Banked another hilly five this lunchtime.
Once again I struggled, but I’m much happier with the effort. Allowing myself no walk-breaks on the outward circuit, I paused only to suck down some fluids on the homeward summit of Wicker Man hill.
My regular run starts and finishes in fields now used for sheep-grazing and dog-walking, known locally as Landport Bottom. The name is significant in British parliamentary history, for it was in this very field on the 14th of May in 1264 that the armies of Simon de Montfort and King Henry III shed rivers of blood in the fight for the right to rule this land.
De Montfort’s men suffered brutally under the mounted attacks from Henry’s cavalry, losing the entire left wing of their rebel force. However, spurred by the belief that man should have a say in his own government they fought back, driving the King’s men into the town of Lewes, putting hundreds to the sword even as they turned tail and fled.
The King was forced to call a council of Lords, Churchmen and Merchants. This council, also known as ‘parlement’ (meaning ‘speaking place’
, forms the basis of what we know today as the Westminster system of government by Crown, Commons, Bishops and Lords.
Strange to think that here am I, plugged into Led Zeppelin and ACDC, pounding across land soaked with ancient blood shed for the future of our nation. I suspect that any evidence of this struggle – swords, shields, daggers – has long since fallen into the hands of the armies of anoraks with their metal detectors, heads wrapped in large headphones, bodies bent studiously towards the earth.
I set off for home, my own modest earpieces safely affixed, in my bent-forward, loping style. I wondered at the sense of it all on this most poignant of days: 7/7 2006.
Like many who had the opportunity to do so I observed the two-minute’s silence this lunchtime to remember the slain and the maimed from an all too recent battle beneath and on the streets of central London. Once more government, and in particular foreign policy, stood at the heart of the matter as the lives of many were shattered by fanatics dedicated to a cause we find hard to comprehend. So, wherein lies the difference between these modern barbarians and De Montfort’s colourful rebels? Each fought for their heart’s desire against perceived oppression without thought for the human cost in reaching their goals. It seems the moral high ground is held by the victor, yet today such definitions are blurred by ubiquitous media; the lines of battle ever-more smudged in the melee of modern life.
War, in all its forms, is hell; face-to-face with knives and swords or sneaking bombs onto public carriages, t’was ever thus. It seems that in all this time as man has quenched his thirst for knowledge he has in truth learned little about his fellow man. My heart goes out to all affected, injured or bereaved by that most atrocious, indefensible act 12 months ago. My anger turns to those who would rule us with scant regard for the blood-soaked pages of history.
Five hilly miles, overcast, a little rain in the air.
Much improved performance, yet can (and will) do better.
