The fallen are far from forgotten.

I called my Mum today. She was dressed in black, with an impressive array of poppies pinned to her chest. 

It is Remembrance Day, commemorating the armistice that ended the first World War in 1918 and now stands as a solemn tribute to the courageous men and women who make the ultimate sacrifice in the line of duty. 

She reminisced with me, reminding me of her mother's official posting to the South-East Asia Command, an appointment welcomed most by my grandfather who was already in Burma trying to reverse the gains made by the Japanese.

The journey was long and arduous. On the train from Calcutta to Rangoon, my grandmother wrote that it was so crowded in the carriage there was nowhere to stand, let alone sit, so she had swung herself up into the luggage rack and slept ‘surprisingly’ well.