A few years ago, in a Harvest issue, we published a poem about Poppies. We
recently received an email from a Ruth Pattinson about the poem. When we
originally included the poem, we checked on Google to see who the author might
be and all results returned as 'unknown'.
The email stated that the author was in fact her grandfather, Col. John F.
Willcocks OBE and that the poem had been stolen, plagiarized and distributed.
Ruth also said that if I could remove the poem from the web, she would be happy
to send us the correct version and some history about the author.
Fortunately, we could do as she wished and were still able to remove the poem
from our Magazine website.
Below, we publish the correct information about the poem and the author, and the
original version of the poem below. The poppies picture is supplied
by Ruth.
Col. John F. Willcocks OBE was a wonderful man and served in WW2 in the Army
as part of the Gunners, in fact the Chestnut troop. He lived with his wife in Froyle, Hants for around 50 years where they raised their two children, my dad
Timothy and Aunt, Penny. They were always a big part of village community. He
loved writing, particularly poetry, mostly just for fun. He had a particular
interest in heraldry as well, he co-wrote a book titled 'Heraldry for
Embroiderers'. He loved nature and enjoyed the countryside.
My aunt strongly believes that my grandfather wrote this poem toward the end of
his life while reflecting on his own life, referring to himself as the young boy
who had lost his father due to being gassed in WW1. His father, my great
grandfather was Harold Willcocks and died at the young age of 29.
I hope this gives you a very brief insight into the author of this very well
known poem, though very few know the background of it. Please enjoy it and share
it as it is.
Very kind regards, Ruth Pattinson (was Willcocks)
POPPIES
Why are they selling poppies, mother?
Selling poppies in town today?
The poppy, my child, is flower of love
for the men, who marched away.
Why did they choose a poppy, mother?
Why not a beautiful rose?
Because, my child, men fought and died
in the fields, where the poppy grows.
But why is the poppy so red?
Red is the colour of blood, my child,
the blood that our soldiers shed.
The heart of the poppy is black, mother.
Why does it have to be black?
Black is the symbol of grief, my child,
for the men, who never came back.
But why, mother dear, are you crying so?
Your tears are like winter rain.
My tears are my fears for you, my child,
for the world is forgetting again
J.F. Willcocks - 2004
UPDATE
We received this brief thank you from Ruth
Pattinson thanking us for including the explanation in our church magazine.
Thank you so much for this recognition and
sharing it with me, it really means a great deal. I'm about to forward this
to my dad and aunt, who I know will also be very pleased.
Col. John F. Willcocks OBE was a wonderful man and served in WW2 in the Army
as part of the Gunners, in fact the Chestnut troop. He lived with his wife in Froyle, Hants for around 50 years where they raised their two children, my dad
Timothy and Aunt, Penny. They were always a big part of village community. He
loved writing, particularly poetry, mostly just for fun. He had a particular
interest in heraldry as well, he co-wrote a book titled 'Heraldry for
Embroiderers'. He loved nature and enjoyed the countryside. 
