Remembrance Day
Without poppies, this often depressing day would be bleak indeed. Cold, damp, black-clad people wishing they were not standing in the street in front of the war memorial where poppies are the only colour. Papaver rhoeas, corn poppies, field poppies, red poppies, Flanders poppies. John McCrae wrote In Flanders Fields which was published in Punch in December 1915 and thus was a legend born.
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae, May 1915
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.
We have poppies in fields, poppies on memorials, poppies in buttonholes, poppies on Remembrance Day, poppies strewn across the tomb of the Unknown Warrior, multitudes of tiny crosses with poppies. We have the old and the young remembering with poppies. The old know why they are there but the young may not. When they too are old, they may then understand.