This afternoon we will go along with others, to the village hall for tea, cake and shared memories, and I remember fondly my Uncle Coyte . A kind man who survived the second world war in the Artillery. He didn’t speak about it , nor that he had lost his Father in WW1 in Gaza. I was lucky to have known him and shared time with him when I was small. His jumper pocket was always full of salted peanuts, and he would share a silly joke with me, as we watched the ducks and swan’s swim by on the river beside the family house .

In more recent years I was given his old note book and diary, reading some of the small pages I was reminded of his tender poetry , and rather understated descriptions of the day, while posted far from home.

It was some years ago that I made a series of Ex Votive paintings including this one, in which I remembered and gave thanks to those lost to war, and for dear Uncle Coyte .