In Remembrance …

Remembrance Day is just a few days away and the last remaining poppy sellers are on the

street corners. This is the day we set aside to think about, remember and appreciate the men

and boys who died in the wars that were fought for our freedom.


We do appreciate them. We really do. They are always missed. No one knows why we must

fight and kill each other to hold on to our God given right to freedom but we do. Humankind has

not yet grasped the importance of Universal Love and cooperation. World Peace is always

touted as the ultimate goal by all counties. What goes wrong is another story all together. We

are all One. We are all Love.


Poppies have become a symbol of Remembrance Day. From its association with poppies

flowering in the spring of 1915 on the battlefields of Belgium, France and Gallipoli, this vivid red

flower has become synonymous with great loss of life in war.


The connection of the poppy with those who have died in war has been expanded to help the

living too. The poem ‘In Flanders Field’ written by Lt Col John McCrae, inspired and motivated

an American academic, Moina Michael, to make and sell red silk poppies which were brought to

England by a French woman Anna Guérin.


The (Royal) British Legion, formed in 1921, ordered 9 million of these poppies and sold them on

11 November that year. The poppies sold out almost immediately and that first ever ‘Poppy

Appeal’ raised over £106,000; a considerable amount of money at the time. This was used to

help WW1 veterans with employment and housing. Today the poppies are sold worldwide to

raise funds for disabled veterans, some of who work in the factories that create these poppies.

Here is the poem that inspires our thoughtfulness and reverence for the fallen men.



In Flanders’ fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place: and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders’ fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high,

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders’ Fields.

by Janet Robinson