A Little Magic

On Sunday, evening I watched a film on the TV. It was Miracle on 34th Street with Richard Attenborough. A bit of a schmaltzy film but perfect for the mood I happened to be in at the time. If you don't know the gist of the film, it is basically about proving that Santa Clause does exist. The "real" Santa Claus appears in a department store and has to convince a little girl, as well as a court room, that he is the real Santa Claus and that he does really exist. Of course, this being filmland, the world is convinced and the little girl does get what she most desires for Christmas - a father, a baby brother and a lovely family house in the country.



Maybe it was because of the mood I was in at the time but I began pondering how wonderful it would be to have something to believe in. Something with a little magic to take us away from our humdrum everyday lives. How nice would it be to know that Santa really does exist? I long for something to believe in, a little magic to look forward to.



My melancholy mood deepened a little further today. On the Common we have a memorial that commemorates those that lost their lives in World War 1. Over the years the names have been worn away and we have been trying to find that list of names so that we can reinstate them on the memorial. We have finally succeded and found a handwritten list of names in a local museum's archives. Today I had to type out the list so that we have a permanent computer record. The list includes their names, rank, decorations and how and where they died. Seeing the names of these boys, for that is what most of them are, and the places they died - Killed in action at Ypres, Killed in action at the Somme etc, brought home to me the reality and the sadness of the war so much more than any television programme has ever done.



I wonder if they believed in anything? Was there any magic for them in their short lives? I think probably not.