They shall grow not old
As we that are left grow Old
Age shall not weary them
Nor the years condemn
At the going down of the Sun
And in the morning
We will remember them
We will remember them
Lest we forget.
Amen.

:thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

"Please wear a Poppy", the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped to watch to see how she would fare -
Her face was old and lined with care,
But beneath the scars that the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.

A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on carefree feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun,
"Lady", he said, "may I have one?"
As she pinned it on I heard him say
"Why do we wear a Poppy today?"

The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered, " This is Remembrance Day.
The Poppy there is a symbol for
The gallant men who died in war,
And because they did, you and I are free.
That's why we wear a Poppy, you see!"

"I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to play, and jump and shout -
Free as a bird he would race about.
As years went on he learned and grew
And became a man as you will too".

"He was fine and strong with a boyish smile,
But he seemed with us just a little while.
When war broke out he went away -
I still remember his face that day,
When he smiled at me and said, "Goodbye -
I'll be back soon, so please don't cry".

"But the war went on and he had to stay -
All I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the awful fight -
I can still see it in my dreams at night.
With tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
And mines and bullets, the bombs and fire".

"Until at last the war was won,
And that's why we wear a Poppy, son".
The small boy turned as if to go
Then said, "Thanks lady, I'm glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight,
But your son - did he come home all right?"
A tear rolled down each faded cheek -
She shook her head but didn't speak.
I slunk away - head bowed in shame
And if you were with me, you'd have done the same.
For our thanks in giving is oft delayed,
Though our freedom was bought and thousands paid.

And so you see - when a Poppy is worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne
By all those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their Country's call.
That we at home in peace may live -
Then wear a Poppy - remember - and give!

By: Unknown Poet

Lest We Forget

That is beautiful Tuppie, thank you. I of course came in a week early- getting old you see!
But we should remember them every day.

I Shall be at Barkers Pool sunday

"Please wear a Poppy", the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped to watch to see how she would fare -
Her face was old and lined with care,
But beneath the scars that the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.

A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on carefree feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun,
"Lady", he said, "may I have one?"
As she pinned it on I heard him say
"Why do we wear a Poppy today?"

The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered, " This is Remembrance Day.
The Poppy there is a symbol for
The gallant men who died in war,
And because they did, you and I are free.
That's why we wear a Poppy, you see!"

"I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to play, and jump and shout -
Free as a bird he would race about.
As years went on he learned and grew
And became a man as you will too".

"He was fine and strong with a boyish smile,
But he seemed with us just a little while.
When war broke out he went away -
I still remember his face that day,
When he smiled at me and said, "Goodbye -
I'll be back soon, so please don't cry".

"But the war went on and he had to stay -
All I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the awful fight -
I can still see it in my dreams at night.
With tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
And mines and bullets, the bombs and fire".

"Until at last the war was won,
And that's why we wear a Poppy, son".
The small boy turned as if to go
Then said, "Thanks lady, I'm glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight,
But your son - did he come home all right?"
A tear rolled down each faded cheek -
She shook her head but didn't speak.
I slunk away - head bowed in shame
And if you were with me, you'd have done the same.
For our thanks in giving is oft delayed,
Though our freedom was bought and thousands paid.

And so you see - when a Poppy is worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne
By all those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their Country's call.
That we at home in peace may live -
Then wear a Poppy - remember - and give!

By: Unknown Poet

Lest We Forget
Tuppie
I have not read this poem before it is very poignant.

Hello Tuppie. I thought I new my WW1 poetry but have not read this one before. On November 11th my family and I will be at Ploogesteert Memorial in Belgium where my Uncle Fred is commemorated, he died in 1918 aged 18 serving with the 11th East Yorks. I shall take a copy with us and display it for all to see.
Thank You.

I will be remembering my grandad.. :)

Hi.
cat631
I thought I new my WW1 poetry but have not read this one before. On November 11th my family and I will be at Ploogesteert Memorial in Belgium where my Uncle Fred is commemorated, he died in 1918 aged 18 serving with the 11th East Yorks. I shall take a copy with us and display it for all to see.
Thank You.

Please do.

Double
I Shall be at Barkers Pool sunday

So will I .........

Tuppie

Whilst on the subject of WW1 poetry, does anyone recognise this one, taken from an old autograph book, unfortuanately no signature, but possible wounded soldiers, one name among them cpl. G. McLear 8TH Canadians

The Hour of no Regrets:
A Sunday morning Reverie May 20th-21st 1916

No smile too sweet , no kiss too long ,
No fib too neat , no sip too strong ,
No costly dower of dunful debts,
Besmirch that hour of no regrets.

No blighted troth , no worthless shares ,
No speeches wroth , no vested mares ,
No soul to scorn , no boastful bets ,
Mar that brief hour of no regrets.

No trumpet rose , no nightmare shock ,
Broke bounds from 2 to 3 o’clock
No penance waits , nor sorrow frets ,
My holy hour of no regrets.

How black so’eer my past may be ,
I did no sin from 2 to 3 ,
Time in a golden circle sets ,
That jewelled hour of no regrets.

Here is a song we would sing as kids, it’s origin unknown, it was probably past down from our grand parents.

In a quaint old fashioned homestead
With roses round the door
A girl looks at a letter
That has just come from the war

With her mothers arms around her
She gave way to sobs and sighs
As she gently read that letter
And the tears rolled from her eyes

Why do I weep?
Why do I pray?
My loves asleep so far away
He gave his life that on this day
And left my heart down Suvia Bay

The film Oh What a Lovely War, has recently been released on DVD. I don't think its been available until now.

Miners

There was a whispering in my hearth,
A sigh of the coal.
Grown wistful of a former earth
It might recall.

I listened for a tale of leaves
And smothered ferns,
Frond-forests; and the low, sly lives
Before the fawns.

My fire might show steam-phantoms simmer
From Time's old cauldron,
Before the birds made nests in summer,
Or men had children.

But the coals were murmuring of their mine,
And moans down there
Of boys that slept wry sleep, and men
Writhing for air.

And I saw white bones in the cinder-shard,
Bones without number.
For many hearts with coal are charred,
And few remember.

I thought of all that worked dark pits
Of war, and died
Digging the rock where Death reputes
Peace lies indeed.

Comforted years will sit soft-chaired
In rooms of amber;
The years will stretch their hands, well-cheered
By our lifes' ember.

The centuries will burn rich loads
With which we groaned,
Whose warmth shall lull their dreaming lids,
While songs are crooned.
But they will not dream of us poor lads
Left in the ground.

Wilfred Owen (1893-1914*) *killed in action one week before WWI ended.

They shall grow not old
As we that are left grow Old
Age shall not weary them
Nor the years condemn
At the going down of the Sun
And in the morning
We will remember them
We will remember them
Lest we forget.
Amen.

is this Wilfred Owen?

remember the brave people who gave their lives in both 'world wars' every day, they fought and died for the freedoms we hold so dear freedom to live as we choose and to speak freely without fear of persecution

some of these brave souls paid the ultimate price, NEVER forget!

is this Wilfred Owen?

No, it was written by Laurence Binyon. Here's a link....

http://www.firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/binyon.htm

Do you know every evening at 9.00pm. in RSL clubs around Australia the Ode to the Fallen is read. Everyone stands and repeats the "We will remember them- Lest we forget" I have always found it very touching- Mary

Per Mare Per Terram

Per Mare Per Terram

You ex Booty then Royal??

Per Mare Per Terram

The Royal Marines' motto is Per Mare Per Terram; By Sea By Land. It is not known when this motto was adopted, but it first appeared on the caps worn by the Marines at the battle of Bunker Hill in 1775.

It is of interest that the plural of this motto Per Mare Per Terras is one of the mottoes of the MacDonalds. The son of the Jacobite heroine, Flora MacDonald, served with the Marines in the American War of Independance.

This crest is also the main component of the Royal Marines Cap/Beret badge. The Corps Crest comprises 6 elements: The Lion and Crown, Gibraltar, The Globe, The Laurels, Fouled Anchor and Per Mare Per Terram.

I will be remembering my Great Uncle Harry Eyre:

http://www.cwgc.org/search/casualty_details.aspx?casualty=1742239

He was a sheffield lad who joined up at the beggining of the war in 1914 aged 19. He was a miner. He rose through the ranks in the East Yorkshire Regiment to be a Sergeant.

He was injured twice, including bullet wounds to the neck, and returned to England to recover before going back to France.

He then applied for admission to the Officer training Corp and joined the Sherwood Foresters as a Second Leiutenant on 18th January 1918.
He was killed on or around 17th September 1918, less than two months from the end of the war.

He was a former pupil of Woodside School on Rutland Road and they had a large picture of Harry in uniform hanging in the assembly hall. The school is no longer there.

Although I, obviously, never knew him personally reading the war diaries, the heartbreaking letters from my Great Grandmother to the War Office seeking information about his where abouts made me weep unashamedly. I have a lump in my throat writing this.

So yes I will remember them.

.... On November 11th my family and I will be at Ploogesteert Memorial in Belgium where my Uncle Fred is commemorated, he died in 1918 aged 18 serving with the 11th East Yorks.

Over the past twenty five years, I have visited numerous locations in the Ieper Salient; The Somme and Verdun, having passed dozens of cemeteries whilst en route to Paris on a coach trip, and deciding to go back and explore further.

I have walked along the track leading into the forest at Ploegsteert Wood on two occasions, both in the stark silence of midwinter; and to the sound of singing birds in the total contrast of midsummer.

On both occasions, I found the experience of walking past the hundreds of shell holes either side of the track (usually filled with water) to be deeply haunting; (far more so than in other more open locations, where perhaps greater numbers of men perished).

This maybe because it is now still possible to easily imagine and reflect upon the horror which unfolded there, rather than at locations which have been partly rebuilt/landscaped.

I have a strong feeling one of my GFs was there (the London regiment with which he served suffered horrendous casualties both there and at nearby Messines.) Alas, he died when I was only a child, and as I never found his records during the two days I spent searching through all those of the same name in the microfiche archives at Kew, I suspect his were amongst the 60% destroyed in an air raid in WW2, and that I will never find out.

Cat, I sincerely hope that you and your family discover that consoling feeling of being close to your uncle, at the eleventh hour (especially if you haven’t been there before), and I hope your trip is problem free.

Shall we remember what war is?

What is war?
In the human psyche
it is the fatal flaw,
a perversion of the human mind,
using our greatest brains to create
outrageous threats to all mankind.

War is
the profoundest disrespect
for the sanctity
of human life,
the ultimate in racism,
the collapse of morality.

War is
the ultimate in criminality,
the ultimate obscenity,
the ultimate crime against humanity.

So shall we honour war?
and shall we now praise troubled men?
Or shall we remember what war is
and give true meaning
to "Never again" ?

Lest We Forget.

At 11am on the 11th November 1918, guns fell silent on the Western Front in France and Belgium ending four years of continuous war in Europe and the Middle East.

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the moment the fighting ceased has become universally associated with the remembrance of those who died in the war, the "war to end all wars".

I have been researching the men from Sheffield who gave their lives in World War One.

The result of this research, which still continues, can be found on

http://www.stannington.webitsmart.co.uk/

Please take time on Saturday, to remember the brave men, who gave the ultimate sacrifice.

They shall not grow old, as we who are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We shall remember them.

Please feel free to sign my guest book and leave your thoughts.

Kind Regards

Robert.

Wear your poppy with pride! :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

Is there a service in town on Sunday?

Mod note:

Unfortunately I've had to remove a number of posts. Please show due respect on this thread. My apologies for having to make this unwanted interlude but I won't be posting any more warnings.

Mod note:

Unfortunately I've had to remove a number of posts. Please show due respect on this thread. My apologies for having to make this unwanted interlude but I won't be posting any more warnings.

i cant believe i've just read this who would be disrespectful to people who fought and died for the rights of the people of britain and the rest of the world ????

i hope these disrespectful persons wont be able to post for a while

thank you Tony!

I don't know why my post was removed, it wasn't in any way disrespectful:confused:

I have the greatest respect for the courageous men who fought and gave their life for us, and apologies if my post offended anyone in any way, I really am not sure how it did though and it was certainly not intended:)

Although I have always had utmost respect for the soliders of World War One, ever since I studied WW1 literature at A Level, the atrocities of the war have being brought to my attention and I have become more interested in finding out as much as I can about the "great" war. I cannot begin to imagine what each soldier went through on a daily basis, and for four whole years! Trying to imagine the terror of soldiers before going over the top or the feeling of knowing your life could end at any moment is an impossible and disturbing task. Some of the things I have read upset and moved me very much, and I can assure everyone that I will be honouring the silence and encouraging everyone else to do so aswell:)

I think this poem encompasses the feelings of helplessnes and guilt felt by many soliders. The fact that it was written by a solider who experienced life in the trenches rather than someone years later who had no idea what it was truly like makes it all the more real and moving. (I realise by selecting a Wilfred Owen poem I am being extremley unoriginal!):

It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;
With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
"Strange, friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn."
"None," said the other, "Save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
But mocks the steady running of the hour,
And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something has been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
To miss the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
I would have poured my spirit without stint
But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now..."

I observed two minutes silence to mark Armistice Day at home. I have spoken to other people who were in supermarkets and Meadowhall when two minutes silence was observed. Apparently Meadowhall was quite an experience if you were there.

Well done everybody.

i was in meadowhall a couple of years ago it is very strange the whole place came to a halt people stopped and stood in complete silence there were a few people still moving but the majority stood in silence, it was very moving to see and spookly quiet in the normal bustle

In an earlier post, I referred to the seven hours or so I spent searching the archives at Kew, for my Grandfather’s army service details, to avail. Doing so, I went through all the surviving records of soldiers of the same name (George Howe).

In addition to remembering those who paid the ultimate sacrifice, my thoughts during the course of the last two days, have also been of a few soldiers of the same name, and their families.

Amongst the charred and tattered remains transferred on to and preserved on microfilm, I found the following: sobering and tear jerking documents, which I just have to share with others ( whilst recognising there is no link to Sheffield and this website);

A pitiful letter from a lady in Long Eaton, enquiring just how bad her husband (serving with the Notts & Derby Regt.)’s injuries were, as a result of being gassed.

A letter from a mother, trying to find out any details of her son being held as a P.O.W.

A telegram sent in November 1916 to a soldier from Plaistow (East London; who had probably already gone through four months of hell on the Somme), advising him that his 2 year old daughter had died of an illness.

But also documents relating to the arrest and subsequent court martial of a 30 year old man from Wandsworth (married with three children); who and was charged with being drunk and incapable after falling through the window of a chemist’s shop in Swindon, the night before being sent to France (Neuve Chappelle) in November 1915.

He was fined 4 shillings; but survived through it all, with a service record as long as your arm.
Good of you, fellow. After that, I think you are now due a pardon.

What is 2 minutes silence to us when people gave their lives! Watched the service with both sadness and pride as my step son was one of the servicemen on parade there today....extremely proud and lucky!!!!

Hello again everyone, here's as an update on the trip to France and Belgium and thanks Geocom for your good wishes. I have been to Ploogesteert, Plugstreet as the tommies called it, before and didn't anticipate any problems. Having stayed overnight in Calais, my wife and I left early to arrive at Ploogesteert Memorial for about 10.30am. where there was to be a Remembrance Service. We got to within a mile of the Memorial after a trouble free journey when we ran into it. No, not an accident, nor a traffic jam but a marathon, Ploogesteert bloody marathon would you believe? Thousands of people everywhere, roads blocked and the memorial on the start, finish straight. I should point out that Remembrance Services are held on the 11th day, not on the nearest Sunday. We eventually got there after seeing the funny side and applauding the marathon winner. After leaving our poppies and Tuppie's poem on the memorial, we did what all decent pilgrims do, went for a few beers.
Later we went to Ypres to find it well attended by ex Servicemen and women of all nationalities. The amount of wreaths and flowers at The Menin Gate was a site to see.
Thanks for listening to my little rant, we had a pleasant weekend.
PS. We found out later that the memorial service was held in the evening.

As a recent War Vet (1st Gulf War) I was at the memorial in town just after midday on Sunday. There were lots of people, of all ages and backgrounds, milling around and reading the tributes. There were a few older vets plus some young cadets in uniform. One or two, myself included, were shedding a quick tear for colleagues recalled. It was beautiful.
I have no objection to the "White Poppy" brigade, but for me the Red Poppy says it all. We remember with love, those who gave their lives, and we live in constant hope of a greater peace.
Nobody hates war more than those who are sworn to defend.

Well said Bushbaby. I too went to Barkers Pool and was pleased with the good turnout. One thing I noticed, considering we are supposed to live in a multicultural society,there were not many multiculturals present.

Hello Litlemermaid. What did you write that prompted the administrator to remove it? Perhaps you could let me Know via a PM. It is, after all, a forum.

"Please wear a Poppy", the lady said
And held one forth, but I shook my head.
Then I stopped to watch to see how she would fare -
Her face was old and lined with care,
But beneath the scars that the years had made
There remained a smile that refused to fade.

A boy came whistling down the street,
Bouncing along on carefree feet.
His smile was full of joy and fun,
"Lady", he said, "may I have one?"
As she pinned it on I heard him say
"Why do we wear a Poppy today?"

The lady smiled in her wistful way
And answered, " This is Remembrance Day.
The Poppy there is a symbol for
The gallant men who died in war,
And because they did, you and I are free.
That's why we wear a Poppy, you see!"

"I had a boy about your size,
With golden hair and big blue eyes.
He loved to play, and jump and shout -
Free as a bird he would race about.
As years went on he learned and grew
And became a man as you will too".

"He was fine and strong with a boyish smile,
But he seemed with us just a little while.
When war broke out he went away -
I still remember his face that day,
When he smiled at me and said, "Goodbye -
I'll be back soon, so please don't cry".

"But the war went on and he had to stay -
All I could do was wait and pray.
His letters told of the awful fight -
I can still see it in my dreams at night.
With tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
And mines and bullets, the bombs and fire".

"Until at last the war was won,
And that's why we wear a Poppy, son".
The small boy turned as if to go
Then said, "Thanks lady, I'm glad to know.
That sure did sound like an awful fight,
But your son - did he come home all right?"
A tear rolled down each faded cheek -
She shook her head but didn't speak.
I slunk away - head bowed in shame
And if you were with me, you'd have done the same.
For our thanks in giving is oft delayed,
Though our freedom was bought and thousands paid.

And so you see - when a Poppy is worn,
Let us reflect on the burden borne
By all those who gave their very all
When asked to answer their Country's call.
That we at home in peace may live -
Then wear a Poppy - remember - and give!

By: Unknown Poet

Lest We Forget
What a beautiful poem. I've never heard that before. Thank you for that.

I was in Meadowhall it was very strange the whole of it came to a stand still but it was very touching to see everyone stop and take those 2 minutes to think for all those who died for us

Do you know every evening at 9.00pm. in RSL clubs around Australia the Ode to the Fallen is read. Everyone stands and repeats the "We will remember them- Lest we forget" I have always found it very touching- Mary

Hi There ,which r.s.l.do you go to.I go to Currumbin.Are you any where near as we have a fogotten valley on the highway

As a recent War Vet (1st Gulf War) I was at the memorial in town just after midday on Sunday. There were lots of people, of all ages and backgrounds, milling around and reading the tributes. There were a few older vets plus some young cadets in uniform. One or two, myself included, were shedding a quick tear for colleagues recalled. It was beautiful.
I have no objection to the "White Poppy" brigade, but for me the Red Poppy says it all. We remember with love, those who gave their lives, and we live in constant hope of a greater peace.
Nobody hates war more than those who are sworn to defend.

Here is one of my favourite songs, it really makes you remember the brave people who gave their lives.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntt3wy-L8Ok

I was at a parade on sunday in all that rain and over heard a man saying i am getting wet though My reply to him was a statement made by a old comrade a few years ago

Think of all those lads and lasses that have given up there lives so that we could be here I bet they would not be complaining if they could be standing where you are today

Yes it certainly rained but not many people left.I also posted this photo on another thread that is running.http://i194.photobucket.com/albums/z76/tdterrytd/DSCF0591.jpg

MY grandfather was a prisioner in Singapore during the second WW, I will remember

Hi There ,which r.s.l.do you go to.I go to Currumbin.Are you any where near as we have a fogotten valley on the highway
We used to go to the Earlwood RSL an outer suburb of Sydney.
My Forgotten Valley is on the Hawkesbury River NSW- Wisemans Ferry .
At the moment tho' I am staying at my daughters place in Coledale.

I just can't do it properly, the last one that I went to was in Bakewell where I cried my eyes out. My Grandfather, my Uncle Alf, my Uncle Ernest, my Uncle Albert, my Uncle George and my Uncle Ron would not have liked it. I now go to somewhere very quiet, somewhere where they would have have been comfortable, I now cry my eyes out with my family, God love you lads.

And please don't call them heroes, they were just lads, they didn't all die in battle, but the carnage of the trenches sent my Uncle Alf insane, and my Uncle Ron ended up dying an alcoholic after his exploits of killing Germans for fun, when he was a young lad in the 1st Airbourne, he used his commando knife very professionally against many guys of his own age.

Just don't let it happen again, please, please, please.

Never Forget


Armistice a day of remembrance yet

for our young who died, lest we forget

or have we not known the face of war

I hear you say ‘what is it for

that Poppy, it’s old hat

I’m not going to pay for that’


Never forget we are here to day

Because young lives were there to pay

the price of death among the fields

of blood red poppies that fields do yield

Were the poppies there before the dead

Or are they for remembrance in bright bright red

hazel

Never Forget


Armistice a day of remembrance yet

for our young who died, lest we forget

or have we not known the face of war

I hear you say ‘what is it for

that Poppy, it’s old hat

I’m not going to pay for that’


Never forget we are here to day

Because young lives were there to pay

the price of death among the fields

of blood red poppies that fields do yield

Were the poppies there before the dead

Or are they for remembrance in bright bright red

hazel
Beautiful Hazel. Regards Nan.

That's lovely Hazel

I don't often like 'poetry' written recently as I find the lack of understanding about 'scanning' makes for difficult reading, but that just flows beautifully, conveying exactly the right mood with its rhythm :)

Thanks nanrobbo and Strix

I sharpened my rhyming skills on the limerick thread before I took it more seriously, so I have the forum to thank for a new talent discovered rather late in life
hazel

May I just weigh in with a comment?I was recently in hospital for an operation and during my shorts stay(5 days) was in a ward with a young ex-serviceman who had served his country with distinction, and this young man had terrible mental problems caused by having his best mate being shot dead next to him during their service together in Northern Ireland, his life is in tatters,marriage broken up,not being able to see his children, binge drinking, irrational behaviour all as a result of this trauma,his behaviour and conduct towards everyone despite all this made a very deep impression on on me as he struggles to come to terms with his life now.Thank you Paul.
Oh yes by the way I am now in touch with "Help For Heroes"