Remember, remember the fifth of November

November 6, 2006

Sometimes my Anglophilia is obnoxious… or at least a little contrived. It's been five years since I lived there, riding the tube to work, taking weekend hikes through Hampstead Heath, or finding new pubs from which I could acquire a souvenir. It remains one of my fondest memories – every day lived to its utmost and participating in every moment with relish.

This particular week brings it all into vivid recollection. I remember remember the fifth of November and the bonfires, fireworks, and beer. I remember walking back across the Albert Bridge after the best fireworks display I've ever seen, and then sitting in the cold outside the Anglesea Arms in Chelsea with one of my most treasured Stella glasses.

I also remember the days after, walking through London as the country remembered something other than a botched plan to blow up Parliament. Wreaths of blood red flowers were laid in front of monuments by which I previously passed in oblivion. I saw single flowers on lapels and jackets of individuals throughout the city, eventually realizing they were poppies worn for Remembrance Day.

I have since discovered that was once a custom in the US, wearing a poppy to remember lives lost in the World Wars. It lost its appeal after Vietnam… and disappeared into bygone traditions. And while there is definitely a lot of 'support our troops' yellow ribbons out there these days, there is something different about the allegiance of those red poppies.

There are so many differences that I adore… the sharp melody of the accent, the extra 'u' in several words, the door handles, windows that open vertically and horizontally, the fact that a pint does constitute lunch… but this difference is one that I respect. The poppies did not strike me as pretentious, or some theatrical demonstration of jingoism. It wasn't used as a political maneuver to propagate a belief system. It was an honest intention to not forget the lives of men who fought and died in wars too horrible to allow to slip to the distance of the past.

I have a poppy. I will wear it because I choose to remember.