Every Remembrance Day, the anti-poppy naysayers pop up to criticise those who commemorate our war dead. As a former soldier, you might think you can guess my view on these people. But, in fact, I do have some sympathy with those who are uncomfortable about the way we mark 11 November.
Some years ago, shortly after leaving the army, I happened to be on Whitehall as the remembrance ceremonies were in full swing. I tried to watch but couldn’t: memories of the death and destruction I encountered in Iraq and Afghanistan flashed back. The smart uniforms and neat drills of those gathered at the Cenotaph struck me as a disingenuous commemoration that belied the bloodshed, waste and messy reality of what I had seen on the frontline.
During subsequent Novembers, whenever I encountered poppy sellers — especially if they were military men or women — I was torn between engaging in a spot of banter or turning my back. Like many veterans, I had a great love for the military and those in it as well as a colossal sense of betrayal, guilt and shame in wasting the best years of my life in the service of utter senselessness and all the death and destruction that attended it.
It was hard to be a disinterested observer. Emotions got in the way. But over time, I came to realise something important about poppy selling: it isn’t just about remembrance. When veterans – or indeed serving military personnel – sell poppies, it might be one of the few moments that ordinary Brits get to meet someone who has served in the armed forces.
Having the military sell poppies on British high streets, and military bands playing in train stations, also does something else important: it gives the men and women who have fought a reminder about who they are protecting. It tells the solider that, despite the uniform, he remains a citizen too.
Poppy selling also helps ordinary Brits realise what a soldier looks like. This might sound strange to say, but it’s only through such interactions that many people realise that those who serve in our armed forces are just like us: they are not some automaton or mechanical dealer of death. Rather, soldiers are – almost always – friendly, courteous and probably young.
The aftermath of the Queen’s death allowed many people in Britain to see the men and women of our armed forces. It was an impressive spectacle: no one does drill and ceremony like a Guards regiment. But it wasn’t just the pageantry that was striking. One of the most memorable images from the commemorations was the faces of the pall bearers for Her Majesty’s coffin: the eight men, whose expressions showed their pride in service and sadness at their funereal role. It gave a very human face to those who serve.
The poppy campaign running up to this Remembrance Day has, once again, enabled Brits to encounter the men and women who make up our Armed Forces. This is a welcome interaction: if not broken, the relationship between the military and civilians became strained during the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. There was a divide between those who saw for themselves what those conflicts meant and those people back home. Over time, those difficulties have eased – thanks, in many cases, to poppy-selling military personnel meeting the public for themselves and realising what they have in common.
Unless you are related to a squaddie, for many people in Britain the interaction you have with a military man or woman selling a poppy is one of the few times you might come face-to-face with a member of our armed forces. Remembering our war dead is an important part of today’s services. But squaddies – and civilians – also get a vital reminder of something else: that those on the other side of the military divide are just like them.
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