23/04/2026
A few years back now, i had the amazing experience of sitting in an open Poppy field, in France, with my Wife and Mother in Law, who lost her Father in battle, some years before.
Until that day, i had little understanding of the significance of the beautiful Poppy.
A wonderful poem by John McCrae sums it all up.
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 WILL REMEMBER THEM.