel lucky for that.

I guess I am.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me."
~ Psalm 23:4 ~

Rest in Peace, dear Uncle, and thank you for everything. God bless.


MFBB.

MAY 2ND, 2018.

On May 2nd, 2011, my father died.

Proverbs 4:1

"Hear, O sons, the instruction of a father, And give attention that you may gain understanding..."

God knows I didn't give attention all the time. Still, when I did, I learned a mightly lot.


Rest in peace, father.



MFBB.

YOUR DAILY DOSE OF TOXIC MASCULINITY.

So Ronald Lee Ermey is dead. Pity. Like so many others this side of the Pond, I only got to know him by watching Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket. Here's the memorable opening scene...





... Hey, psssst!!! if you are a milennial, you can now crawl out of your safe space!!!!

* “You little piece of shit you look like a fucking worm.”


* “Looks to me the best part of you ran down the crack of your mama’s ass and ended up as a brown stain on the mattress!”


* “You are pukes—the lowest life form on earth. You are not even human fucking beings. You are only unorganized, grab-asstic pieces of amphibian shit!”


* “Did your parents have children that lived?”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“I’ll bet they regret that. You’re so ugly you could be a modern art masterpiece.”


* “You had best unfuck yourself or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck!”


* “Who said that? Who the fuck said that? Who’s the slimy little communist shit twinkle-toed cocksucker down here who just signed his own death warrant?”


* “I do not look down n*****s, k***s, wops or greasers. Here you are all equally worthless.”


* “I bet you’re the kind of guy would fuck a person in the ass and not have the goddamn common courtesy to give him a reach-around!”


* “Do you suck dicks?”
“Sir, no, sir.”
“Bullshit, I’ll bet you could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.”


* “Where in the hell are you from anyway, private?”
“Sir, Texas, sir!”
“Holy dog shit, Texas! Only steers and queers come from Texas, private Cowboy! And you don’t look much like a steer to me so that kinda narrows it down.”


* “How tall are you, Private?”
“Sir, five foot nine, sir.”
“I didn’t know they stacked shit that high!”

AHAHAHAH!!!! FOOLED YOU!!!


OK, anyway... RIP Gunnery Sergeant Hartman. God bless.


MFBB.

ARMISTICE DAY 2017.

One Sunday last June, I decided to go for a walk with our son. I'm a big fan of the Ardennes, but this time for some reason I thought I'd venture westwards instead - towards Heuvelland, a hilly area in the south of the province of West Flanders.

The region is characterized by a number of low hills, of which the highest, the Kemmelberg, reaches a modest 156 meters.

During World War I it was a heavily contested feature.


This is what the Kemmelberg looks like today (view from the West):





This is what it looked like in 1918:





Near the summit, there's a Monument commemmorating the French soldiers who fell defending this hill:





When descending the road leading west from the monument, you come across an ossuary containing the remains of 5294 French soldiers, of which only 57 were ever identified:





I couldn't help but think of the contrast of our overjoyed boy, descending the sun-soaked western slopes, and the desperate troops who a hundred years ago clung to Kemmelberg in torrents of both water and steel.



After we came back in the village of Kemmel, to the east of the hill, I drove a couple of kilometers eastwards yet, where I knew there was huge man-made crater... one of those created when English mines ripped the Earth's innards out on June 7, 1917. Here, Canadians and British had for more than a year been digging a tunnel of 521m, at the end of which they placed 41314 kg of ammonal. The explosion on 7 June 1917 was one of 19 along the front in Flanders, meant to demolish the German frontlines. On this very spot, near the village of Wijtschate, was placed the largest of the mines, and the explosion caused a crater 27m deep with a diameter of 129m. It is said that the detonations of the 19 charges could be heard across the Channel. Not all exploded though...


... in total, 24 mines had been placed...

One, the Germans managed to defuse.

Another one blew up in 1955 following a lighting strike.

In 2017, three mines are still lurking underground, like apocalyptic beasts patiently waiting to roar their ugly heads.


This is what the crater, locally known as the Spanbroekmolenkrater, looks like today:





Anglosaxon literature will more often refer to it as the Pool of Peace, because in the century since it has been filling with water, creating a pool 12m deep and 76m across. It is a War Memorial, still the property of Talbot House (Toc H) in Poperinge, for which the site was purchased in the 1920s by Lord Wakefield.

While I knew about the crater, I knew not of Lone Tree Cemetery.

I noticed a sign pointing to it when we had walked around the 'Pool of Peace' in a clockwise manner.

It is easy to miss, since it is so small and behind a farm, the buildings of which obscure it partly. This is Lone Tree Cemetery:





It appeared that the dead buried here were mostly from the Royal Irish Rifles 36th Ulster Division.


I noticed this grave in particular, because there was a tag attached to it:





The final resting place, "In Flanders' Fields", of Cpl. Hugh Spence, 12th Battalion Royal Irish Rifles.

He fell on June 7, 1917...





... the very day that the mine buried a mere 50 meters away exploded.

Now, it is known that the mine did not explode on the scheduled time. It seems there was a lapse of 15 seconds. It also seems that the British soldiers, anticipating the explosions as they were also the starting shot for an offensive meant to capture Messines Ridge, leapt to their feet, thinking the mine had been a dud. It is said that some even advanced.

And then the mine blew up anyway.

Was Cpl. Hugh Spence a victim of the explosion? Or did he perish while fighting the Germans later on that day?

I was unable to find out what happened. A quick search got me some meagre info dealing with 36th Ulster division personnel, among them Hugh Spence:

"Rifleman Hugh Spence, 12/6848, 12th Battalion Royal Irish Rifles, Son of Hugh and Elizabeth Spence nee McCormack, Coolkenny, Ballycastle, Co Antrim. Aprox. 19 years of age, deceased is buried in Lone Tree Cemetery, France [sic]. (Image No.7)"

Ballycastle is in County Antrim, on Ulster's northern coast. I remembered we had spent a glorious day there in summer 2011, when we visited the two top attractions nearby, Giant's Causeway and the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge. This is a photo I took then of that magnificent shore:





And I remembered how proud we were of our boy, who, aged 4 at that time, crossed the rope bridge as if he was strolling in our living room. Me, it gave me the jeevers.


A simple tag with a photo and a name pounded home how precious and yet how volatile a human life is. While life isn't easy for the grand majority of us, basically most of us today enjoy priviliges unknown to previous generations. On a fateful day somewhere in the middle of World War One a young man by the name of Hugh Spence was called upon to do his duty - liberate Western Europe from the German invaders. It does not matter whether the mine killed him or the Kaiser's troops - he died liberating my country.

And because of his sacrifice, and the sacrifice of his comrades, a century later our family was able to visit his country - in far more enjoyable circumstances.

I am grateful.


Cpl. Hugh Spence, of the 12th Battalion, Royal Irish Rifles, 36th Ulster Division... thank you. RIP. God Bless.



MFBB.