Snow is cool

Hello everyone!

It has definitely been a bit since my last blog, but I will try to remember as much as posssible. I write to you from Lille in the north of France. It is quite snowy here, and it feels like its Christmas. I haven't seen snow since last April and it, oddly enough, warms my heart to see it. Yesterday my travelling companions and I went to the great Canadian ww1 monument at Vimy ridge. It was an amazing memorial. Scenes at the memorial depicted allegorical figures representing humanism and the eternal struggle for good over evil. The tour guides at the site were all Canadian, and all in there 20's it seemed, so it was great to be around some Canadian youngsters again. The tour that we went on took us through an underground subway (that the soldiers used for communications and safeguard) and trenches (that were civily restored). It was quite an educating experience. The day was a cold one, but we just felt lucky that we didn't have a battle to fight, ha ha. The land was scarred by artillery bombardments and mines, there were craters that looked like grassy dried up ponds, and there were warnings everywhere, in english, saying not take chances with the land that was guarded by electric fences. This land was bound to be garnished with undeactivated mines and other explosives. Newly planted trees were everywhere, but we made the rationalization that the planters had probably detected the explosives before they had planted them. We made our way back to our car and drove over to gates of the old Canadian cemetaries. After parking the car (in an awkward place might I add) we walked over to the bigger cemetary. The frost was in the air, snow blowing in our faces, we opened up the gate at the walled cemetary and walked in. Row by row the headstones seemed to wonder into eternity. The ages of the men who had died there instilled sorrow into my soul; 16, 17, 18, up into the 20's and 30's. These men payed a hefty price for their country, and at that moment I felt honoured to be called a Canadian. The headstones were toned in gleaming white marble. They deserved it. I remembered a painting I had seen at the Canadian war museum in Ottawa, depicting thousands and thousands of ghosts haunting the ridge. The place felt a bit spooky. These men were doomed to a devoid cause, doomed to Vimy and the empires they faught for. War is hell, and it always has been.

In the time since my last post I have mostly just been travelling around, biking, hanging out, writing music, just the usual stuff. Once again I am glad to say I that I went. And I think I'll be staying in the UK for a while longer. Then again, it all depends.

Thanks for reading

your pal, Beni Beattie