Trent to Trenches

Retreating away from the hustle and bustle of life, I found myself, one Thursday last in the oldest Inn in England, which is built into the rock face on top of which the castle wall is built.

Literally surrounded and encased in history with an ominous yet apt tolling of a bell somewhere distant, I proceeded to order my thoughts on the day so far with a pint of Hobgoblin.

I had just been to the Trent to Trenches exhibition at the Nottingham Castle museum, which focused on the Great War.  Most notably the locals who lived through it and the soldiers that left the banks of the River Trent and surrounding areas to fight.

Due to time constraints and having plenty of other things to do (see previous post), I did rush around what was a wonderful museum, in which an enthusiastic member of staff pointed out the best place to start.   so began my journey around old Nottingham then onto Greek vases, clothing through the ages and finally to World War I exhibit that I knew would be the most interesting.

Somebody’s memories, this is real history at its most poignant.

I did get lost a bit and at one point stepped aside to let somebody pass who also stepped aside and then as I made to go through the doorway did the same, it turned out on closer inspection to be a mirror, why it was there I have no idea but it did remind me to be a bit more observant. Onto the point of the post though, I wanted to focus on the more intimate things as everybody knows what medals and uniforms look like.  I believe what the museum was trying to do was to capture the personal events as well as seismic ones that are well documented.  In this respect they have done an excellent job.

Scrapbook of Raymond Pegg, living in Nottingham at the beginning of the war, had a fascination with the war. His scrapbook contains, newspaper cuttings, scale drawings and notes on battles, weapons and equipment.

I am understandably saving most of the photos I took for a certain post in November’s but you can have one more to be going on with for now because I’m nice to you like that.

The flag flown by HMS Nottingham, sunk at the battle of Jutland in 1916 with the loss of 40 lives.

I shouldn’t have but I admit that I did run my fingers across part of the flag to get that sense of history and it was that sense of reality – all to easy to forget – that had me sat in the pub writing the notes to this post.  It’s funny how the atmosphere of what I had just seen dissipated so quickly.  As I enjoyed my pint I had to listen to overly loud students braying about how the maths teachers are rubbish.  It was a strange juxtaposition of feelings that had me at its mercy and created this post for which I am most thankful.

In my little corner I was alone and had the sense of being out of time and that is something that made me feel a little brighter before I headed out to see what else the day had to offer.

My little bit of happiness.