My late grandfather who fought in the trenches and slept in the mud with rats running over him. The grandfather who survived the Battle of the Somme and became battle hardened to the sight of dead comrades. The grandfather who met his brother, by chance, coming off the line as he was moving forward snd whose commander allowed them one precious day together before they fought again. The grandfather who wasn’t even born in England but arrived as a babe in arms from Odessa (we hear that name today in yet another futile, bloody conflict) and signed up to fight for his adopted country. The grandfather who I should have honoured but did not, unaware of his unvoiced pain as he sat, smoking his Senior Service cigarettes, putting small each way bets on the afternoon races and burying those horrific memories. I hope that my brother and I brought him pleasure and some comfort. He and all his comrades deserved so much more. I remember……