Poppy-dom

What does it mean to wear the poppy?

This morning I stood in silence in the blustery rain by the city's gleaming new war memorial. I do not usually attend such events but felt something of a compulsion today despite the cold, the wind and  the rain. Perhaps it's because there has been quite a hooha locally over the memorial. The old Memorials Gardens had become a haven frequented mainly by winos and skateboarders, and there had been much muttering about the disgrace it cast upon a  fine city, but perhaps I was also influenced at some level by the regular stream of images on the TV of the young servicemen and women caught in a permanent frozen, uniformed smile who return home in solemn cortege processions. 

Old journo's habit dying hard, I edged up to the Council Leader and asked why, at such a time, he thought it right to spend public money on such an edifice.
     "Because we should never forget the terirble cost of war," he said, and I find it hard to believe that anybody could disagree with such a sentiment. It was the closest
I got to any sense of uplift. The overwhelming tone of the event was one of quiet, respectful sadness. 
    
I was one of several hundred residents, ex and current servicemen, city officials and at least one clergymen present. Just in front of me was an elderly lady wearing a hat the shape and colour of a Flanders poppy, a bright, almost cheerful display on a sombre occasion. The plaintive falling notes of The Last Post were the only sounds for a while as collectively and individually we remembered.

I confess my feelings over the poppy have changed over the years. As youngsters we were given pennies to buy them at school and wore them happily, thoughtlessly, until the stalks broke or they dropped out in a game of football or fell apart during an inappropriate playground battle. But back then I was promiscuous in my badge wearing, St Patrick's  shamrocks, birthday numbers, good causes and comic book freebies were all equally likely to adorn  my grey school jumper in those bygone monochrome days. Any splash of colour seemed like a good idea.

As a young man of determinedly anti-militarist feeling (the news and pictures fromVietnam were seldom edifying and made a big impression), I spurned the poppy for some years. Finally, belatedly, I came to realise that the poppy was not , as some might wish, a glorification of war, but a tribute to the fallen and a means of supporting the injured and relatives left bereaved. It was about looking after the living and respecting the dead,  not praising the glory of battle. I like to think that change came over me before my young brother-in-law was sunk in the Falklands and pulled alive from the Arctic water, on a day when several of his shipmates were less  fortunate. He overcame his ordeal and years later marched through London with hundreds of thousands of others to tell his government not to go war in Iraq in his name. If I can't mark the exact year of my conversion to adult poppy-dom, I do know  I have been a loyal wearer ever since. 

My brother,a former councillor, had an interesting take on the issue. He wore both the red poppy in respect of the dead and support of needy veterans, but he also wore on his other lapel, the less well-known white poppy of the Peace Pledge Union which works to promote peace and defuse international conflicts. That seemed to me a perfectly decent and principled approach but it did not stop him being criticised and accused of disrespect for wearing both to a Remembrance Day service in a small town full of small minds.
 
Curiously I was unable to buy a poppy at any of the four shops where I stopped enroute this morning. Nor was there a poppy seller anywhere within the vicinity of the open air service. Usually thepaper blooms are abundant and readily available at this season. Why such reticence this year? Perhaps media brouhaha has made people uncomfortable : we've had stories about TV personalities jumping the gun or competing with ever more elaborate specimen: too soon, too large too me-me-me. All such talk seems trivial. Those in the public eye would do well to take the example of the quietly respectful rememberers at thousands of  Remembrance Day observances across the  country who understand  it is not about the wearer but those for whom the flower is worn.

This makes it the first time for many years I have not worn a poppy, but I have made my donation and I feel I have paid my small tribute to  those who have fallen defending freedoms which should never be taken lightly or for granted. I will look for one a little earlier next year.