Robbie Savage’s mum Val on why this year’s Poppy appeal means more than ever

This year’s poppy appeal might suffer since so few of us are out and about buying poppies from street vendors and shop tills.

Remembering those who fought for us is more important than ever. Because while we have so many restrictions, we are a tiny step closer to understanding how hard life was for people living under wartime conditions.

But we don’t really know the meaning of a tough life compared to theirs.

I imagine the women left behind as their lads left home to fight for us and how they struggled. I think of my dad who rarely spoke about his Second World War service or 18 months as a PoW. But his silent tears for lost comrades during every Christmas dinner said it all.

I buy a poppy cross for dad’s grave each year. And I feel sad that this year, no one will see the poppy proudly pinned to my anorak because like so many others I can’t leave the house.

That’s why I’m supporting the Mirror’s Remembrance Sunday campaign and will be standing on my doorstep for a two-minute silence outside my house outside at 11am on November 8.

And wouldn’t it be lovely if we all had poppies in our windows just like we did with our NHS rainbows? It would be so moving and respectful to remind amazing people, like Captain Sir Tom Moore, that we remember, respect and appreciate them.

Now that Wales has gone into complete lockdown again, I’m reminded how little things pick me up each day.

People phoning unexpectedly to ask how I am instantly lifts me. Face timing my grandsons and Saturday doorstep chats with my granddaughter who delivers my shopping keep me going.

If ever my spirits are down, I turn my favourite music up. Within the first few bars I’m transported back to dance hall days, am flooded with happy memories and break into a huge smile.

Watching documentaries always teaches me something new about the world. This week I saw one about Motown, and how it brought black and white people together. Music can heal, and we all have it at our fingertips.

I’m appreciating nice food more than ever. Whenever I miss going out to pubs for a carvery, I’m reminded that the weekly Sunday dinners my neighbour Nia leaves me on a tray are nicer than any I could buy in a pub. And my friend Sheila dropping off a pan of stew means so much.

We’re also being warned to follow Covid rules to protect Christmas, but I’m already preparing myself for having to spend it on my own.

That doesn’t make me sad because it’s not the end of the world. I spend each alternate year with my sons Jonathan and Robert, and this year I’m due to be at Robert’s house.

But if I can’t go, I’ll be fine. I’m lucky because I can FaceTime my family, Jonathan’s wife Kim will bring me dinner and I’ll spend all day in my jimjams. Being together is fantastic, but all of us being healthy is vital.

When there are people on ventilators fighting for their life, we need to remember that Christmas on our own isn't the end of the world.

I’m determined not to turn into a couch potato during extra-long lockdown. So after exercising my arms to Queen’s Radio Gaga, I launched into a wild performance of Tina Turner’s Nutbush City Limits.

I was always in awe of her moves and years ago re-watched a video of her live show until I had every head flick and kick just right.

But it turns out when you do Tina Turner moves on two sticks it’s dangerous. I threw my shoulder out.

So this week I transformed back to Freddie Mercury and did all his moves from the I Want to Break Free video while doing the Hoovering.

I reckon I was a pretty good dancer back in the day. And I thought I had a nice voice until I watched a recording Robbie made of me and realised I was awful. It doesn’t stop me bursting into song whenever I can though.

My late husband Colin thought he had a good voice after a couple of pints. He used to sing Tony Bennett’s I Left My Heart in San Francisco, shut his eyes and really get lost in the song. God love him.

He enjoyed himself so much I never told him he had a terrible voice too.

I was naggy all week waiting for the return of Strictly. Counting down the minutes to the famous theme tune, Robbie phoned to say it was time to call his radio show to give my weekend football predictions.

I love Robbie’s BBC Five Live show and have to put my son above Strictly. So I set the telly to record and phoned in my scores - even though Chris Sutton in the studio laughed at my predictions.

Afterwards I settled down in front of the telly with a cuppa, but I was so excited I pressed delete instead of play and I missed Strictly. I could’ve cried.

Friends told me to watch it on that catch up thingy. I have it, but don’t know how to use it. And although Robbie’s wife Sarah offered to talk me through it, I can’t do it - I’m lost. That’s why I miss videos - I knew where I was with them.

Better news was that I got three out of three of my predictions right. That’ll teach Chris Sutton.

Sometimes news stops me in my tracks. Hearing that MPs turned down Marcus Rashford’s bid to feed millions of hungry children did just that. How could they?

It’s terrible. It’s horrible. And it’s not right.

I’ve heard that visible g-strings are fashionable, and I’m shocked.

Thongs are a waste of time. They leave women half naked, with nothing holding them in or covering their back and hips. They’ll suffer later in life.

Every woman needs a good pair of knickers, a vest and a longline petticoat. Because cheese wire pants won’t hold up Tena Ladies.

More On

Remembrance DayPoppiesRobbie Savage