The last of the tomatoes

I've remembered my grandad who served in WW1 today and the thousands of others who served in WW1 and WW2. None of what I reflect on here is intended to diminish their sacrifice.

I've also thought of the families who's men and boys refused to go to war. I hope they're remembered for their bravery in daring to have different beliefs and views. We need different voices to moderate and to help us keep our humanity.

During WW1 the brutality inflicted on those men is a stain we need to acknowledge.

I've thought too of the man my Dad and his sister called Uncle Tom. He served in WW1 with my grandad. He returned from war a broken man and never recovered. When he wasn't in an asylum he often stayed with the Pearces.

Then Uncle Tom disappeared. He'd committed suicide.

I've recalled the old men who by day drunk out of brown paper bags in Latimer Square and at night went to the City Mission shelter. My friend worked with them. Each one broken in WW1 and never again able to function in life giving ways.

I wonder what the descendents of Mum's teacher Mr Larson think today. Mr Larson was a brilliant and engaging teacher who instilled in his class a love of learning. He was a pacifist in WW2 and he left a deep impression on Mum. Because he was a pacifist he was removed from teaching.

Mr Larson was sent to a camp in Wellington and made to work in a factory. I was 8 years old when he returned to a school reunion and met up with Mum and her friends, at last able to explain what had happened.

No white cross or red poppy for any of these men. But we should remember them.

There are no winners in war.

Today's gratitude: For being able to come together in peace and grateful thanks.