Poppies!

At Chelsea Flower Show this year, the garden that held my attention for the longest time was the Leeds City Council entry. It was called ‘The Largest Room in the House’, and was constructed to create a cameo of the garden at Talbot House, Poperinghe, near Ypres, Belgium. This house was founded by two priests in 1915, and was a place where soldiers could rest and recover their health.

All the flowers in the Talbot House garden were especially chosen for their colour and scent in order to create an air of ‘comfort, peace and serenity’ (to quote from the accompanying booklet).

The Flanders poppies created such an impact around the central pond that I stood there for some time, just watching them move in the very slight breeze. They looked lovely, and I was delighted when someone handed me a packet of Flanders poppy seeds. It wasn’t just another show freebie....it was somehow more than that...symbolic....so I slipped them carefully into my backpack.
I stood there in the sunshine, admiring the flowers, listening to the band playing, and sipping Pimm’s from a cardboard cup. How normal it would have been to admire the garden and move on as I usually do...but for some reason I felt that respect was due to this moving tribute. I lingered a while longer than usual...thinking about all the implications, and feeling awfully glad that I was in a position to enjoy the flowers and sunshine (and of course the Pimm’s!!!).

Remembrance always makes me feel like that, even though I have had little dealings with war in my lifetime. I once visited an American War Cemetery on the Normandy coast, and I can remember how I gasped on entering the gates because there were just so many crosses....row upon row....as far as the eye could see. I walked along some of the lines reading the memorials...age 19, age,21, age 18....so many young men. I stopped at the boundary and looked down at the sandy beach below...I think it was Gold...not sure. I just couldn’t help crying, and I’m not normally a sentimentalist, or a very emotional person. I think it was just the sheer enormity of it all....so many lost lives.

My packet of seeds were duly propagated, and added to our wildflower meadow.

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.

John McRae May 1915