ANZAC Day…
The day that truly personifies all that is Australian – mateship, bravery, selflessness and…
I attended the March a few years ago wearing my Great Uncle’s medals. He flew missions in Papua New Guinea and was the incentive for Dad joining the RAAF.
Dad was based in Northern Australia during WWII and his medals are hiding, perhaps with the Defence Force Honours and Awards Office and we have yet to source them (we have just started the process). I stood at the end of the March near the Cenotaph and remember feeling quite weepy as I saw the diminution in numbers from my father’s era, let alone other eras.
But the real tears came when I saw the Vietnam Vets – MY generation – many forced to fight in a war that wasn’t theirs, by the simple expedient of their numbers being called for National Service. They returned to less than a hero’s welcome and I hate that men forced into that position should have been so dishonoured. When I was at University, one of our law students and a dear friend newly returned from Vietnam, organised a march to support those still in the theatre of war and those who were returning home. I walked in that march for those men and along with the rest, we were pelted with flour and foul epithets.
Of course, it’s different now. We get out there and we clap and cheer as they march past. And so it should be, no matter the politics.
So today, it’s ANZAC Day again and this year my son, husband and I along with others from the surrounding countryside, went to the dawn service on our little stretch of the coast.
I think it’s amazing that in every town, village and great city in Australia and New Zealand, there is an ANZAC March and services to honour our servicemen throughout our young histories.
In this little village, a coastal fishing port called Triabunna, they too ‘remembered them.’ Bitterly cold, there were about seventy folk of all ages from very elderly to young toddlers. As we stood in the minute’s silence all one could hear was the clink and shake of medal against medal as people shifted on cold feet. As the vicar began to speak and just before The Last Post was played, a neighbouring rooster crowed, letting us know that the day was beginning and that everything old was new again.
After the ceremony was over, the returned servicemen and women went to a special breakfast in the council chambers, some went to the local pub for a belly warmer and we climbed back into the ute and drove back to House to try and thaw limbs that are so unused to the cold.
I’m glad we went to the service. It gives one pause. In every little outpost of Australia and New Zealand there are small war memorials with names of men and women who never returned. They deserved the honour.
The medals that we wear on our right breast… above in the harsh light of pre-dawn street lights and below, in their polished and cleaned glory.
My dad in his gorgeous flying jacket. Being dad and too honest and upright for his own good, he returned the jacket to the RAAF on ‘de-mob’. What I would give to wear that now! It’s SO fashionable, let alone the emotional significance!
The chaps dressed for action…
My dad’s RAAF beret and sunglasses which he was allowed to keep. I think they are so cool. Boogie woogie bugle boy and all that!
Brian John Wallace 1925-2000
What a wonderful way to honor those who served. I am trying to instill a sense of gratitude for the brave service persons in my 13 year old son. I have spent the last year or so actively seeking out veterans when we see them out and about,and offering my heartfelt thanks for their sacrifices. Many Viet Nam vets are rendered mute initially, and some tear up; many state they have never been thanked before. The WW II vets are humble and thank me for remembering. My son was initially embarrassed by my actions, but has “changed his tune” after seeing the reactions of the brave men and women.
About three years back, we were scheduling a meeting at church for the next month; it fell on ANZAC day. People wondered what it was-not knowing myself, I went online and learned…
What a wonder the Internet can be! I am so glad, as now both my son and I are chatting with friends in Australia! And his mate is the same age and grade, so it’s great fun for them discussing school and the different seasons.
Your dad was a very handsome man.
Regards,
Judi
I think your actions are wonderful, Judi. These chaps live on a tightrope and a little gratitude and recognition is the least they are owed.
And you’re right about the internet … hasn’t the world become smaller in the nicest possible way? It balances out the negatives.
Dad was handsome. One has to stand back sometimes and really look to see, and I could see it in that photo especially. Mum thought he was pretty good too! Sadly he died from emphysema caused by smoking which he began as a training pilot as stress-relief. Go figure!
Can relate Prue…My Dad served in the US Navy in WWII, some of the time in the South Pacific. (‘Ere I was born.). In May of ’68, I lost a cousin to VIet Nam. He left college & enlisted to serve his country…six months after landing in VIet Nam, he was gone. In the Fall of ’68, still very aggrieved, I found myself marching silently with others, in a college War protest. I marched as a “memorial” to my lost cousin. I can still vividly remember dealing with fear and worry re potential consequences as we passed the US Air Force Base lined up with men with arms. Shed some of my innocence that eve! Just as you..”in the land down under”…I’ve always respected and honored those who have served. It’s a part of my being! I must say, your Dad was quite a handsome fellow in his bomber jacket. May Brian John Wallace, rest in peace. May, Rubert Humphrey West, Jr 1918-1998, and James Edward West, Jr, 1948-1968, also rest in peace..
Thank you, Lynn.
Lest we forget.
Such an inspiring post, Prue! And it’s so crazy that FB would mark it as spam. But I’ve now heard from a whole bunch of people who have experienced the same thing. Only links to their personal blogs get the spam message. And they all have Blogger blogs–owned by Google–archenemy of FB. Hmmmm.
ANZAC Day is big bikkies here, Anne. It defines all that is good in Australia and New Zealand. We talk about the ANZAC spirit as if it flows like blood through our veins. All of us are so proud of those Diggers from WWI who were our first ANZAC’s and this national day in the 2 countries (who are brothers, sisters and cousins all rolled into one) is perhaps the most emotional of all.
Being British, ANZAC Day was something I was unaware of until fairly recently. I found out that one of my great great-Uncle’s served in the Australian Imperial Force in WWI after emigrating to Australia not long before war broke out. He was killed at Bullecourt in 1917 where so many Australian’s lost their lives. Left in a trench to die from his wounds when it had to be evacuated, his body was never found. The war brought him back to Europe, and perhaps unusually for a young man who had emigrated, enabled him to see his family again in England, albeit briefly. Because he served with the AIF I have all his service papers and the Red Cross investigation into his death including letters asking for help from his family (all of which would most likely have been destroyed in WWII had he served in the British Army) – it makes for heart-breaking reading. I always think of him (and others) on 11th November, but now I also think of them today.
Lest we forget.
Kathryn, what an incredible story and I think both Alex and I see seeds of a very emotive novel in it. However … I have watched your writing blossom these last two years and think that this is a seed for your own writing. Imagine the legacy he has given you! Thank you so much for commenting and for telling your story here along with Lynn and Judi. It’s humbling and poignant to read such words. Thank heaven for blogs, the internet and for Richard Armitage!
Thank you…I have too many stories to write but I do intend to attempt writing at least some of them. And yes, I thank heaven for those things regularly 🙂
This was a very moving piece Prue, thanks for sharing
It gave me huge pleasure to write it, Alex. Cheers.