This is the time of year when we offer our tributes to those who have sacrificed their lives for their country in the great conflicts of the twentieth century.

Having grown up in Rugby, Warwickshire, I make no apologies for selecting Rupert Brooke's poem 'The Soldier' as one that has particular poignance for those who love their country (and it is possible to love it without resorting to jingoism, xenophobia or nationalistic fervour, I promise....) Brooke was born in Rugby and attended Rugby School and his statue adorns the town centre. I reckon that millions of schoolchildren must have grown up quoting the first few lines of The Soldier and it probably still brings a tear to their eye.

If I should die, think only this of me
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be,
In that rich earth, a richer dust concealed
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware
Gave once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam
A body of England's, breathing English air
Washed by the rivers, blest by the suns of home