In Memoriam:
William Thomas Williams

23 Feb 1909 to 20 Feb 1995

and

Phyllis M. Williams

17 June 1910 to 7 Nov 1995

In Memoriam.

My father died early in 1995, and my mother [Phyllis M.Williams] followed him in November. Dad had a long and varied life as a Welsh Miner, Steelworker, British Soldier and Civvy Street Manager and Mum assisted him including bringing up us brothers while he was away. During his life Dad wrote a number of War-time poems and painted a fair number of Oil Paintings and Watercolours. As a tribute to him, we will share these images with you here.
The copyright now belongs to their estate [effectively me and my four brothers], You can use the images as Windows wallpaper and you have permission to display and use them for personal purposes. You may NOT publish them in a book or elsewhere on the Internet etc without permission.
Though we would love to put images of all his pictures up at the same time, shortage of WWW space precludes this so we put up a few at a time; come back next week to see if new pictures are available.

A fair number of his paintings were given away to friends and colleagues in his earlier days, so you may have one of these valuable paintings in your possession. If you have one please let me Bill Williams know.
Look for a signature like this: The painting in the little picture of Dad above, is one of the lost ones.

Do mail me "billwill(at)cix.compulink.co.uk" anyway, saying which is your favorite painting of those shown above.

This is one of Dad's wartime poems, the first four lines of which we have decided to put on their headstone as their epitaph. A paper book of these poems will be published later this year.

CHURCH AND THE STATE


The Lord will walk beside us,
        As we earn our daily bread
Or lie with us recumbent,
        where we lie our tired heads.
He will stand with us in sorrow,
        When our hearts are bowed with pain
He will lift us back to paradise
        and wash our souls of stain.
He is our all eternal,
        from childhood days through life
Our Buffet when the storms of war,
        would mark us with its strife.

And men shall talk of Politics,
        And teach themselves in guile,
To stand upon a pedestal,
        To immitate the Lord awhile
Nor shall they see themselves,
        How futile be the plan.
For God did not create them,
        To be nought else but man
The Saviour and the Premier
        Shall not walk hand in glove
The Premier shall protect the land
        And the Saviour guard its love.

And oftimes we sit and dream,
        Of a land that's fit for all.
Though Politicians try to
        Their plans are bound to fall.
For Greed shall be their master,
        In pledges to the State,
And for 30 tainted Silver Coins;
        Wag their tongues and prate.
Of sharing democratic rights,
        that the poor shall be relieved.
Yet whilst they cling to Golden staffs
        How can they be believed.

Until the church and state,
        together have been wed.
And christian faith not martyred,
        On the cross where Jesus bled
Til the Deacons andDirectors ,
        In peace walk side by side,
And pool their paltry differences,
        By Day and Eventide.
Til the Conchies and the Fighters,
        Shall meet and stand as friends,
We shall miss that wondrous beauty,
        World of Love without end.

The Church and state should be as one,
        And the Pulpit be the throne
And Councellors and commoners,
        Shall walk as one alone
When boundaries and Oceans,
        Will need no arms to guard
And deeds of kindness to the crowds,
        shall never be so hard.
When Capital shall vanish
        Into a common pool,
And hearts and love shall conquer,
        To be the common Rule.

The Lord will walk beside us,
        as we earn our daily bread,
Or lie with us recumbent,
        Where we lie our tired head,
He will stand with us in sorrow,
        When our hearts are bowed with pain
He will lift us back to paradise,
        And wash our souls of stain,
He is our all eternal,
        From childhood days through life.
Our Buffet when the storms of war,
        Would mark us with its strife.


                William Thomas Williams.