Sunday walk

In the very centre of the town I live in there is an opencast gold mine, named Martha Mine

after the hill which used to be there. On Sunday, a misty, windless morning, I walked 

part of the walkway which goes right around the rim, about 4 kilometres in length. 

About a year ago there was a collapse on one side of the pit, as you can see below.

When we first moved here, in 1984, the intention was to fill the pit with water 

in the near future, and landscape around it, so that the town would have a 

 lake on which people could sail, row, and generally enjoy themselves.

At that stage, gold-bearing rock was still being taken from the bottom of the pit.

However, once the pit was more or less out of gold, the mine's owners turned to 

exploring underneath it, re-opening some of the old shafts which had been closed, and 

finding there remained good pickings to be had. 

We still don't have a lake...

This Saturday is Anzac Day, an important day in the lives of New Zealanders and 

Australians, as we remember the brave men who died fighting at Gallipoli in Turkey 

in 1915, and all of our soldiers who have died fighting in foreign wars, in foreign lands. 

Along part of the safety fence around the pit rim stretch a number of poppies, 

each bearing the name of a loved uncle, father, grandfather or friend.

We shall remember them.

Brave and beautiful poppies

The other day I really enjoyed reading a post on Karen's lovely blog, about Minnesota's state flower, the Lady's Slipper.  She also talked about the poppies of California, which made me think of how delighted I had been earlier this year to find poppies growing wild everywhere, in my springtime trip around Greece and Turkey.  It made me think about the photos I took of them - hence this post!

In Mycenae, in Greece, the poppies grow amongst ruins which date back three thousand years.  These ones were in cracks of the stones which remain from the palace where Agamemnon was murdered by his wife and her lover.

On top of the Acropolis in Athens, poppies grow amongst the tumbled columns of many centuries past:

Ancient ruins are pretty much my favourite places to be in the whole world.  I have spent so many years learning about classical history - I love nothing more than to stand in these places and imagine what it would have been like to be there when the inhabitants were going about their daily lives. 

For some reason they give me an incredible sense of peace and connection.

In Perge, in southern Turkey, the same bright flowers flared bravely amongst the stones:

 

and in Pamukkale, a strange and beautiful place:

Finally, on the way back to Istanbul, we visited Gallipoli.  I had really hoped to see poppies here, but no - everything had been rendered very neat and tidy for the Anzac day celebrations a few days later.  

These poppies there were, however. 

What heavy burdens these symbolic flowers carry, what dark stories they relate.

 

At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Laurence Binyon

Alexia