ANZAC - more than just a biscuit

Today is ANZAC day. A hugely important day in my life. It is a day I think of a black and white photo of a strapping young man in his army gear. His jawline as strong bold as his courage. A wry smile pursed to his lips. No one ever spoke of this photo much, but in my heart I saw so much in it. It was my grandfather, and in that photo I saw a life so hard I could never imagine.

My grandfather fought in the second world war. Growing up I did not do much talking to him about it, but I respected him so much for it all. I became involved in "Australia Remembers - 50 years" the anniversary of the end of world war two. I went to a state lunch with the premier, and a large number of Returned Servicemen and Women.

I have marched in the ANZAC day parade - wearing my other grandfather's medals. He was a merchant seaman for england. My gratitude swelled, as did my chest puffing it out as the medals perched on the right hand side, usually falling lopesided from their weight.

I have talked to widows on the pain of their losses while researching for Australia Remembers. Watching as their eyes grow misty with memories and tears. Bittersweet.

I cannot hear the Last Post, without welling up tears. It hits the core of me. It touches my heart. The same way Abide With Me does. It is more than a hymn. It is my grandmother, my grandfather, my step-dad, my mum, my family, my childhood - all rolled into one.

ANZAC day is more than just biscuits, beer and two-up. It is more than a public holiday or an excuse to catch up with mates. It is a day that ressonates so deeply within me. Nay, it is a day that is part of me. A chance to reflect and respect.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.



I crouched in a shallow trench on that hell of exposed beaches... steeply rising foothills bare of cover... a landscape pockmarked with war’s inevitable litter... piles of stores... equipment... ammunition... and the weird contortions of death sculptured in Australian flesh... I saw the going down of the sun on that first ANZAC Day... the chaotic maelstrom of Australia’s blooding.

I fought in the frozen mud of the Somme... in a blazing destroyer exploding on the North Sea... I fought on the perimeter at Tobruk... crashed in the flaming wreckage of a fighter in New Guinea... lived with the damned in the place cursed with the name Changi.

I was your mate... the kid across the street... the med. student at graduation... the mechanic in the corner garage... the baker who brought you bread... the gardener who cut your lawn... the clerk who sent your phone bill.

I was an Army private... a Naval commander... an Air Force bombardier. no man knows me... no name marks my tomb, for I am every Australian serviceman... I am the Unknown Soldier.

I died for a cause I held just in the service of my land... that you and yours may say in freedom... I am proud to be an Australian.

--From the ANZAC Day website


Now... on top of all of this, you will probably understand my UTTER Disgust at the desecration of the War Memorial in Bathurst by some pimply arsed teenage girl. I found out today that it is actually a chargable offence - and she is to face court next month. May she be sentenced to listening to war stories by Returned Servicemen for hours on end while polishing their Victoria Crosses, or Defense Medals.