At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them

When the clock strikes 11am on Remembrance Sunday and November 11th, I bow my head and think of the stories of my grandfather; a lorry driver turned bomb disposal expert who got blown up more times than people can remember, and survived; I think of my uncle who, after having a tank dropped on him, defied doctors and learned to walk again; I think of James, a friend and childhood sweetheart who died doing the job he loved above all else. He was just 17.

What I don’t do is spend it angered by the fact politicians wear poppies, or reject the tradition of remembering the trials and tribulations of war – the good and the bad aspects – because people who work for companies whose work I don’t support like to wear them also.

It’s not show-business in any sense of the word; what’s glitzy and appealing in watching hundreds of service personnel and family marching to remember their comrades? What’s uplifting and cheery about a religious service that carries the solemn tones of a mass funeral reading?

Each person has the right to remember the dead in the way they see fit – red poppy, white poppy or even no poppy – respect it, allow it, but never, ever play politics with it.

Remembrance Sunday has no link to the budget decisions of past and present governments, it’s a tradition that has and will continue to outlive many of those in power – and I, as a young, working-class person, object to the way in which Laurie Penny has chosen to use our name to enter the ‘show business’ world of crass political point scoring.


About Stackee

All you need is love. Well, that, and ice cream, beaches, Sci-Fi and pi(e). Perhaps water too.
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