Poppy Day

I bought several poppies when Richard and I were in UK, many years ago.
We wear them every November 11.
My granda, Carrit, served in the First World War. At the beginning of the war, he and other local men were conscripted into the Gordon Highlanders.
But they were all fishermen and marched with a seaman’s rolling gait. So they were transferred to the Navy, where Granda served as a gunner. He survived the war, but the guns had left him completely deaf. There was no protective gear in those days.
But he loved to dance and I remember seeing him dance with great enthusiasm at wedding dances. He couldn’t hear the music, but he took his shoes off and danced to the vibrations on the wooden dance floor.

Here, we buy blue cornflowers from the local ex-servicemen, but November 11 will always be Poppy Day.

We wear them in honour and rememberance of those who didn’t come home from the war that was supposed to end all wars.

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-191
Canadian Army