In Flanders Fields ....
Today is the anniversary of the armistice which ended the First World War. For many years this was commemorated as Armistice Day, with a minute's silence at 11 am, which was the moment the guns fell silent on 11th November 1918. Then the commemoration was switched to Remembrance Sunday, which is the nearest sunday to the 11th of November. In recent years it has become common to mark both dates.
There has been a certain amount of argument over the past few days about the wearing of poppies. Newsreader Jon Snow has complained in unfortunately robust languange about being put under pressure to wear a poppy while on air: a religious think tank has suggested that Christians should wear a white poppy rather than a red one.
No matter how strongly I may disagree with people on this subject, and no matter how tempting it is to come up with clever or sharp rejoinders, harsh language about Remembrance Sunday is never appropriate.
Whatever else they may or may not have achieved, the remembrance day ceremonies which I have attended every year since I was a small child have always brought home to me the terrible human cost of war.
The red poppy was adopted as a symbol of the price of war because it grows prolifically on the Flanders Fields where so many young men died in one of the bloodiest wars in history.
There are a small handful of people left alive who remember the first world war, but it has been drawn repeatedly to my attention over the past 12 months. When we were clearing out the bungalow we rented in Gosforth, I found the certificates which had been awarded to a Great War military engineer, including one which stated that he had been mentioned in despatches. (We were able to arrange for their return to his family.)
I was present at a deeply moving special ceremony when Bristol University Court awarded an honorary degree to one of the last six surviving World War One "Tommies" (who had also helped to build one of the University's main buildings.)
My own grandfather was lucky enough to return from his service in the army during that war, but he lost his father, mother and a brother to the war and the outbreaks of disease which took place during and immediately after it. My great-uncle was killed in action while barely more than a boy just a few weeks before the end of the war.
Let all those who choose to remember the dead do so in their own way. Against the background of the loss of so many millions of lives in both world wars, to start insulting other people over whether or not to wear a poppy or what colour it is, just makes yourself look petty.
Some people may choose not to wear a poppy, or only to do so in private. That is their right and it should be respected. Some people - apparently about 45,000 - will commemorate the dead by wearing a white poppy. That is their right, and it should be respected. About 36 million people will commemorate the dead by wearing a red poppy. I will be one of them.
There has been a certain amount of argument over the past few days about the wearing of poppies. Newsreader Jon Snow has complained in unfortunately robust languange about being put under pressure to wear a poppy while on air: a religious think tank has suggested that Christians should wear a white poppy rather than a red one.
No matter how strongly I may disagree with people on this subject, and no matter how tempting it is to come up with clever or sharp rejoinders, harsh language about Remembrance Sunday is never appropriate.
Whatever else they may or may not have achieved, the remembrance day ceremonies which I have attended every year since I was a small child have always brought home to me the terrible human cost of war.
The red poppy was adopted as a symbol of the price of war because it grows prolifically on the Flanders Fields where so many young men died in one of the bloodiest wars in history.
There are a small handful of people left alive who remember the first world war, but it has been drawn repeatedly to my attention over the past 12 months. When we were clearing out the bungalow we rented in Gosforth, I found the certificates which had been awarded to a Great War military engineer, including one which stated that he had been mentioned in despatches. (We were able to arrange for their return to his family.)
I was present at a deeply moving special ceremony when Bristol University Court awarded an honorary degree to one of the last six surviving World War One "Tommies" (who had also helped to build one of the University's main buildings.)
My own grandfather was lucky enough to return from his service in the army during that war, but he lost his father, mother and a brother to the war and the outbreaks of disease which took place during and immediately after it. My great-uncle was killed in action while barely more than a boy just a few weeks before the end of the war.
Let all those who choose to remember the dead do so in their own way. Against the background of the loss of so many millions of lives in both world wars, to start insulting other people over whether or not to wear a poppy or what colour it is, just makes yourself look petty.
Some people may choose not to wear a poppy, or only to do so in private. That is their right and it should be respected. Some people - apparently about 45,000 - will commemorate the dead by wearing a white poppy. That is their right, and it should be respected. About 36 million people will commemorate the dead by wearing a red poppy. I will be one of them.
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