I wore my poppy with pride.

Yesterday was Armistice Day.

Along with many other people, I stopped work at 11am and stood for two minutes in silence remembering the atrocities of war and the valour of the young men and women who to this day continue to lay down their lives in the service of their country to preserve the safety, security and democratic rights of millions.

This year, I have been sickened by the very vocal objections to this commemoration by those who only have the right to voice their opinions because of the brave individuals who have fought for them. “It’s terrible” they opine “that you are celebrating war, which is a bad thing”.

That statement could be seen to be a moot point, of course. War may, in some circumstances, be the right thing to do. Was it right for instance, that Adolf Hitler be allowed to hasten his relentless march across Africa and Europe by invading and oppressing native peoples and quashing the diversity of mankind in his pursuit of the Aryan Dream? Of course it wasn’t, and in the end there was no option but to use military force to stop him. Is it ever right that one race try to enslave another or threaten its survival by sheer brute force and impose its beliefs and views upon others? Of course not! Believe what you like – believe little green men live on Mars if you like or believe that eating meat is sinful – but don’t try and impose your belief on me at the expense of my own. There is no situation, in terms of beliefs, where yours are right and mine are wrong. We are just different.

But the main issue is that they have missed the point of 11th November. It’s not about celebrating or glorifying war at all. It’s about remembering the best of the human character – bravery, dignity, sacrifice and friendship - and how our society is able to be what it is today because of it. It is about remembering the atrocity that is war, why it is sometimes necessary and providing a dignified means to show respect for those we have lost as a result.

Over the weekend I watched both the Royal British Legion Festival of Remembrance from the Royal Albert Hall and also the Sunday morning service at the Cenotaph. It always touches me that the veterans exhibit such pride in attending and I can imagine them as young men, full of bravado and outwardly confident, quaking inside at the prospect of going into war but doing it anyway not because they had been ordered to do so, but because they believed it was right. At the Albert Hall, the real tear jerker is the parade of war widows and orphans, people that have lost someone especially dear to them, and how they take such pride in wearing their late husband’s / boyfriend’s medals. I cry every time.

On a slightly more populist note, who hasn’t watched the final episode of the World War I Blackadder series and been touched by it.

I have no problem with someone not sharing my view that 11th November is something to commemorate (and I use the word ‘commemorate’, not ‘celebrate’) but I do have a problem with them trying to force others not to do so or rubbishing other perspectives about it. I also have a problem with them not recognising the amazing work done by charities such as the Royal British Legion or Help for Heroes, and how important it is. And I also have a problem with them trying to destroy the symbolism of the red poppy, surely the most potent and relevant symbol of remembrance there could possibly be and one which came about through a natural event in a very special place.

And so we come full circle. The objectors are able to say what they say because someone else has laid down his life and fought for his belief in a free world. It’s tragic that they can’t recognise that.