Sunday, 14 November 2010

Service of Remembrance with the ATC 2405(Dingwall) Sqn

On a bright November day over 40 members of community celebrated the Service of Remembrance at the War Memorial Garve with the Rev Fraser Stewart.
Laying on wreathes on behalf of the community was Community Councillor Jennifer Haslam (Grudie)  cadets Sgt Hannah Chisholm(2405(Dingwall) Sqn) Cdt Jack Earith with flagbearer Cpl Josh Shaw.

From Left Flagbearer Cdt Cpl Josh Shaw,(2405Sqn)Community Councillor Jennifer Haslam (Grudie)  Cdt Sgt Hannah Chisholm(2405Sqn) Rev Fraser Stewart and Cdt Jack Earith (2405 Sqn Dingwall)

From the left Members of ATC 2405 (Dingwall) Sqn
Wo Kirsteen Sutherland,Flt Sgt Kenny Glashin,Sgt Lorna Smith, Cpl Yolanda Labanca,Cdt Jack Gunn,Cdt Isla Williams,Cdt William Iddon, Fg Off Alan Bell, Flt Lt Steven MacDonald, Sgt Hannah Chisholm, Cpl Josh Shaw and Cdt Jacj Earith.

Cdt Jack Earith and Sgt Hannah Chisholm

Cdt Cpl Josh Shaw.Piper Hugh Watson and Cdt Sgt Hannah Chisholm

Sunday, 7 November 2010

Taking in the view, from one of the two new memorial seats at the Garve War Memorial, are Mrs Janette Menzies and Mrs Bertha Logie from Garve.

The two seats were made by local joiner Mr Murdo Mackenzie of Garve, after the local community and the garden club raised the funds to purchase the wood to have them made, in memory of Janette and Bertha's husbands Iain and Sandy, who passsed away a day apart in March 2008

Both are sadly missed by their families and by the community at large.

Sunday, 8 November 2009

Service of Remembrance

On a bright frosty day over 30 members of community celebrated the Service of Remembrance at the War Memorial Garve with the Rev Fraser Stewart. Laying on wreathes on behalf of the community was Ken Duffield (Achnasheen) Fraser Hall (Achanalt)and Community Councillor Alex MacKenzie (Garve).

New Look

Wednesday, 4 November 2009

Boys to Men

They are doing their bit.....please do yours by reading this and tell someone else:

The average British soldier is 19 years oldÅ ..he is a short haired, well built lad who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears and just old enough to buy a round of drinks but old enough to die for his country - and for you. He's not particularly keen on hard work but he'd rather be grafting in Afghanistan than unemployed in the UK. He recently left comprehensive school where he was probably an average student, played some form of sport, drove a ten year old rust bucket, and knew a girl that either broke up with him when he left, or swore to be waiting when he returns home. He moves easily to rock and roll or hip-hop or to the rattle of a 7.62mm machine gun.

He is about a stone lighter than when he left home because he is working or fighting from dawn to dusk and well beyond. He has trouble spelling, so letter writing is a pain for him, but he can strip a rifle in 25 seconds and reassemble it in the dark. He can recite every detail of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either effectively if he has to. He digs trenches and latrines without the aid of machines and can apply first aid like a professional paramedic. He can march until he is told to stop, or stay dead still until he is told to move.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation but he is not without a rebellious spirit or a sense of personal dignity. He is confidently self-sufficient. He has two sets of uniform with him: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his water bottle full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never forgets to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes and fix his own hurts. If you are thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food is your food. He'll even share his life-saving ammunition with you in the heat of a firefight if you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and regards his weapon as an extension of his own hands. He can save your life or he can take it, because that is his job - it's what a soldier does. He often works twice as long and hard as a civilian, draw half the pay and have nowhere to spend it, and can still find black ironic humour in it all. There's an old saying in the British Army: 'If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't have joined!'

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime. He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and he is unashamed to show it or admit it. He feels every bugle note of the 'Last Post' or 'Sunset' vibrate through his body while standing rigidly to attention. He's not afraid to 'Bollock' anyone who shows disrespect when the Regimental Colours are on display or the National Anthem is played; yet in an odd twist, he would defend anyone's right to be an individual. Just as with generations of young people before him, he is paying the price for our freedom. Clean shaven and baby faced he may be, but be prepared to defend yourself if you treat him like a kid.
He is the latest in a long thin line of British Fighting Men that have kept this country free for hundreds of years. He asks for nothing from us except our respect, friendship and understanding. We may not like what he does, but sometimes he doesn't like it either - he just has it to do. Remember him always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

And now we even have brave young women putting themselves in harm's way, doing their part in this tradition of going to war when our nation's politicians call on us to do so.

When you read this, please stop for a moment and if you are so inclined, feel free to say a prayer for our troops in the trouble spots of the world.

Monday, 27 July 2009

In the past

Saturday, 18 July 2009

Remembrance Day

A view that most of us take for granted but not for the Men and Women who did not make it home."For them we must not forget"


The soldier stood and faced God, Which must always come to pass.

He hoped his shoes were shining,Just as brightly as his brass.' Step forward now, you soldier,How shall I deal with you ?Have you always turned the other cheek ?To My Church have you been true?' The soldier squared his shoulders and said,'No, Lord, I guess I ain't.

Because those of us who carry guns,Can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays,And at times my talk was tough.And sometimes I've been violent,Because the world is awfully rough.

But, I never took a penny,That wasn't mine to keep...Though I worked a lot of overtime,When the bills got just too steep.And I never passed a cry for help,Though at times I shook with fear.

And sometimes, God, forgive me,I've wept unmanly tears.I know I don't deserve a place,Among the people here

.They never wanted me around,Except to calm their fears.If you've a place for me here, Lord,It needn't be so grand

.I never expected or had too much,But if you don't, I'll understand.There was a silence all around the throne,Where the saints had often trod.

As the soldier waited quietly,For the judgment of his God.'

Step forward now, you soldier,You've borne your burdens well.Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,You've done your time in Hell.'