Poppies for the soldiers

It has been exactly three years since I had my hysterectomy and cancer treatment. Each year I get an online health form to fill out to gauge my mental and physical health.... with a few political questions chucked in for good measure. "Do you feel the Government is giving you fair treatment?" What? How the heck should I know? I am not one for expecting the Government to change my world. Climate change included. I firmly believe that it will take all of us doing our bit to make changes. If I have a problem with the health system, I will tell them. Anyhow, that was half an hour of survey filling time that I will never get back. I remember working for a psychologist many years ago and getting clients to fill in similar forms. The first page they are all eager and keen and bushy tailed, on the second page, they start to lag and by the third page I know they are putting dots in places without actually reading the instructions. They get this glazed look on their faces as if to say 'who cares', or 'this is sucking the life out of me.' I had to shake myself firmly and remind myself that if on page one I say that I am happy with my financial state, then on page ten, I should give the same answer. Lots of questions about equality of races and feminism. All I can tell them is from my own perspective and that is totally divorced from the real world. 'Do you feel supported emotionally?' 'Do you trust the police?' See, it's all jumbled up like they are tricking you into making statements to contradict yourself. What would happen if I wrote that I was angry at life, not supported financially or emotionally and totally upset with the Government? Would some person in a dark grey suit knock on my door to assess me in person? Or do they file it all away to be hauled out when I do something awful like pour green dye in the river on St Patrick's day? Talking about dye, my sister, Jane and I boarded at Mrs Stegmann's establishment in Cape Town many years ago. The dear lady had some strange ideas about food. Pink rice appeared on the menu on a regular basis as well as ham steaks dyed green. Maybe she too wanted to make a statement on the world in her own unique way? And can you imagine how much green dye I would need to stain the Waikato River? And consider the ruckus that would cause. Is it harmful to animals and water creatures, maybe even the Taniwha? (Maori mythical monster supposedly residing in the river) Would the SPCA be the ones at my door demanding retribution and revenge on my idiotic behaviour. All those dogs with green tongues after licking the water. About 30 years ago my husband was in Mauritius. Sitting on the patio drinking an orange soda. When, along came a bird with a white plume on its head, and fell into the glass. It's white plume now stained bright orange, it shook the sugary drink off its wings and flew away. But for the rest of our stay, the orange plumed bird kept us company. Do they have the SPCA in Mauritius? Were we breaking laws of nature or Government by not reporting ourselves for cruelty to birds? Actually, Mauritius does amazing work at preserving their native birds. I suppose they learnt their lesson after the sailors killed off all the Dodos.

When my Gran was a young girl, she had three sets of clothing. A school uniform that was worn all week, taken off once she reached home, and replaced with an old dress that had seen better days, also known as 'outfit number two.' The third outfit was for church or special occasions. She had two pairs of shoes, one for Summer and another for Winter and only poor children didn't wear shoes, so she had to be shod and shoed all the time. I read somewhere that clothes create millions of tonnes of waste every year. And are often made from non-renewable fabrics. And they are often sewn in countries with bad human rights records where children live in virtual slavery to produce the 56 million tonnes of clothing we buy each year. The clothes themselves degrade and release microplastics into the air that go into the stratosphere and help Global warming cycles. My Gran's generation had the right attitude. Fix it up, wear it out or do without. Plus they had natural fibres in their clothing. Cotton and wool. Okay, I can hear your hackles rising from here. So, life was not always good back in the 1890's. There were huge social problems and even my Gran admitted that a toilet down the bottom of the garden was not ideal. They had a tub in front of the Aga stove to bathe in once a week. So, am I blameless? Nope, I bought myself two new t-shirts this week. Yup, not a natural fibre in sight. Do I have a cupboard full of similar t-shirts? Yes. What I really needed was a few pairs of shorts for Summer. I went into the shop and couldn't find a decent pair of shorts for love or money. I fully planned on only buying shorts. And then, I thought, while I am here, I should really look around. Fatal. The price was right ... thank you, some nameless child in a far flung country, that should really be at school or play, for weaving or sewing or cutting my new t-shirts. But looking at Greta Thunberg and her pointing fingers at Governments, I do wonder if she wears natural fibres? How many pairs of shoes does she own? Is she herself guilty of adding to Global warming? We all know the Donald Trumps of the world think they are immune from the effects of their decadence, but what about you and I? I went through my cupboard to throw out my unused and no longer fitting clothes and it was bags of stuff. Only 12% of clothing is recycled. In fact many of the new fabrics being produced are recycled plastic, but clothes, well they end up in a massive tip somewhere out of sight and forgotten. What do I plan to do to change my carbon footprint? There is the possibility of farming silkworms. Or Angora rabbits? Or shaving my long haired cat and making a jacket. But then again short fibres do not last as long as long ones do. An angora goat? They have long fur. Yup, I can see it now, my fairly small yard covered in goats and Alpacas and rabbits and the SPCA on my doorstep once more. Oh well, you can't win.

In January 1941 my father was sixteen years old. And he signed up to go to war one month after his birthday. Why anyone would think he was older, is beyond me. My dad always looked younger than his age and the photo of him on that memorable day..... well, he looks about 12 years of age and as if he should be off to a fancy dress party and not to a war. Can you imagine a child of sixteen fighting a war now? When my sons were that age, they hadn't even started shaving and I doubt if my dad had either. He returned from the war a changed person. Some may think he was unaffected by the trauma of war, but at times it was very evident. My brother, Dennis went to a different type of war. And came home with severe PTSD and made a determined effort to commit suicide at one stage of his life. On Armistices day each year, I remember the fallen and the ones who returned scarred on the inside and out. When my father and brother died, they were given soldier's burials because they had fought bravely and deserved our gratitude. Dennis was eighteen when he went to war. He saw friends blown up and shot the enemy to protect his mates. What a terrible thing to do. What a burden those young men carried on their shoulders. Does it make them into men? No. It teaches them that they need to put on a facade to the world that they are tough and don't need our sympathy or compassion. When that is really what they need. Some feel like they don't deserve peace and love because of their friends who will never be able to enjoy the blessings of life. They turn to alcohol or drugs but seldom seek psychiatric treatment. They push away people who show them kindness and love. They have to relearn trust and how to function in a world that is not trying to kill them. I read an article about a fighter pilot who flew sorties over Germany. 39 missions, and survived. After the war, he married his sweetheart and rebuilt his life. But he never flew again. Not for pleasure or for pay. Did it bring back too many memories of others who didn't land safely? My cousin's father was the sole survivor of two shipwrecks in the cold North Seas. They were torpedoed and left for dead, and yet he clung on until he was saved. Others slipped away into the freezing waters and others were too badly wounded to survive. But Paddy made it through the war. Can you imagine his mindset as the icy waters claimed his friends? It affected his whole life and the life of his wife and children. Are we not fortunate that this generation has been spared? Generational PTSD from wars gone by, generational harm to families and mental health. I am grateful for all those young men. I thank them for their sacrifices and service. At the going down of the sun, we will remember them.

Wear a red poppy this weekend.

In Flanders Fields

By John McCrae

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.