I found the remembrance station for the Commonwealth fallen soldiers. There were few poppies or crosses in this station. Then I saw ‘St. Kitts and Nevis Legion’. It came home that war-heroes-memorials were not unnecessary, unfathomable nor unvisited. My own countrymen gave their lives for something and the green-painted rusty WWII gun which I played with whenever I went to my town’s square was more than a toy.
I then went to the poppies table, no longer seeing brisk business as it was now late evening, which offered poppies and crosses for a donation. Then with three bangs of the black mallet I planted a cross and thought of the bangs which may have taken the women’s lives and the bangs that came from the green rusty gun now in my island’s town square.
I came away having connected a childhood memory to what had appeared as a British pomp and ceremony poppyfest to something deeper (and also with a blue and red poppies wrist band).