Tribute to Rupert Brooke
Framed
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1984 Skyros Island Rupert Brooke
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1984 Skyros Island Rupert Brooke
Rupert Brooke's memorial
There was no security at all in 1984. The place was deserted.
While sailing in the Sporades Islands, we had anchored in Tris Boukes bay with a couple of the other YCA yachts. We had heard about the grave from the YCA lead crew so we rowed ashore, found the track and walked up to the grave. It was a beautiful setting.
We stayed overnight in the bay and the YCA group were the only people there. A delightful, tranquil anchorage. No doubt, Skyros is much busier now.
I also took a photo of the inscription on the tablet of Rupert Brooke’s poem ‘The Soldier’
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
There was no security at all in 1984. The place was deserted.
While sailing in the Sporades Islands, we had anchored in Tris Boukes bay with a couple of the other YCA yachts. We had heard about the grave from the YCA lead crew so we rowed ashore, found the track and walked up to the grave. It was a beautiful setting.
We stayed overnight in the bay and the YCA group were the only people there. A delightful, tranquil anchorage. No doubt, Skyros is much busier now.
I also took a photo of the inscription on the tablet of Rupert Brooke’s poem ‘The Soldier’
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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