It’s been a day of watching the seasonal weather on Unst. Winter at 10 o’clock, spring at 11, Summer by noon and autumn in the early afternoon before reverting to winter again.

After fierce winds rattling the house, suddenly midday today the air went still. Baltasound smoothed over. The generators stopped turning and it was time to venture out for a short walk.

As often happens at this time of year, the fields are full of geese. They come in droves to escape, I presume, the harsher conditions further north.

I have been writing an article about the centenary of the famous poem Flanders’ Field that gave us the poppy as the symbol of remembrance. Previously the poppy had had a rather different image. It was a camp, effete flower on the one hand, mocked by W S Gilbert in Patience, but also the deadly friend of the opium addict.

Now it is worn to honour those killed fighting in the poppy field of Afghanistan. A curious irony. In the First World War the poppy was the first flower to return to the battle fields after they had been churned up and they not only symbolised new life returning, but seen from afar in profusion, they made the fields look blood red.