This morning saw me with my Cubs and the Scouts at the Remembrance Day service at the cenotaph in New Galloway. I’ve been at services in the centre of Bolton and Manchester, both big busy towns and cities with hundreds of people, all the uniformed organisations and hundreds of the general public. I’ve been a number of times at the service at the memorial on the top of Great Gable in the Lake District, a strange and other worldly experience joining again hundreds of others at the very summit with lines of tiny figures approaching from every direction to stand in silence on the sometimes sunny sometimes wind swept sometimes blizzardy rocks at the top. This year I was in New Galloway on a glorious crisp autumn morning, it’s the village where my Cub group is based, a small rural community, a part of the Glenkens. All the services are moving for what they represent but this one here in particular makes me think and realise more than the others. A list is read of the names on the memorial, and from a tiny village like this there are a lot of names, then comes those that are obviously of the same family, some with two or three and one with four members all killed in World War One. One boy aged just 15 killed on a ship in the Dardanelles, I think that one is the one that does it, many of the kids I am with there are 14 and 15 and you can see them all sit up and listen more when his story is told as the vicar said this morning this boy was from a family of artists in the region, who knows what could have been. What a waste.
This poem the Cubs often read during the service

“Will you wear a poppy?” the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped and watched to see how she’d fare
Her face was old and lined with care.
But beneath the scars the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.
A boy came whistling down the street
Bouncing along on carefree feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun
“Lady’, he said, “May I have one?”
As she pinned it on I heard him say
“Why do we wear a poppy today?”
The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered, “This is Remembrance Day.
The poppy there is the symbol for
The gallant men who died in our war.
And because they did, you and I are free
That’s why we wear a poppy you see.”
“I had a boy about your size
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to jump and play and shout
Free as a bird he would race about
As years went on he learned and grew
And became a man as you will, too.”
“He was fine and strong with a boyish smile
But he seemed with us such a little while.
When war broke out he went away
I still remember his face that day.
When he smiled at me and said ‘Goodbye
I’ll be back soon so please don’t cry.’”
“But the war went on so he had to stay
All I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the awful fight
I can still see it in my dreams at night.
With tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire
And mines and bullets, the bombs and fire.”
‘Til at last the war was won
“And that’s why we wear a poppy, son.”
The small boy turned as if to go
Then said, “Thanks lady, I’m glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight
But your son, did he come home all right?”
A tear rolled down each faded cheek
She shook her head but didn’t speak.
I slunk away, head bowed in shame
And if you were with me, you’d have done the same.
For our thanks in giving is oft delayed
Though the freedom was bought and thousands paid.
And so you see, when a poppy is worn
Let us reflect on the burden borne.
By those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their country’s call.
That we at home in peace may live
Then wear a poppy, remember and give.
Author: Don Crawford
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3 Responses to Remember

  1. On our one trip together to England a few years ago, I was struck by the bronze plaques in each small town, listing the dead from first war. Tiny Muchelney, in Somerset, must have had 15 names on the memorial. My grandmother, Edna Andrews, was married to Billy Andrews, a US veteran of the war, who died when I was quite young. But she was a member of the Legion Auxiliary and always sold red poppies on Veterans Day, Nov. 11. So I connect the poppies with my grandmother and now, having been in England, with the many small towns of that country. Glad you went, Hannah.

  2. Anonymous says:

    A post to make us all think of the sacrifices made by many families. Sadly it continues today

  3. Peter says:

    My grandfather was in France in the first world war, and my grandmother had to go to France to nurse him after the end of the war because he was so badly affected by his experiences. I know little about his time in France, as I gather he did not speak much of it to anyone, but I think back to the kind and sensitive man that he was, his love of music and art (I have a sketch book of his that he did when he was young), and think of the horror that he must have experienced in the madness of war. He was too old for the army in the Second War, but had to negotiate the train to London where he worked, and spend time helping to put out fires in the air raids at night. Often people speak of women and children being victims of war, and seem to forget that so many men on all sides of the conflict, had to fight because there was no other option for them. Thank you for putting such a thoughtful post on this day. Best Wishes to you, P.

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