We Will Remember Them

The poppy, a sign of remembrance.....

DH  and I attended the remembrance service in the village this morning. 

Scouts, beavers, guides, brownies and rainbows marched through the street together with local servicemen.  They were, young and old, some able bodied and others disabled and in wheelchairs all coming together with the brass band.  Flags flying and medals all shining and sparkling.  Many poppy wreaths being carried for each group. 

A friend was reading a poem at the war memorial and the local churches all came together to unite on this 100th anniversary of the end of World War I.   We sang, we prayed and we became silent for the two minutes in memory of all who served and still do. 

I wore my hand painted silk scarf ....

 

Poppies had been purchased this year from one of the knitting group ladies, she made a bag full which all sold with proceeds going to the Royal British Legion.

 

I chose a fluffy one ...

 

 

 DH wore his handmade one too...

 

Earlier in the week I collected Isabelle from school and she had a note asking for each child to make a poppy for the schools display for their memorial assembly service.  

Can you help me nanny?   Of course I could ..... we chose to make felt ones.  She drew the shapes she wanted onto card, cut it out and then redrew around it onto the felt and carefully cut along the lines.  She chose the sparkly felt in my stash - she said she would be able to see hers on the display as it would be different - clever thinking.  Nanny threaded the sharp needle and put the stitches in to hold all the pieces together through the black centre.  She loved it that much we made two.

 

As we walked back to our car this morning through the village we saw this poem in a shop window and as my remembrance week has been talking to my seven year old granddaughter about why we wear a poppy I thought I would share this instead of the usual remembrance poem.

 

The poem reads :-

The Inquisitive Mind of a Child

 

Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?

Selling poppies in town today.

The poppies, child, are flowers of love.

For the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?

Why not a beautiful rose?

Because my child, men fought and died

In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?

Why are the poppies so red?

Red is the colour of blood, my child.

The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.

Why does it have to be black?

Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.

For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so?

Your tears are giving you pain.

My tears are my fears for you my child.

For the world is forgetting again

 

 

Love and blessings

Julie x