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It’s astonishing that John Swinney still doesn’t see how disrespectful it was to post about a Sikh festival during the two-minute silence. Was this decision made by someone who was ill-informed or was it an intentional snub to those who have served in our armed forces?
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A message sent to @GlasgowCC from Scot’s Afghanastan veteran society
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Sadly, the last known surviving WW2 veteran of the SAS, Matthew "Matt/Jock" Mackinnon-Pattison died on Thursday 5th November aged 102years. We remember Matthew. Here is a summary of Matthew's wartime service. Please share widely: Matt MacKinnon Pattison was among hundreds of thousands of Allied soldiers who fought Germans in Italy in the spring of 1944.
Sometimes remembered as the "D-Day Dodgers", in reference to their role away from Normandy, men in Italy faced brutal conditions as they battled to take Monte Cassino and dislodge enemy soldiers.
"We came back from Italy having flogged ourselves to pieces, nervous wrecks, and people say 'where were you on D-Day?'" said Matt, from Penrith, Cumbria.
"We just say we were busy bloody well fighting."
British Prime Minister Winston Churchill thought of Italy as the "soft underbelly" of Nazi-dominated Europe, but the campaign there proved difficult and costly.
With perhaps typical military irony, the men in Italy adopted the "D-Day Dodgers" moniker, even creating a song to the tune of Lili Marleen, a famous wartime melody.
"We are the D-Day Dodgers in sunny Italy," rang the chorus.
But this was no sojourn in the sun and the Allied forces knew it.
Enemy soldiers were dug in on defensive lines across the country, and at Monte Cassino it took four separate attacks from US, British, Polish and Commonwealth forces to destroy and take the hilltop monastery.
Matt still has razor-sharp memories of the battles he fought, and the comrades he lost.
He fled agricultural service in Kilmarnock as a teenager to get to Glasgow to enlist as an infantryman before ending up "right in the forefront" of the battle for Monte Cassino.
Advancing up the slopes amid the fog of deadly artillery bomb blasts and the continual crackle of gunfire, the soldier saw many of his comrades fall.
But, he said, there was no time to be frightened.
"You don’t look upon it as bravery, you just look at it as part of your life," he told the BBC.
"When the officers told you to advance, that was what you had to do.
"Every battle is the same. You get pounded to death, whether it was Normandy, Burma or anywhere."
Matt was recruited for the SAS after being injured and taken to a Naples hospital to recover.
From 100 candidates, he was just one of 10 that made it. He was dropped behind enemy lines near Genoa, tasked with finding Italian dictator Mussolini who by then had been captured by partisans.
Once the war was over, he was sent to Germany as part of the War Crimes Unit to find Nazi suspects who had executed captured members of the SAS.
There, he said, he saw a broken nation, but people "just like us".
Eight decades on, he can clearly recall the claustrophobic horror of war, from German soldiers playing dead to entice Allied soldiers into shooting range, to landmines and enormous loss.
"I lost a lot of my mates, especially one called Ginger," he said.
"And when he died he was sitting in a trench with his head down. There was a smile on his face."
"Still a smile on his face that marked the place where he and his maker met.
"And that was Ginger. He was a good lad."
Dodging D-Day was no pass, and so many thousands paid the ultimate price in Italy.
In his flat, Matt still has his SAS beret, his medals and his memories.
He also has his nation’s thanks.
(Source: bbc.co.uk/news/articles/ce99…)
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Lest we forget.
Every year, when the poppies appear, we pause.
Not because the war is distant history, but because the cost remains present. The young men who went into the mud of Flanders, the Somme, Gallipoli, and a hundred other places knew they might not return.
Many did not.
The red poppy became their quiet emblem — not of glory, but of blood spilled in fields that would never be the same.
It grew among the graves and the shell holes, a living reminder that even after the guns fell silent, the earth still held what we had lost.
We remember the soldiers who stood in the trenches, the sailors who never saw home again, the airmen who fell from the sky, and all who served in every conflict since.
We remember the families who waited, the letters that stopped coming, and the empty chairs that never filled.
The Union Jack behind this soldier is not just a flag.
It is the standard under which so many answered the call, believing that some things are worth defending even at the highest price.
Their courage did not end the world’s conflicts, but it bought the freedom we still live under today.
So we wear the poppy.
We stand in silence.
We say the names, even when we do not know them all.
Lest we forget.
We will remember them.🫡🇬🇧
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In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— John McCrae🫡🇬🇧
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In the early ’90s I was an 18-year-old student in London, staying in a hostel near Bayswater and taking the Tube to class every day. One morning I noticed almost everyone on the street wearing a little red flower on their lapel. I had no idea what it meant. I asked the landlady who ran the hostel. She quietly explained it was the poppy, worn each November to remember the men and women who served and died in war, and she handed me one to pin on my jacket.
That small moment stayed with me. Years later the same symbol still carries the same weight:
They marched towards the trenches of the First World War. They climbed aboard bombers in the Second. They sailed thousands of miles to the Falklands. And generations later, British servicemen and women answered the call in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Different wars. Different generations. The same heartbreak.
Behind every uniform was a son, a daughter, a husband, a wife, a father, a mother, a brother, a sister or a friend. Some came home. Others never saw their loved ones again.
From the rows of military headstones to the silent repatriations through Wootton Bassett, the true cost of war is measured not only in lives lost, but in the families and futures forever changed.
This Remembrance, we honour those who gave their lives, those who served, and those who returned carrying the scars.
Wear your poppy with pride.
Lest We Forget. 🌺
#LestWeForget #Remembrance #Poppy #WeWillRememberThem
Footage credit : History the whose came before on Instagram
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A new sign has been erected at Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne’s statue, in Newtownards. Please share if you agree!
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First pics: Daylight breaks over the scene of devastating fire ift.tt/8fn7boc
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Take a look back at old photo of Greenock which shows difference after five decades ift.tt/DadXYEI
Today Iain White Creative Leadership Ltd ceases operations. It has been great fun working with young people and their teachers in the quest for improvement. Good luck to all my customers and clients. Frasier has left the building…
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Greenock drugs gang boss who 'made £1m' from crime agrees to hand over £20k Rolex ift.tt/oAsuqXY
Another beautiful morning for a walk - this time on Greenock Esplanade @greenocktele @inverclyde
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Autumnal view of Parklea Bowling Club, Port Glasgow. @greenocktele @inverclyde

























