Beacons of fire, beacons of hope...

The colours flapped in the fresh breeze, the beacon-fire threw tongues of flame skyward, and the sea beyond whispered to us like a fretful mother. We prepared to bed down for the night, and to keep a vigil over the commemorative fire. Tomorrow would be a new day, a new dawn, a new beginning, with fresh hopes and aspirations, the spiritual door to the rest of our lives and the birth of a new era.

The beacon of fire could be seen for miles around

We slept in turns and somewhat fitfully, our sleep accompanied by the crackle of the nearby raging beacon-fire, one of thousands lit throughout the land to mark our Queen's long and glorious reign, to celebrate her stalwart occupancy of the throne of this hard-bitten northern land whose proud people had faced countless trials over the centuries and come through every ordeal made stronger and more resolute.

This beacon and thousands of others lit on this chill-laden night, the most primitive and most ancient symbol of life, renewal and raw energy, proudly announced the rebirth of this scarred land and a belief in a strong and dynamic future. It would burn throughout the night and into the morrow before it gave up its last gasps.


I half-closed my eyes and half-looked towards the leaping fire ahead and the darkening sky above and I was not afraid anymore... it would be alright, there was hope and there would be a tomorrow springing phoenix-like from the flames of the present....