Some of these poppies were and still are State-sanctioned displays of privatised-profit porcelain pieces.
These have been made into aesthetically-reflective, emotionally-evocative sections of sentiment but which are painfully harrowing for some. And which have arguably fed into the patriotic-hype having become toxically-beautiful, TV and press media promoted and presented, weaponised waterfalls of patriotic outpourings by omission; permitting us to overlook McCrae’s true sombre intent for his poppy.
He would be spinning in his grave, the walls of which, like the trenches seeped as much oil as they were steeped in blood. Because now we have in ‘poppy patriotism’ where a distinct gulf has ripped wide open and span’s time and distance; from Flanders to Gallipoli to the Falklands to Iraq – and soon Iran – each Theatre of Operations steeped in oil (or the perceived potential of it).
These profitable British landmark building-sized ceremonies have emerged to play their very own walk on part in the war by irrationalising the previously respectful sober and humbly understated meaning of the poppy; to mutate into a publicly-acceptable recruitment tool which has become drip-fed to seismically shift from the contemplative to the patriotic; from the pensive to the partisan, to result in a feeling of pride in concealed carnage-slaughter which to my mind, is about to start once again, to insatiably feed ravenously on a fresh generation of cannon-fodder drawn into the perpetual UK war-machine.
Back to the future it seems….