In memoriam

In Flanders fields the poppies grow

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, through poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

John McRae (d. 1918), In Flanders fields

I work right next to the Cenotaph; it's always a moving sight shortly after Remembrance Sunday, and at all times of year it's a daily reminder of the sacrifice of past and present generations.

This year is the first since I've lived here when there hasn't been some sort of military sign of remembrance in the village, as the Royal Engineers have moved out - some just up the road, some all the way to RAF Kinloss in the north of Scotland.

It's been the sort of glorious English autumn day here that I imagine people far from home fighting would have had in their mind's eye; and I see from the photos it was the same in London.

(And I wish Remembrance day was at the top of the news sites today where it belongs, rather than the BBC examining its navel in extended news bulletins.)