My poppy was a birthday present from my son Richard. Richard knew how much the WW1 meant to me. My mothers brother Harry was killed on her third birthday in 1918. He was aged 19. We have been to visit his grave a number of times and on this occasion, shown in the photograph, we were there with my cousin, Mick and his wife, who now live in Minnneapolis, my daughter and son in law, our grandson Jack and me Christine with my husband Graham. Jack is planting bulbs for uncle Harry. My mother often spoke of her brave soldier brother and it was for her we made the pilgrimage. Mick wanted to make the pilgrimage on behalf of his late father Walter, Harry’s younger brother. My poppy sits in the conservatory standing proudly in honour of Harry Hutson, North Staffordshire Regiment 15th April 1981 aged 19 and buried in France. Thy will be done, forever remembered.

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