Start 7.30
On the day after Armistice Day the fields here had a look of the trenches about them. The wind was so strong that sometimes it felt almost like running on a treadmill, with little noticable forward movement. The wind was
howling and I wasn't keen on getting out of bed but hopes of a visible sunrise breaking through the lower clouds got me up and dressed. And of course once I was out I was glad I'd made the effort, even if the skies were a universal grey.
Early circuit of the Klompenpad followed by a run round the Eng to make up the time, taking in the bit down to the field where this beautiful big heavy horse lives.
The big munitions waggons were dragged forward by resplendant shires,
as strong as engines, with huge, intelligent heads. They lifted their
forelegs like dancers in a dance that had become stylized by
repetitiion. They were almost ridiculously beautiful, like wonders in
a story, and all about them ground on the columns of uniformed men.
(From 'A Long Long Way', Sebastian Barry)
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