Reflections upon Remembrance Sunday

My paternal grandfather, whom I never met, was a territorial soldier for most of his adult life.

Twenty years old at the outbreak of war in August 1914, as the saying goes “he had a [relatively] good WW1” in that, despite being wounded several times and at one point buried alive, he fought in Flanders and in 1917/1918 in northern Italy, gained a DSO and MC, was mentioned in dispatches, ended it as a Major and – most importantly and however improbably – survived.

His spent his inter-war years civilian life in a not hugely successful family business but remained a military man at heart. As one of those life ironies that sometimes happens, he was killed during WW2, by then a Brigadier, in (of all things) a motor accident involving a troop lorry whilst his unit was training on Salisbury Plain. My father was a sixteen year old boarding school boy at the time.

Over the years, since my twenties, I have spent a good deal of hobby time researching WW1 battlefields and cemeteries, some of it retracing my grandfather’s movements on both the Western Front and in Italy but mostly, with family or friends and as such subjects from time to time have come across our radar, researching actions and/or particular soldiers – many of them who now lie buried in Commonwealth War Graves Commission cemeteries.

As is the custom, when travelling in small groups, my companions and I take with us British Legion poppy-crosses to leave as tributes at the gravestones of those we have set out to find, if we do.

As a result I naturally feel I have a connection with the annual Remembrance Sunday commemorations. I don’t clear my diary and make a fetish of watching proceedings at the Cenotaph but if events should fall that I’m free and within viewing distance of a television I probably will tune in.

Despite the above, I’ve never been sanctimonious about Armistice Day or its purpose and meaning.

I cannot remember exactly when I first took the decision, but about a quarter of a century ago I gave up buying (donating for?) a poppy to wear on my breast in the run-up to Remembrance Sunday.

I figured that, given my ongoing interest in matters both WW1 and WW2 and the fact that I think of those who willingly or otherwise “gave their futures for our today …” near-constantly in the background as I live my life, I didn’t necessarily need to partake in this annual ritual in order to demonstrate my gratitude for their sacrifice.

It’s a strange thing. I acknowledge the thrust “It’s only a small gesture, what’s the harm in it?” – and I’m not (as it were) at all proud of my stance on the issue: I guess my decision can only be filed under the heading ‘personal choice’.

All the above registered, there are always complicating issues attendant upon Remembrance Sunday and this year is no exception.

Rusters might find elements of interest in a couple of pair of pieces that I spotted on the newspaper websites overnight:

Firstly, a week or so ago, on the weekday BBC2 programme Politics Live, I saw a guest – Jonathan Bartley, co-leader of the Green Party – wearing a white poppy on his left breast and I’ve since seen two others doing similar in public

My assumption is that this is what these days is called a ‘woke’ thing – i.e. that those adopting this practice, whilst (of course) paying respect those who died in military conflicts, are simultaneously seeking to signal their opposition to war on principle.

I see a certain irony in this gesture.

It is inevitable that, most probably, there have been conscientious objectors who have made a stand against war on principle – and, to be fair, I’d hazard a guess that a near-majority who did serve did so without much enthusiasm at the prospect – in every war that has ever taken place.

However, by the same token, my gut tells me that few of those who gave their lives in war-time would have been that impressed by the ‘white poppy’ gesture.

See here for an article by Kevin Childs that takes things a whole new stage further – as appears today upon the website of – THE INDEPENDENT

Secondly, Lord Ashcroft – a businessman and Tory grandee who may not necessarily be a man to everyone’s taste – is nevertheless a devoted researcher and ‘force for good’ in the cause of celebrating wartime valour, not least in his lifelong project to research and document VC winners.

Here is a link to an article he has written on two brothers – of whom I was not previously aware – who served in WW2 with outstanding bravery and devotion to duty, that appears today upon the website of the – DAILY MAIL