Poppy Pride

So I shall wear my poppy this year with an extra bit of pride.

The Second World War was the greatest event in my mother's life. I can't imagine how it must have felt setting off at the age of nineteen to join the ATS as she did. Stationed in Kent near Maidstone, she was a plotter. She placed the position of enemy aircraft on maps during the Battle of Britain and throughout the rest of the war. You could hear the pride in her voice whenever she spoke of the five years she had given up for her country. It had given her a sense of community, a sense of belonging, and a sense of camaraderie and importance that she would use throughout her life.

On a trip into Kent one Sunday in her late 80s, she pointed out to Richard and I, a pub in a charming little village. This was where she had spent the night of her 21st birthday "getting a little merry" as she put it and from where she and other members of her squadron staggered back down country lanes to find they had missed lights out at the camp and had to climb over fences and get back into barracks illegally. Her eyes lit up as she told us the tale. That sense of the naughty which she was never to lose, was evident for all to see.

At the end of the war, having spent five years haring around the country lanes of the Kent countryside in a jeep, they gave her a driving licence, only for her to hand it back. "What would I want one of these for?" She said. It was a decision that later in life, had she been the type of person, she might regret it given the vagaries of the transport system in South Yorkshire. She wore her medals with pride. She was a proud member of the British Legion and she paraded in Rotherham every Remembrance Sunday. I remember as a Boy Scout, when our pack was also part of the parade, seeing my mother further along the line, smart blazer, medals gleaming, shoulders back and head held high.

 I was never prouder than when she received an invitation to London to meet the Queen and attend the ceremony for the opening of the Women in War Memorial in Whitehall. It came three days after the tube bombings in 2005. She was due to leave Doncaster that afternoon on a train, but after the horrendous events of that Thursday morning in London, all trains were cancelled. My mother was not put off so easily. "We beat Hitler and we can get this sorted" she said on the telephone at lunchtime.

 And sort it we did with the aid of a friendly cab driver from Rotherham who made the 10 hour round trip to bring her to London, she arrived late on the Thursday evening. Friday was taken up with a trip to Debenhams in Croydon and a personal shopper to help her pick an outfit suitable for meeting the Queen. "It's not a colour I'd ever go with" she said "but the girl in the shop seemed to think it looks good, and they didn't have the beige in my size."

Security was high the next day, as I took her into Westminster. At the barrier at the end of Whitehall, I parted company and arrange to collect her later. She waved her invitation at the guard and passed through the barrier. A very tall, a very smart, and it has to be said, a rather handsome soldier stepped forward out of line, and took her hand, and together they marched off up Whitehall. I stood on the pavement watching her go, fighting back a tear or two, and never prouder.

This was the woman who after losing the battle to have a child of her own had picked me from the children's home and had used her considerable force of personality, values and strength to make me what I am today.

For years and years, she would spend poppy week, sitting on a stool in the entrance to her local Asda supermarket with a tray of poppies and a heart full of memories. The staff brought her tea and a sandwich and she never left until  her tray was empty. "Somebody has to make sure we remember" she would say. Eventually at the age of 90, she left someone else have her poppy stand. "They'll be hard pressed to sell as many as me" she remarked, with no grudge; just as a fact.

Florence left us on 24th May this year. I hope she is looking down on me with the same pride that I had watching her walk away with that soldier on that sunny afternoon.

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