The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
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.
John McCrae
THE TEARS OF A CLOWN 
Hey BB
Can’t see the piccies at work but I’ll log on at home later – the poem is lovely x
Wonderful tribute Stu.
Only right that we thank those who fought to afford us the freedoms that we have today.
I read In Flanders Field with the children and the little ones did a workbook and made a Remembrance Angel. I told them the stories from our family.
It’s too easy to forget-or for it not to matter. I hope by telling them family stories it will matter more, and for longer.
God bless
I’d like to use the photo of the field of poppies. I see it used everywhere, but i’m trying to source the original so I can properly license it. Is this your original work? If so it is beautiful and I would love to be able to use it in my remembrance campaign.
Hi Matthew, I’m sorry but the image doesn’t belong to me originally. I agree it is beautiful. I hope you manage to find the source of it.
Best wishes
Stu