This Time of the Year

There are poppies everywhere. On people’s coats, suits, and scarves. In the windows of many a shop. They are given away at supermarkets and other public places. Sometimes, there is a box of poppies standing at reception at school with a jar for donations next to it. Some houses are decorated with poppies while others still sprout Halloween decorations. People of all ages wear poppies proudly, with a sombre attitude. Quite the contrast to only a few days ago. 

A lost poppy lies forgotten on the ground, people step on it, it gets soaked in the puddles. It does not fit the mode of conduct, the protocol for Remembrance Day. Yet, it is the one true expression of Remembrance. It is growing in a place that seems bleak and grey. It is the only fleck of colour, the only sign of hope. It became the symbol of Remembrance in the original meaning, leaning on to John McCrae’s poem “In Flanders Fields”. Not long until someone picks it up, this poppy that survived. This poppy that will now most likely end up in the bin, forgotten, lost, and lonely. Exactly the opposite of what it is supposed to stand for. 

This year, Armistice day falls on the same day as Remembrance Sunday. The centenary of the end of World War I will be remembered this Sunday. The Poppy Appeal thus falls on the same date it did when it was first established in 1921. In 1921, nine million red silk poppies were ordered by the British Legion and raised an amount of £106,000. Today, this has grown into the millions, with £39,500,000 in 2014. The donations are used to support members of the British Armed Forces, including veterans and their families. 

To me, a girl from Germany, this time of the year feels particularly alienating. Am I meant to join in? Could that be considered as an insult? Or do I have to wear a poppy in order to avoid to hurt anybody’s feeling? At this time, I take considerate care not to let too many people know where I am from. Remembrance Day highlights how much history contributes to everyone’s identity. 

When reading up on the history of the poppy, I come to understand that it is a personal choice to wear (or not to wear) a poppy. It is meant to reflect individual and personal memories. While it is not compulsory, the British Legion emphasises that it “is greatly appreciated by those it helps”, referring to their beneficiaries. Being as that may, Remembrance Day is a “day for the nation to remember and honour those who have sacrificed themselves to secure and protect our [British] freedom.” I have never felt as much as an intruder than at this time of the year.

However, I am not the only one who feels out of place. There are many people around the UK refusing to wear a red poppy. Some will compromise by wearing a white poppy that symbolises peace additionally to the implied connections of the red poppy (the red poppy is a symbol of Remembrance and hope). There are people who do not want to join in the Act of Remembrance, not so much because they do not respect the sacrifices that members of the British Armed Forces have made, but because they see Remembrance Day as a way of glorifying war. Knowing this, I can now see more and more people who do not wear a poppy. 

While Remembrance is part of the British culture, life and heritage, I will remain a foreigner at this time. I will remain an outsider, a spectator who gains an insight into British culture, but cannot be a part of it. Only a few days earlier, on Halloween, I saw how celebrations, festivities and cultural aspects of British life could be similar to what I know from growing up. What a difference a couple of days can make!