Poppy Incursion

Coming into the church this morning, my eye was struck by a bush in the garden which seemed to have flowered since I last looked at it. Closer examination revealed that these blooms were red wool made to look like poppies, hung on the bush from ribbons. Some were accompanied by laminated notes asking whoever might come across them to 'respect these signs of remembrance for the fallen in war', leaving them where they are.

My first response, to be honest, was annoyance. Nobody had asked us whether they could put them there. We manage the churchyard as a garden open to the public, but it's not a public space. And even if it was a public space, there's something objectionable about someone coming in and claiming a space they only own collectively with others for something they may think is important, which is just one of the reasons one might not like national flags being strung up from lampposts. Who do you think you are? Somehow the little notices feel more hectoring than had the poppies been left there with no explanation at all.

The person responsible may not feel that, though, I reflected. They may not be very conscious of how the garden is organised. They may not be intending to challenge anyone but just, indeed, remember the dead: crochet would be a pretty odd medium for a misguided 'patriot' to adopt. I wonder whether we will ever find out who they are. The weather is set to be relatively fair for a while, so the poppies are probably not going to end up offensively bedraggled: I will leave them there until Armistice Day and see whether anyone claims them thereafter.