I’m not going to bother with big introductions, because you all know my mother. She’s one of the reasons I feel it’s so important to recognise Rememberance Sunday.
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Each year the nation expresses its support for the work of the British Legion through its generous support of the Poppy Appeal which raises funds to ensure the British Legion is able to continue its vital work helping injured soldiers and the families of those who are killed The poppy was adopted as the symbol of the appeal since poppies were the one thing that grew in the battlefields of Europe after World War 1.
Remembrance Day is about recognising the sacrifices made by all the men and women of our Armed Forces, not just those who fought in the Great War. All too often we hear of the death of another serviceman in Afghanistan. No matter what your thoughts of the validity of the war they’re someone’s son or daughter, someone’s husband or wife, someone’s father or mother: they are irreplaceable, will be missed, and should be remembered.
I remember as a young Girl Guide being chosen to be chosen to carry the company’s standard at the annual Remembrance Day Parade and, along with other youth and service groups, marching with them from the British Legion Hall to the local cenotaph where the many wreaths were laid to remember the fallen. Whilst living and working abroad I made a point whenever possible to attend the Remembrance Day services, with their multi-national attendance, friend and foe together, and a range of military uniforms and medals. I’ve also visited many Commonwealth War Grave Commission sites wherever I travelled. The last, Addis Ababa War Cemetery, sits on a hillside site 9kms outside the capital and contains 294 Commonwealth forces, as well as many Italians, from WWII, including 7 who remain unidentified. A wander round the immaculately maintained graveyards, gazing at the rows of identical headstones standing to attention, is a sober reminder of just how very young many of our soldiers, sailors and airmen and women were when they met their deaths.
The Armed forces have figured large in my family’s life. My father served for a time in World War II before being badly injured. The injuries he sustained, both mental and physical, affected him so badly he eventually took his own life. Although he didn’t die during the war but was deemed to have died as a direct result of the war, my mother was classed as a War Widow and received the commensurate pension. The British Legion played its part in helping our family too.
I spent a few years serving with the Women’s Royal Army Corps. I was in Cyprus during the 1974 invasion by the Turks which coincided with my plans to fly home to the UK to get married. My husband and I lived abroad in a series of married quarters, one of which backed onto the ‘drill square’ and helicopter landing pad. I gave birth to one of my sons in a military hospital and shopped in the NAAFI supermarket (a grand name for a tin shack, but I was very grateful to be able to buy all the essentials there). My children attended a Service Children’s School. Their babysitters were soldiers, glad of a home cooked meal and a few hours peace and quiet away from the barracks. And we flew Crab Air, courtesy of the RAF, to and from post.
In 2002 I spent several months working as a civilian in Afghanistan where I was delighted to be in contact once more with the military. Although old enough to be the mother of many of the servicemen, once they realised I had a service background, I was treated as one of their own, (although I’m just glad they didn’t expect me to run 10 miles with them before breakfast – things had changed a lot since my day!) But I had quite forgotten their teamwork, their extreme fitness, focus and positivity. The wonderful black humour and practical jokes, their strength and fearless ‘can do’ attitude are qualities that are essential to getting through each day when living in such an intense situation.
So, as I do each 11 November, I’ll keep the good memories close, remember absent friends, those who made the ultimate sacrifice and wear my poppy with pride – I hope you will too.
Beautifully written. x