Peace and Quiet

The lighthouse sits at the end of a stretch of land that projects 5 or 6km out of the north coast of the peninsula that is south-eest Wales. Technically it is on an island, but the gap to the mainland is so narrow that it is crossed by a short footbridge. As you would expect, it is a highly exposed place, visible for tens of kilometers in both directions. It catches the full fury of wind and waves; a light breeze inland feels like a stiff wind out here. When we stayed in these parts at this time two years ago, the beam from this light swept across the field in front of us all night. This felt like a visit to a faithful old friend

Today there was not a breath of wind. The sea was calm, the waves gentle, the rocks unlashed. To stare out to sea was to contemplate its vastness, its latent power, the depth of its history, the horrors it has seen, the secrets it holds. We did not observe a formal minute's silence, or any pre-arranged rite, but gazing out in the vast quietness we all naturally withdrew into ourselves and absorbed the moment

Our children sent us news, and pictures, of the march, happening at that moment. One carried a placard of a poppy with the words "peace" and "liberation"; the other, words from the Oxford English dictionary: the definition of the word 'Armistice', "a ceasefire...a total suspension of hostilities, typically for the purposes of negotiation and as a prelude to a lasting state of peace"