If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
My first memory of Poppy Day is taking part in our town's Remembrance Sunday parade, standing outside in the cold of an Aberdeenshire November morning, aged about 7, wearing my thin Brownie uniform, no coat, and probably thinking only longingly of indoors and Sunday lunch. Later, as a bolshie (I thought free-thinking...) teenage CND member, we wore white poppies, in what i think now was a provocative and pretty misguided kind of protest about militarism. There's no point in deliberately antagonising people.
But this annual social ritual is all mixed up with disquiet at the politics of war; about politicians and generals sending young, sometimes idealistic, sometimes poorly educated men off to fight far from home; about the dubious reasons our governments give for waging war around the world. I'm also uneasy at the seemingly increasing social pressure to support the armed forces, help the heroes, and yes, wear a poppy - or, it seems, risk the ostracism of popular culture. Yes, I admire the courage and dedication of soldiers who voluntarily risk their lives and sometimes behave with astounding loyalty and professionalism. But I don't necessarily admire the unquestioning following of orders in actions which I feel are morally indefensible. Also, I know soldiers have to be trained to obey orders without question, or they would never be able do their jobs. But without free will and accepting responsibility for your own actions, people can do terrible things.
Enough of all this ambivalence. All I am sure about is that if November poppies symbolise a wish for peace, then I wish the world were full of them.
These are some of the poppy crosses in Edinburgh's Field of Remembrance, in Princes Street Gardens by the Scott Memorial, today.
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