In Flanders Fields

It was the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month that marked the signing of the Armistice on November 1918. The guns on the Western Front fell silent after more than four years of continuous warfare. More than one million men and women from Britain and the Commonwealth died in World War One between 1914 and 1918.

My grandfather was thirty years old when he fought in the trenches. He was invalided out in 1916 stone-deaf and suffering from shell-shock that meant he would never work again. With eight children to feed it was up to my grandmother to hold the family together.


I never met him. Since my mother was the youngest of eight, Grandad died years before I was born but I think of him often—and always on Remembrance Day or Veteran's Day as it's known in the USA.

Queen Elizabeth II lays the first wreath of poppies at the Cenotaph in Whitehall for all those men and women who have died in warfare. But wreaths are also laid around the country at War Memorials on village greens and in town squares.


It's often asked why the red poppy became the symbol of remembrance.


Flanders—the western part of Belgium—saw the most concentrated and bloodiest fighting in the First World War. There was complete devastation. Buildings, roads, trees and natural life simply disappeared. Where once there were homes and farms there was now a sea of mud. Only one other living thing survived. The poppy. It seemed to bring life, hope, color and reassurance to those still fighting.


John McCrae, a doctor serving with the Canadian Armed Forces wrote this well-known poem.

In Flanders Fields

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.

The Comfort of a Good Book

My mother was nine years old when she was evacuated from London to escape the bombs in World War Two. As the youngest of eight, Mum was sent away without her siblings. She was gone for four whole years during which time her father only visited a handful of times and her mother not at all. 

In those days, getting to Surrey from London—which now takes about an hour by train—was incredibly difficult. Apart from the fact that my grandfather fought on the Western Front in The Great War and was severely shell-shocked, neither of my grandparents could drive and besides, petrol was strictly rationed. 

During my trip to the UK this summer I was lucky enough to combine a book tour and spend time with my mother. The two of us traveled around England. It was a wonderful trip—especially when my daughter was able to join us for the odd weekend. Girls on tour! But most of all, it was the first time as an adult I could really question mum about her life as a wartime evacuee. 

She stayed with three different families—one woman, "Olive" was particularly unkind to her (mental note to self, potential murder victim) and Mum was incredibly lonely. My grandparents did not have a telephone and although they wrote to her, letters were slow in arriving. 

I asked Mum how she survived and she said by reading a book called "The Twins To The Rescue." 

 On returning to the USA I set out to track down a copy of that book and was thrilled when Abbey Antiquarian Books came up trumps. The wonders of the Internet!

The first thing I did was read the book myself.

Published around 1937, author Joyce Bruce tells the story of twins who are sent to stay with a distant relative in a manor house far away from home because their parents are going abroad for six months. It was easy to understand why the book struck such a chord for her.  

Abbey Antiquarian Books said they are "Purveyors of nostalgia." I began to think about the books I loved when I was age 9. Enid Blyton's "The Famous Five, Michael Bond's "Paddington Bear," and my all-time favorite, "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe," (oddly enough I only read that book at the time, not the others in the Chronicles of Narnia) by C.S. Lewis. 

I also started thinking about times when reading a book brought me great comfort during difficult times. Books have helped me escape from reality when I’ve suffered through many a broken heart, a divorce, bereavement, unbearable anxiety and just plain nerves whilst waiting to interview for a new job. But I’m sure none can equal the fear of a nine-year old sleeping in a strange bed so far from home over seventy years ago.

 

“The Twins to The Rescue” was published with Girl Guides in mind (at a cost of 3s 6d). Throughout the story the twins are governed by Girl Guide Law No.8.

“A Guide smiles and sings under all difficulties.”

And my darling Mum still smiles and sings under all difficulties to this day. 

The British Empire's Pink Bits

It's been almost twenty years since I set off for the land of milk and honey with stars in my eyes. Not once have I ever forgotten my roots. I subscribe to Country Life magazine, watch BBC America, listen to BBC World News and, without fail, drink tea at 4:00 PM every afternoon. In fact, with the close of the Olympics, I've never felt more British. Team GB was brilliant.

Bearing in mind that our little island (including Northern Ireland), is smaller than the state of California, Team GB—per capita—were really the overall winners (just kidding). But of course "we" used to be much larger.

The British Empire reached its peak in the early 1920s. With the additions of the League of Nations—mandated territories in the Middle East, Africa, and the South Pacific, one-quarter of the globe was pink! Hence the phrase "the pink bits."

So what are the pink bits and where did the phrase come from?


Traditionally, pieces of the British Empire were colored pink on maps. This was a bit of a compromise because red was really the color associated with the Empire. But if the colonies, protectorates and mandates were also printed in red on a world globe, it was tricky to read the place names within them.

Even though we no longer talk about the Empire (apart from my mother), Queen Elizabeth II is still the titular head of state of Canada and Australia.

Here is a list of our current overseas territories ... Anguilla, Bermuda, British Indian Ocean Territory, British Virgin Islands, Cayman Islands, Falkland Islands (we fought a war over these), Gibraltar (just the rock), Montserrat, Pitcairn Island (remember the mutineers of HMS Bounty and Captain Bligh?),  Saint Helena—including Ascension Island and Tristan da Cunha, South Georgia, South Sandwich Islands, Turks and Caicos Islands.

And ... Independent States with our Queen as head ... Antigua and Barbuda, Australia, The Bahamas, Barbados, Canada, Grenada, Jamaica, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Saint Kitts-Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Solomon Islands and Tuvalu.

And finally ... Crown Possessions ... Channel Islands, including Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney and Sark (in the English Channel) and The Isle of Man (in the Irish Sea).

Hmm ... gosh. Maybe my mother is right. The Empire still lives on!