Poppy Wearing

I begin to worry about those who wear the 'Poppy.  This small plastic emblem is worn throughout the UK as an act of remembrance for those who fell while serving with the armed services.  This covers two major wars and those many smaller yet violent conflicts of recent years, any serviceman wherever he fell. Money collected goes towards the Royal British Legion to support ex-servicemen. However I worry about the pressure that hangs around the nation concerning the wearing of this emblem.


The poppy was the brainchild of an American lass called Moina Michael while working for the YMCA in New York.  She had read John McCrae's poem 'In Flanders Fields' and was inspired by the line 'We shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders Fields.'  Poppies of course were abundant in the battlefields of France and Flanders.  They grow easily and the blood red colour stood out among the often brown dreary landscape all around. She was inspired to do something to remember the fallen and when gifted $10 she decided to buy poppies with the money. Those whom she worked amongst, many servicemen about to leave for France, were delighted with the poppy idea and wanted to buy them from her as an act of remembrance, and all this on the 9th of November, two days before the Armistice came into force. For the next year or two Moina attempted to get the poppy adopted by the USA but few were interested. Eventually the American Legion adopted the poppy in 1920.  A fellow YMCA worker, a Frenchwoman called Anna Guerin took the idea to France with the intention of raising funds for children and others bereft after the war.  Soon she and Moina took the poppy to London and Moina convinced Earl Haig, the President of the British Legion, that the poppy could be used to raise funds for ex-servicemen. The first red poppies were sold for remembrance day 1921 in the UK. In 1922 a small factory employing five men was established to make poppies, by the early thirties the factory was in large premises in  Richmond and today produces 40 million a year!  Lady Haig opened a similar factory in Edinburgh, Haigs birthplace, in 1926 and employed ex-servicemen making poppies.  They produce four million a year from her factory. The symbol spread to most nations involved in the Great War.      


During the fifties the memory of the second world war was still strong and it was natural for the nation to come to a standstill for two minutes on Remembrance Sunday and attend memorial services at war memorials up and down the land. By the sixties we young folks were less interested in war.  Anything military was to be opposed rather than stressed and the 'spirit of the air' led us into 'making love not war,' even though there was more tea made near me I must say.  The nation rebelled against uniforms and discipline and became free in many good ways and it took a couple of decades before we began to realise that 'discipline' and armed services were not dirty words. The British army endured much during the Irish troubles, and an appreciation of the army began to grow.  With the Falklands Conflict, and the historically inaccurate 'patriotism' engendered by Thatcher again an appreciation of the worth and ability of the British armed Services grew.  With two Iraq adventures, Afghanistan and not forgetting Bosnia and Liberia, and the sight of dead soldiers coming home the poppy has once more come into its own.


Those of us who have read a great deal about war can be pleased to see such men are not forgotten by their nation, I however fear that now this has tipped over and pressure is on one and all to 'join in and remember,'   and those who defer are seen as enemies. One place where this attitude can be seen is in Edinburgh with the Heart of Midlothian football team. In November 1914, when volunteering for the army was slackening and an outcry regarding 'young men playing sport while the Hun is at hand' was reaching a crescendo many players of this club enlisted in Sir George McLean's 16th Battalion of the Royal Scots. Those crying had ignored other players who were already serving as reservists or members of the Territorial Army.  Seven of these men did not return, others were severely injured and never played again. A memorial to them was erected in Edinburgh's Haymarket and a service of remembrance is held there each year. Since Jack Alexanders excellent book, 'McCrae's Battalion' was published a few years ago an upsurge in remembrance has affected the fans of this club. Many contributed to a memorial built at Contalmaison in France, buy replica remembrance shirts, and attend the memorial.  However I am well aware that a great many would be much less keen had our local rivals been the team involved.  Their support is for their football team rather than for the men who served.  McCrae's was of course built on the Hearts players but the majority were members of the public and as such the battalion is an Edinburgh Battalion, not a Hearts one, and many refuse to accept this. 


On television it is impossible to note any live broadcast where each person wears a poppy. TV stations will pin them on and few have the courage to refuse. This however is not the freedom men died for is it? A recent fuss regarding wearing poppies on international football team shirts has hit the headlines. FIFA, the ruling body, refuses any political, religious discriminatory message on such shirts and saw the poppy as political.  It can be seen this way but today represents remembrance for most of us, and remembrance of all war dead, even the enemies.  The Prime Minister had his PR stunt in parliament claiming this ' a disgrace,' the media shouted and hollered, and Prince William (who?) has contacted FIFA to object. Now players from Scotland, Wales and England will wear black armbands with poppies emblazoned upon them to mark their respects at this weekend games. I wonder still about the reasons they are worn.  Many indeed respect the memory today, tomorrow much of the nation will come to a standstill at eleven o' clock on the morning of the eleventh month for two minutes, in shops, factories and in offices throughout the land, most will respect the moment some will not. Too many on TV and the football field follow public pressure and wear these emblems.  Too few really comprehend the deeper meaning.  The day after remembrance Sunday it will all be forgotten for another year!  Not so for servicemen who have lost limbs in Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Northern Ireland, Aden, Cyprus, Israel, or who have suffered dreams and terrors since 1945, for such the war has never ended. They and their relatives live with the effects each day. Let us not forget them, whether friend or foe, for it is those who have endured war who most often oppose it.  Remembrance helps us to prevent wars, let us not 'remember' just because we are told to do so.  

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

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, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

The Great War 14-18

The Story of the Remembrance Poppy

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Flanders Stew

Now I am not one to complain, as you know, but one thing that is somewhat irritating about television is the preponderance of 'cooking' programmes. Every channel has someone showing you 'New ways with fish,' or yet another fantastic recipe made from a turnip, a bag of crisps and two tomatoes. Apparently famous cooks travel the world to show how folks in exotic places dine, sometimes showing the locals how to cook their own dinners! Some even go to the extent of gathering a crowd of middle class 'ne'er do wells' who will have one show off cook amongst them make their dinner so they can criticise the chef while they stuff their fat faces. Just how disgusting is that? The sight of these cretins waxing lyrical about their free offerings while in thirty seven countries there were food riots among those who could no longer afford rice or flour turns my stomach more than a Jeremy Kyle offering .

However I have to sit back and consider my fifteen and a half stone of wobbly fat,(overweight the doctor calls it, not obese), and wonder how I can complain about others while clearly taking more than my fair share at the same time. Hypocrite!

This brings me round to 'Flanders Stew.' This is a recipe I made myself, at least no-one has yet sued me for plagiarism. It came from the desire to eat something each day while not spending either time or money on the object. So I came up with this, which if enough ingredients are entered into the pot can suffice for four, five or even six days, or at least until the ambulance arrives and drops you off at the E-Coli hospital.

The ingredients vary. This is because they depend on whatever is within reach. So if the fridge, cupboard, and pocket is empty then there is little to put in. However if there has been a good day at the market and plenty of fruit and veg has fallen off the stands and rolled into the gutter then you can expect a bumper pot of 'Flanders Stew.' That is if you get there before that greedy fat woman with the brolly. Bitch!

First off chop an onion or two and start burning them in the pot. Then get your hands on mince! Preferably lamb mince as it is cheaper in Sainsburys when you go in at seven in the morning and they want rid of last nights left overs. Add this to those browning things that were once onions. Together this will turn into a brownish sludge, this is fine and you are heading in the right direction. Depending on whether you have forgotten to lower the heat it may also smell like a burnt out stolen Ford Escort. At this point add (at least half if not ALL of) a jar of 'Pataks Madras Curry Paste.' This is wonderful for taking away the taste and later when doing the washing up it also clears the drains very well. Ah curry, the United Kingdoms favourite traditional foodstuff. It's what makes Britain great!

Add to this basic substance, and 'basic' is the word, all sorts of things. Mushrooms take up a lot of space so are good, Barlotti beans also, as do Red Kidney beans, I have been known to throw in those strange blackened objects, long and short ones, found at the back of the fridge, some with mushrooms growing on them and chuck them in. It's best not to wonder what they may have been I find. Aduki beans are OK but a bit small as are lentils but remember to take all these things out of the tins first and not to misinterpret the 'Stand in boiling water' instructions sometimes found on the sides of them. I also dump a lot of frozen mixed veg just to give it that something nothing else can give. I can tell you nothing else does!

This usually fills the pot which then gets stirred, the heat set appropriately and I light the blue touch paper and retire to a safe distance. After a while it begins to burn through the pan and the strange rubberish odour that comes from the cooker tells you that it is ready. This is eaten, yes e-a-t-e-n, alongside chips, potatoes, pasta, bread, nan, oatmeal biscuits or whatever comes to hand. But be careful to look where your hand is before you start to eat I suggest. I also suggest using good quality plates for this as those plastic ones or cheap Chinese types tend to melt rather easily.

The name 'Flanders Stew' by the way comes from 'Flanders' and 'Stew.' 'Flanders' is that part of Belgium where the British Army spent most of the Great War holding back the German hordes. As the word 'Flanders' is derived from 'Flooded Country' it was no surprise that when great rainstorms arrived at the 1917 battle (known as Paschendalle) to find the land flooded. The huge barrage of artillery shells broke up what land was not already broken. What streams and irrigation channels remained dissolved into a muddy morass and two armies fought over this mess until the British had pushed the enemy far enough back to believe some sort of victory had been achieved. This was not an encounter anyone involved would ever forget!

The word 'Stew' comes from 'Stew' a method of cooking meat.

I found that cooking my stew left me with a substance that would have been readily recognised by those men who fought in Flanders. The flavour of my stew is similar to the flavour of the mud in which they ate their luncheon. Hence 'Flanders Stew.'

Tomorrow I will tell you, if you really wish to know, how I make potato soup!