This is more for Blue Monkey, Bresslaw, Pooliekev and anyone else who own a medal or two.

I'm taking my little lad to the parade in Nottingham on Sunday, do you reckon its the correct etiquette for him to wear my miniatures? He's 8 by the way. You know how it is, wearing medals is a funny business when they're not yours. That said anyone who complains will get a round of sod offs from me!

They're your medals, you've earned the right to do whatever you think is right with them.

Go for it, why not?

There was a very touching poem in the letters page of the mail on Monday night about Poopy's if anyone can post it on here

What are your medals for MrI ?

Did it explain where white ones come from?

I had to buy my daughter who is 12 a white poppy as she has been filled with anti war feelings by her school, the thing is it cost me 3.55 as I had to get them online as no one near here sells them and it came in a pack of 3.

Mr I, let your son wear your miniature medals with pride, you won them and it's your decision to make, I can't see any vets getting upset over a bairn showing pride of his Dads achievements.

They too busy worrying about cruelty to animals

Animals suck.



I've got the videos and Mr PK has the scars.

I have already passed my medals on, they weren't mine they were symbolic, until you get to George/Victoria Cross level or MM. Yes, let him wear them on his Dad's and his Dad's mates behalf who can't be there. He might pass the stories on and that can only be a good thing.

LITTLE BOY SOLDIERS - The Jam
Its funny how you never knew what my name was,
Our only contact was a form for the election.
These days I find that you don't listen,
These days I find that we're out of touch,
These days I find that I'm too busy,
So why the attention now you want my assistance -
what have you done for me?

You've gone and got yourself in trouble,
Now you want me to help you out.
These days I find that I can't be bothered,
These days I find that its all too much,
To pick up a gun and shoot a stranger,
But I've got no choice so here I come - war games.

I'm up on the hills playing little boy soldiers,
Reconnaissance duty up at 5:30.
Shoot shoot shoot and kill the natives,
You're one of us and we love you for that.
Think of honour, Queen and country.
You're a blessed son of the British Empire,
God's on our side and so is Washington.
Come out on the hills with the little boy soldiers.
Come on outside - I'll sing you a lullabye,
And tell the tale of how goodness prevailed.
We ruled the world - we killed and robbed,
The fucking lot - but we don't feel bad.
It was done beneath the flag of democracy,
You'll believe - and I do, yes I do - yes I do -
Yes I do -
These days I find that I can't be bothered,
To argue with them - well, what's the point?
Better to take your shots and drop down dead,
then they send you home in a pine overcoat.
With a letter to your mum
Saying 'find enclosed one son, one medal'
- and a note to say he won.

Unfortunately there is a flip side to that coin. Veterans are there 365 days a year not only on the 11th November. For example, the streets of London are paved with homeless veterans who have been abandoned by the country. Deaths from suicides caused by PTSD often outnumber the casualties of combat.

The Falklands for instance; 255 killed in the fighting, suicides to date since the war 26 years ago, 328.


I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!