Lest we forget (letter

It’s sometimes difficult, I know, with the Maltese to know what’s cynicism, what’s sarcasm, what’s pig-headedness and what’s somebody having a bit of a laugh.

But here’s the thing.

I have been a member of the (Royal) British Legion for more than half a century and, like many people here, wear a poppy from the beginning of November until Remembrance Day, on the eleventh.

Knowing (or maybe guessing) this, the Legion sent me 20 poppies on October 18 in the hope that I could sell them among friends for its charity.

Now, I write this just after 11am on the 11th and it will come as no surprise to many that they haven’t arrived yet.

The poppies (no pins, because that would be dangerous in an envelope) were entrusted to the Royal Mail in England and then to MaltaPost at this end.

But nowadays, there’s Brexit (I know: it’s our own silly fault) and so there is the element of surprise known as Customs Malta.

Is the package a gift? – Well, sort of.

Does it have a value? – No, not at this stage in its journey.

Is there duty on imported paper poppies? – Who knows? We’ve never had them before.

What about VAT? – Oh, for goodness sake!

Can I remind the passionate obstructionists in Maltese officialdom that, where Remembrance Day poppies are concerned, we were all on the same side?

The British Legion is still (yes, still) supporting survivors of the Second World War, as well as victims from later conflicts fought (at least in theory) towards a better world for all.

Some charities I know have more money than they can spend, but the Legion doesn’t. It supports, and finds work, for disadvantaged ex-servicemen and women, regardless of nationality.

But that’s not even the main point of the poppies, which is to remember the dead who fought and fell to protect our freedom. Their surviving comrades ask for two minutes’ silence, once a year, to show our respect for them.

As it happens, I have been there. I don’t need to be reminded to remember them. During the Northern Ireland ‘troubles’ I suffered from funeral fatigue – six burials of friends in a fortnight.

I spent my two minutes at 11 am last Thursday looking forlornly at my letterbox and wondering who thought of delaying the (Royal) mail and depriving a worthy charity of maybe a hundred quid.

I hope they feel better for it. I feel only sadness for them.