One day during the last week of October I was walking along the South Downs Way, above the tiny Shepherd's church at Didling, and the villages of Bepton and Cocking in West Sussex, admiring the view of wooded Weald and patchwork farmland stretching into the distance towards the blue shadows of Black Down, the highest point in Sussex. It was a cold and windy day, feeling very much as though winter had arrived. There were countless pheasants in the field margins and old-man's-beard shining silver in the hedgerows. Overhead, buzzards soared on thermals which they shared with gliders that glinted in the sun, whilst walkers and cyclists passed by me along the track. I wonder how many saw the clump of scarlet poppies growing on the bank, their tissue paper petals buffeted by the wind? I wonder how many paused to think of the remembrance day to come, and of fallen soldiers of both long ago and recent times? I saw. I stopped. I remembered. On 11th November, I hope you will remember too.