The larks, still bravely singing, fly...

Today, as we all stood together as a family at the Remembrance Day Ceremonies, many different things were going through my mind, too many to blog about even.

But most of all I thought about my Poppy.

My Poppy was my Dad's Dad. He lied about his age to fight in World War I - he was 13.5 years old... Later, and some years older, he also fought in World War II. He did what he could, he did his best - and he survived.



Poppy died when I was quite young, around 4 years old, although I don't remember exactly. What I remember of him was magical, and the memories always bring a smile to my face. He is, perhaps, the grandparent I miss the most, yet knew the least. He is someone I regret not having the chance to introduce to Duncan, and my children.

Poppy died before I knew, or could understand, the sacrifices he made for his family, and country. He died before I could say thank you.

Thank you Poppy, for everything you did, for me.