The month of November brings both sides of the 'pond' together, although, 'still divided by....'. Although the fifth of November is very much an English, or perhaps more accurately a British 'thing' should my memory of history lessons serve me correctly, the eleventh is a very special date for both. The celebrations later in the month can be left for another post!I wore my poppy 'with pride', from Friday last week. It was received with a variety of responses. "What y'all come as", said the waitress at the restaurant on Saturday last. We looked at her inquisitively. "Your costume. The flowers" My attempt to explain that my pin was a poppy, and it commemorated the Armistice in 1918, fell on deaf ears. "Well, it's a cool costume", she responded. It was a little sad, but not unexpected as our histories are not as bonded over the Great War as it would seem they are over the second. We commemorate with Armistice, or Remembrance, Sunday. Here it is 'Veterans Day', where the living are honoured, and the dead remembered. Memorial Day is for the fallen. However, the poppy appears to be very much a European symbol. After all, the poppy the symbol of the British Legion. However, by all accounts, the poppy was worn here, back when the Canadian John McCrae, wrote 'In Flanders Field'.
The warmer weather returned, only to depart again for a while. Edward, being very much an American, asked Samantha if she could 'make' him a lapel poppy. She crocheted him a poppy so he could wear it to work. Monday was exceptionally busy. I went for a walk, later than I would have liked, and returned rather the worse for wear. It had become quite humid, and sticky. "What's with the flower?" asked a delivery man, as he entered our office. "It's a poppy for Remembrance Day", I said, with pride, and then added, "Veterans Day" for good measure. "Oh, okay", came the response. He was probably in his mid thirties, and had no reason to be familiar with the signing of the Armistice.
Samantha received a message from Edward. Apparently his boss had noticed his addition to his 'lapel', and asked, "What's with the apple?" It was not the reaction he was expecting, and he explained that it was a poppy. Samantha was somewhat dumbfounded as to how anyone could mistake a flower for an apple, and put a comment on one of her social media accounts. "Brits in Texas", is apparently a site to which she subscribes, and upon which she shares stories with others who have emigrated. Most were also rather aghast as to the misunderstanding. However, being confused as to why a poppy is considered an apple is understandable, but we cannot fault those who did not have the same history lessons.
There were no fireworks on the fifth, as that is something that is saved for the 'fourth', or should I say 'The fourth', and in a month that we most definitely can predict the weather. It is either hot, hotter or hottest! Warm does not come into play here on 'The fourth'. However, I digress. Tuesday, 'the fifth' came and went as if nothing was amiss, and of course, the 'fifth' is my history. If I were to set off fireworks here, two things would happen. Either I would be charged with letting off fireworks without a permit, or I would start a movement! As the former seems far more likely, I shall leave that tradition well alone, and let the fires burn in fireplaces rather than parks. My poppy was recognised by Gail on Wednesday, as I had no doubt it would be. However, Michele said that 'remembrance was for Memorial Day, and poppies were more likely to be worn on that particular day. "Why?", I asked, quite genuinely. "To remember", said Michele. I am afraid I become quite indignant, perhaps wrongly so, as who am I to dictate another's policies, but as my grandfather was at 'Flanders', meaning one of the battles that ensued around the region, I feel I have a modicum of duty by proxy to tell the story. How poppies appeared on the battle scarred fields in 1915. By then, my grandfather had been hospitalised twice. A twenty year old soldier, who had already been at war for a year. The poppy became the symbol for those who died. The blood red flower which grew where perhaps nothing was expected to grow. Perhaps, once again, this is so important to me because of my ever growing realisation of my own mortality. I am here, because my grandfather returned. Once again, I have gone off into my own world; a world many, many miles away from the one in which I now live!
The week did not become any less busy. Finding the time to walk was perhaps the most difficult, as everything that needed to be done, needed to be done 'now'. "What's with the roses?" asked a woman in the supermarket on
Saturday was glorious, for so many reasons. The weather was perfect, and the preferred college football team (well most of them) won their games. Priorities, like traditions, are territorial it would appear!
The Dollar Tree looked like a battlefield. The front door was boarded up, and the electricity was cutting in and out. Strange noises appeared to be coming from the back of the shop, and it was as if we had stepped back in time. The lights flickered, the shelves looked like they had been emptied, and yet the crowds appeared in good spirit. No one mentioned the poppies.
"Oh my gosh, your shirt is so cute!" said the lady in one of the stores we were in. Then she looked over at me, and looked confused. "Are they....", she started, and then whispered, "poppies?" Why the whisper? "Yes, yes they are!" I almost shouted. "Oh I saw your shirt and thought, that is so cute, then saw yours and thought how can that be, it's the same, but different, but it's the flower", she blurted. "Poppy", I specified. "Why the poppies?" she asked. One step forward! It was not her 'remembrance' day. I should be patient! I have to remind myself that I, too, have occasion to ask a question that, if an American, I would know the answer. "It's not part of our history", or "It's not part of our culture", I say, when someone asks why I wasn't taught something specific in school.
As the weather is set to take a turn towards zero and below again next week, Samantha decided to buy some equipment to protect her plants. We entered the gardening section of the DIY store and put several items into her trolley. It was a mistake to put in the plastic sticks, as they kept falling through the mesh of the cart, and on to the floor. I picked them up and threw them back in, to start with, but then decided to use them as 'encouragement'. "Come on, speed up!" I said to my daughter, as I poked her with the sticks. All that could be heard throughout the store was "Ouch, that's sharp!" At least I was having fun! "What's with the .....?" "Poppies", we said in unison, when we got to the cash desk.
By the time we reached Walmart for the 'essentials', I was ready to go home! "Do you have any cod liver oil capsules?" I asked at the pharmacist section, as I could not find any on the shelf. The assistant seemed willing to help, and came from behind her counter to see if she could spot them among the variety of supplements. She mumbled that she was sure they were here, as she had seen them earlier, and ran her finger along the bottles on each level. "Fish oil. It's here!" she said, quite victorious. "I saw that, but I specifically wanted the cod liver oil", I said, in the politest voice I could muster. "Isn't cod a fish?", she snapped back at me. "Like a poppy is a flower, but a flower isn't necessarily a poppy!" My thoughts were not put into words, but the stare perhaps indicated my thoughts. I thanked her for her help and went on my way.
No one mentioned my poppy on Saturday night. We went out for dinner, and as the restaurant was full, with many waiting, most wearing the familiar 'burnt orange' colours of the University of Texas, (who had just won their game,) we asked if we could sit on the patio. It was sixty degrees, and a little cool. My jacket was done up to my neck, and my poppy was pinned to my shirt. I saw no reason to remove it to my outerwear.
My poppy was worn this morning as we went out for breakfast. We stopped to talk to another couple of regulars and the lady of the two noticed my poppy. "We are going to a Veterans service this morning. He is a veteran", she said, pointing to her partner. I told her that my grandfather was at Flanders, and she responded, "But that was the first world war". I was perplexed. "And that is from where the poppy symbol comes", I said, not judgmentally. "Really?" she responded. As a lady quite a few years my senior, I was a little surprised that she did not know, but then why should she? She did recognise the poppy as a symbol. Traditions can only become traditions when the action is reiterated! It matters not what symbol is used, what is important is the phrase 'lest we forget'. Upon returning home from our morning constitutional, I we saw a neighbour walking his dog. "Ah the poppy. Of course, it is....
um...Remembrance....?" He as in London last year, during the 100 year anniversary commemoration of the signing of the Armistice. He was told all about the significance of the poppy, and bought a 'pin', When I told him about my grandfather, he was genuinely 'wowed',
Tomorrow is Veterans Day. Thank you to all for your service. Today was 'Remembrance Sunday'. Thank you to all for your service! To those that lived, to those that did not return. On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, I shall remember them! Thank you to those who fought for our freedom to be able to live and for some of us, the freedom to write ..... another story!
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