by Nanny Lowe
Every year for many years, in November, we have a garden of red ‘poppies’ leap into our lives, and into the lives of our communities. The stunning combination of the red and black of these small flower symbols on lapels, caps and in car windows draw your eye, and you cannot help but remember for what reason they come into our lives. These brilliant red poppies are very significant, and each and every one is worn in remembrance of lives lost, battles won and battles lost, the gratitude we feel for those who gave their lives for our country, our freedom, and our way of life. They also honor those who served and came home badly scarred, both in body and spirit. The poppy also honors and remembers all those that were the backup teams, the people who worked in factories, ran our transportation systems, knit warm socks and caps for those on the front lines, and those who supported their loved ones in the cause they were so desperately fighting for and wanted to protect. And that cause was our freedom, a country free of anarchy and chaos, and a better life for their children. We will always, and should always, remember them.
So we pick up our poppy from the immaculately clad Legion Veterans at their little kiosk and tables, chat with them, and marvel at the wonder of such a country as Canada. In good times and bad, the Red Maple Leaf Flag flying above our heads symbolizes all that has been fought for, the way of life we lead in our country, our political right to vote, and our freedom to worship as we so choose. All this came at a very high cost. We will never forget that. Nor should we.
Most of the men who served our country are now grandfathers and great-grandfathers, and also the women who served have moved into the tender role of being a grandmother and great-grandmother. So most of us have, or have had a ‘Pop’ or ‘Grand-dad’ or ‘Poppy’ of our own. And surely we all have a ‘Nanny’ in our lives, or in the lives of our friends.
A few years ago, in a large center, I attended the November 11th, Remembrance Day Service at the War Memorial. While we were growing up the Remembrance Day Ceremony was part of our lives, and it continues to be, because my father served in the British Royal Navy overseas during the last World War. I have a Dad who is a ‘Poppy’ to my children, and to my grandchild. His name is Stephen Richard Jarvis. Wearing a poppy is an important thing to me and my family because we love and honour our Poppy. And thousands of other people do the same thing all across this massive country. That day, after the Memorial Service, I watched as the cadets and the local people took off their poppies and stuck them in the ground near the memorial.
When I glanced back it looked like a sea of priceless blood. The red was everywhere as hundreds of red poppies stood out brightly in the noon day sun. It illustrated to me what the surgeon, Dr. John McCrae, a Major in the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, saw beside the field hospital at the Canal de l’Yser, just north of Ypres and its’ horrendous battles. Dr. McCrae had lost a friend a day before he penned his verse. He wrote ‘In Flanders Fields’, then decided it was not a good piece of work and discarded it. A colleague retrieved the paper, and submitted the poem to a magazine in England who published it, and it has become a classic. It was written in the midst of seventeen days of horror, on May 3, 1915, and was published in the English magazine on December 8, 1915.
My father rarely spoke of his wartime experiences. And we could not get him to talk about it. But when I think back, we had small glimpses into that world. He was a seventeen year old boy when he joined the Royal Navy, Newfoundland was a British Colony, and he left Belloram, Newfoundland, for what was to become four years of hell. He became a man through all that. He became a strong man, but troubled when he came home at first. He was tormented, with wild, wide eyes and bad dreams. The horrific sights, the sounds of gunfire, the panic, the cold, the torpedoes, the sea water seeping into his bunk as he tried to rest on the Corvette he was serving on, all haunted him.
We knew he had scarred legs, scalded by a blown boiler, we knew he, although a policeman, wanted ‘peace and quiet’ in his life, and we knew he did not want to discuss war. One incident stands out that told us so much about Dad and his outlook on life. It took place with my brother. David, in his late teens, arrived home, shall we say, saturated with ‘liquid courage’. He was prepared to take on the world in his courageous state, and my mother was determined he wasn’t, but he would be punished, that was a given.
"Go to bed now," Dad said to Mother, "when I was his age I was fightin’ a war!" And that was the end of that. It said a lot when you really analyzed it.
This past summer Dad showed me a photo my brother had found of the Corvette he sailed on, the ‘H.M.S. Shoreham’. He is proud of that ship. So I took the chance and asked "Dad, what was your worst experience during those days?"
He shocked me by answering. I really did not expect he would.
"The Invasion of Sicily." he revealed quietly.
Then he went on to tell me his most memorable and frightening experience. My heart ached for that young Newfoundland boy, caught in the midst of death and destruction, trying desperately to stay alive. And it aches now as I tell you about it. He is a ‘Poppy’, and he loves and is loved in return. I am sorry that he had to go through that anguish and fear. But at least he came home. His determination to give his children a good life, combined with their love for him, and a strong wife who loved and supported him, became his port in the savage emotional storms.
Yes, we will wear our poppies proudly, and we will remember them. All of them, those who have left us and those we are thankful to still have in our lives.
Wear the poppy, read Major McCraes’ verse, remember, and give thanks for the freedoms won with blood, sweat and tears. Always remember them, not just on Remembrance Day, but every day.
If you do not have the words, I will share a few of them with you. Beautiful words written by a young man who had seen too much, lost too much, but would not quit. Words that can be written in a free country that allows us to do so, the freedom won with their lives.
Excerpt from
‘IN FLANDERS’ FIELDS’
‘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.
Written by Doctor Major (later Lieutenant-Colonel) John McCrae 1st Field Artillery Brigade, 1915
They shall not grow old as those that are left grow old. Age will not weary them nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we shall remember them.
Advertising Information 
