MY grandad joined the Navy at 18, yet it wasn’t until his eighties, in his last few years, that he opened up about his wartime experiences.

And every Remembrance Day, I’m reminded of the one story that haunted him and continues to haunt me.

As a baby-faced 19-year-old from Garngad, he landed on the Normandy beaches on D-Day “plus one”, under orders to get bedded in somewhere safe. He spotted a secure-looking house in the distance, and as the landing craft beached he ran towards it: in his own words, “took tae his heels and ran hell fur leather”.

Arriving there, he burst in and bolted up the stairs without a thought for anything but safety. There, he came face-to-face with a young soldier, identical in all respects but for his German uniform. They stared at each other for only seconds; a mutual fear in their eyes. The terrified man thrust a small object into my granda’s hand, and ran off at full pelt. When my granda opened his hand, it contained the man’s wedding ring.

He never knew what became of the German soldier.

My granda had seen the liberation of Berlin, but he’d also seen things no one should ever have to see. He’d seen men “do things they should never have to do”. For my grandfather, there was no glory in war. There were vulnerable, impressionable youths on both sides, with sweethearts and families waiting anxiously for news of them, as their leaders plotted their schemes. He never took part in a Remembrance Day parade. He had nothing to do with the British Legion.

He kept no friends from his Navy days. The positive things he took from the war were the NHS and the welfare state we won afterwards, which allowed his children to survive curable diseases and go into further education – rights that had been denied to his own siblings.

Other veterans of that generation have objected to the use of the poppy and Remembrance Day to “glorify war” and justify modern conflicts. For many, the use of the poppy by politicians to validate the UK’s current follies in the Middle East or vindicate the “war on terror” is too much to bear.

In that context, I don’t think my granda would thank me for remembering him with a red poppy. So I’ve never worn one as an adult, and I’m not going to start now.

I don’t judge poppy-wearers. I have no doubt that most of those who wear the poppy are decent people who believe, rightly or wrongly, that they’re honouring those who fought fascism and oppression in the name of a free society.

So let me make my point clear: I’m not against the voluntary act of wearing poppies, or any act of remembrance for the victims of war.

However, what I do oppose is “compulsory poppyism”, a ruthless and intolerant ideology imposed by a dedicated and vocal pro-poppy minority. This group wants to impose a compulsory participation in a national ritual that nobody who wants any influence in society can avoid.

Compulsory poppyism isn’t always organised. It nonetheless commands a significant lobbying power, especially in the media, and it uses the power of a gesture to silence criticism of British military history. Anyone wishing to command influence in any part of our society is expected to abide by its rules, with the risk of banishment for those who don’t conform. Since the act itself is small and superficial, most tend to go along with it. Jeremy Corbyn, a long-time white poppy-wearer and a man for whom I have great respect, has become the latest to be forced to bow down to the lobby.

The pro-poppy lobby like to pretend the act is voluntary. This means that anyone who criticises the ideology looks as if they are criticising every good-hearted individual who chooses to pin one to their breast. But that’s the problem. The wave of criticism I will no doubt face for writing this piece simply serves to highlight the point: it’s not really “voluntary” – any more than bowing to Queen, or the American act of pledging allegiance to the flag. If you want influence in business, politics or even sport, you don’t want to be ostracised as unpatriotic.

SO obviously it would be easier for me to say nothing, and just wear it. But I think the topic needs healthy debate. So let me be clear again, I’m not against poppy-wearers. I’m against compulsory poppyism and the pro-poppy lobby who impose it.

When, for instance, a mid-level English Premiership footballer like James McClean won’t wear a poppy, tabloids almost encourage fans to racially abuse him; when he receives death threats there’s no criticism or sanction. McClean, firstly, is a footballer, not a statesman. Second, he is Irish, not British. True, he grew up in an area, Derry, that technically belongs to the United Kingdom. But for most people in Derry, the British armed forces doesn’t mean fighting fascism, it means killing unarmed civil rights protesters.

McClean specifically says he would wear the poppy if it only commemorated the First and Second World Wars. But it doesn’t. It also commemorates policing of Derry and the repeated violation of other nations’ sovereignty. Surely we can all agree it’s perfectly reasonable for James McClean not to wear the poppy jersey? Those who throw the most mud at him want to celebrate everything to do with the British armed forces. But they want to smear those who won’t conform to their narrative of history as being “unwilling” to memorialise the brave stand against fascism.

For me, McClean is not being disrespectful. I don’t conflate ordinary poppy wearers with (Scottish) “Butcher” General Haig, the ultimate villain of the BBC’s tragic Blackadder Goes Forth. Haig, commemorated in name by the poppy appeal, helped impose the muddy, pointless death of trench warfare and deserves no honour in death. By the same token then, those who refuse to wear it shouldn’t be attacked for a legitimate choice.

The compulsory poppyists claim it’s about remembrance, but often it’s about the opposite: compulsory forgetting. My granda’s experience is forgotten. Anti-war opponents of the First World War, jailed for their pacifist beliefs, are forgotten. The anti-fascist activities that Britain’s leaders deeply disapproved of, from Spanish republicans to Greek partisans, are forgotten. Victims of British colonialism and the slave trade are forgotten. Forget them all, and honour General Haig: such is the message of the compulsory poppyism, and that’s what I oppose.

I’m sure most wearing poppies this month are doing so for the right reasons. Above all, to commemorate the post-war welfare state that was our grandparents’ reward for their sacrifice. Ironically enough, the pro-poppy lobby always seem to be the first who want to condemn these small post-war decencies to the fire.

This year, I’ll wear a white poppy – not because I think I’m morally superior or have a more righteous view. It’s simply my own way of remembering my granda, his generation, and all the victims of war, be it soldiers or economic conscripts from home, or civilian fatalities abroad. I don’t want another generation to be haunted by the experience of war like previous ones have been. So,

My final message is this: wear a red poppy if you want to, but let’s remember there’s honour on both sides of this debate.