So I had four men to see today. The Pair went off to Tyne Cot and The Brooding Canadian Soldier, to my mind the finest memorial on the Front. I laid in like a Sloth. 

 Got my uniform on because I needed to honour my last four men. The Pair suggested I did five to make sure, but more to come on that. I went to the Menin Gate and left my tiny little poppy, you will see it in the above photograph; next to the trademark helmet. I left it next to the factory-made huge wreathes left earlier. Nothing wrong with them, but they were made in a factory. Mine was made with love by a friend, no idea which, but I know it was made with love and feeling. Its a tiny little poppy and that makes it special to me. 

I humped my bike up onto the ramparts and cycled round the wall to Ramparts Cemetary. Yes, Im still riding the bike. I have the people I have my little hobby job with to thank for that. One person got me into biking and she knows who she is. Thank you, because otherwise this may not have happened.  I left the poppy on a brave Northumberland Fusilier and also at the Gurkha memorial.              

I set off to find Hells Corner but found another instead, Menin Road South, and left a lovely poppy for a fine KOYLI. The Pair called so I joined them for a bijou drinkette then off for the last two men. The first was a Royal Scots Fusileer at Perth cemetary, then I trundled to Zillebeke.  I had seen 99 fine men and the last had to be special. I saw a sign for a cemetary and cycled up a snicket to find one of the most wonderful I have seen on this extraordinary journey.  I found an Unknown Soldier from the Duke of Wellingtons regiment, a tyke one at that. My first was a West Yorkshireman, and the last. I laid my last poppy at this brave mans grave, and saluted the man. He died for us. Thank you.

So that was the end. My last man. I went off and cried my bloody eyes out. 

 My mother died last September. She installed at an early age an appreciation of Second World War history. My Grandad, Raymond Bather, fought with the 51st Highland Div from El Alamein to Tripoli. My maternal Grandad, Bob Gould, was in the Territorials and was on the BEF on the retreat to Dunkirk, which is why I needed to do the wading into the sea.  My mother would have been really proud of this venture. She wouldn’t have told me. She would have told everyone else, but not me. Thats what she did. I never cried when she died. I didn’t cry when my dad died in 1996. But I cried today, a lot. I wrote a message to my wonderful sisters and brother afterwards. My other brother, Frank, went ahead a few years ago to get the place sorted for when we all joined him. So we are four now. 

This has been a wonderful, difficult and emotional voyage. I did what I set out to do. Please give to the cause if you can. I’ve earned it.

This is my Last Post. Goodbye.