REMEMBER Martin Hannan.

I am writing this on the afternoon of the 100th anniversary of the end of the war which absolutely did not end all wars.

As usual, I briefly watched the coverage of the Remembrance Sunday events at the Cenotaph in London. The military band played Elgar’s haunting Nimrod and I managed to hold back the tears as I contemplated the sheer unadulterated misery that war wreaks upon humanity. I wailed into my mind the unanswerable question – why?

Uniquely, this column does not just address a single club, but a tiny minority of supporters of that club, Celtic FC. I am so glad that the minute’s silence at Livingston was observed yesterday, but what a pity that the club had to beg that small minority not to disfigure the commemoration. It is to those people that I address some remarks about history.

Remember Martin Hannan.

He was a Scot of Irish extraction. Like so many young men in Scotland he joined up to do his bit for his country in 1914 and paid with his health as he was gassed on the Western Front where his father Thomas was killed in February, 1915. Martin’s poisoning by gas eventually led him to become bedridden but he managed to sire five children and in turn they had plenty of children, the whole family’s footballing loyalty being to Celtic.

Unlike some other press and media people, I have never denied my club allegiance. The first professional football match I ever saw was Jock Stein’s first home match as Celtic manager – he was a friend of my grandfather, John Caulfield, who was also a war veteran, in his case of the Second World War. He performed heroic service driving a makeshift ambulance during the Clydebank Blitz going back and forth into the town to rescue casualties even as the bombs fell. He never ever spoke about it.

I am the wee boy who grew up a Celtic supporter largely because of my grandfathers, both of them soldiers in the British Army, and that is why I get so angry with those Celtic ‘fans’ who sing about “stick your f******g poppy up your arse”.

I will never deplore them as Plastic Paddies but I will strongly suggest that these people need to examine objectively the history they misguidedly claim to possess. If you know that Celtic history, singing about your support for the IRA and displaying your hatred of the poppy is just so wrong.

If you don’t believe me, find out about Michael Davitt, the Irish land reformer who was invited to lay the centre spot at Celtic Park in 1892. Very conscious and proud of their identity as a Scottish club with Irish antecedents, Celtic’s committee deliberately chose Davitt for the task because he was an Irish patriot who had renounced violence.

During the First World War, the players of many Scottish clubs volunteered to fight, including the entire first team of Hearts in McCrae’s Battalion into which players and supporters from Hibs, Raith Rovers, Falkirk, East Fife, Dunfermline Athletic and St Bernard’s also enlisted. Celtic, Rangers, Hearts, Hibs, Partick Thistle, Queen’s Park, Kilmarnock, St Mirren, Dundee, Ayr United, Clyde, Albion Rovers, Third Lanark, Airdrieonians, Hamilton Accies, Aberdeen, Dumbarton, Motherwell, and Morton all had players or former players killed in that war.

One club had a former player win the Victoria Cross. His name was Willie Angus. He received 40 wounds, including the loss of his left eye, when he rescued a fellow solder from no man’s land. Angus played for Celtic. The club’s first great manager, Willie Maley, personally escorted Angus onto the turf at Parkhead where he received a thunderous ovation, which he also got at Ibrox.

Now I totally deplore those who see the poppy as some sort of unifying force for the UK and shamefully use Remembrance Sunday to promote some sort of ersatz Britishness. But the poppy is not about glorifying war, it’s about remembering the fallen.

I am fully aware that the British Army did terrible things in Ireland. But that does not give people the right to denigrate the poppy or mar a minute’s silence. As I have shown above, such activities are not part of Celtic’s culture and history.

Here’s my reason for remembering. I never knew Martin Hannan because he died before I was born. A Celtic man through and through, a British soldier and a victim of the First World War, his suffering and the sacrifice of millions like him in both world wars enabled us to live in freedom and be a fan of whatever club you support.

Remember Martin Hannan. He was my grandfather. I am named after him and am very, very proud to be his grandson.