Lest We Forget

Anzac Day has once again rolled around and with it’s unfortunate clash with Easter I feel it has lost some of the recognition that it deserves. For example, whilst out shopping on Saturday with my Ma, do you think I saw one legacy stand selling poppies? Do you think I saw anyone wearing one? No. All I saw was Easter Bunnies, and people carrying mountains of chocolate (and some of them REALLY didn’t need it)

As I've blogged about the Anzac’s before and what this day means to me, today I’ll just leave you with this this…

And when the sun goes down, and in the morning, we will remember them. Lest We Forget.

Lest We Forget

Today is Anzac Day. For those of you who are international readers, Anzac day is the day that Australia and New Zealand commemorates all of our countrymen who have served in our armed forces.

Whilst having lunch at work a while ago, someone from my company came out and said that they didn’t think that Anzac Day should be a holiday.  Something to do about how WWI was all about politics and we shouldn’t celebrate it.

To be honest, whilst I like this person a lot, I was slightly disgusted with this comment.  Anzac Day is not about celebrating the politics of war. It is about taking time to reflect that there are people in life with far more guts than I would ever have, that gave up their youth to go and do their bit for their country.

My Great Grandfather was a Captain in WW1, My Grampy, at the age of 16, was in the first wave of troops that landed on Normandy on D-Day.  My Great Uncle George was captured by the Japanese and died in a POW camp (That one from The Bridge on the River Kwai, its name escapes me).  My Uncle Peter was drafted into Vietnam, and spent his service shovelling dead bodies.

Anzac Day (even though my Father’s family all fought for England) is about saying thank you to them.

in 2008 I walked along the beach at Gallipoli, and the tranquillity, beauty and harshness of the landscape moved me to tears.  What moved me even more was seeing a young Turkish man, painstakingly weeding the grass by hand by a grave of an Australian Soldier, aged 18.   

For whatever fucked up or genuine reason a country goes to war. Politics has no business on ANZAC Day.

At the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.

Lest We Forget.

Lest We Forget

Tomorrow we commemorate ANZAC Day. The day when Australia and New Zealand answered the call of their motherland and stood up for their country, and what was believed to be right, for the first time.

Last year, I was fortunate enough to travel to Gallipoli, a pilgrimage I believe that every Australian should undertake once in their life. What struck me about the place is its incredible beauty and the smallness of the area. Anzac Cove is a tiny, tiny stretch of beach, surrounded by yellow flowers with crystal clear water stretching out to the horizon. Tens of thousands of men landed on this beach, and I shuddered to think of the massacre that awaited them as I sat on a boulder listening to the lapping of the water. Above the beach is steep ascent where the Turkish army hid and slaughtered the young soldiers, so many who had never left their local town.

I am not ashamed to admit that I wept when I saw the graves of these brave young men, many far younger than me. The inscription of 1113 Private H Burton, aged 18 read: "Only a boy but died for liberty, freedom & his Mum & Dad"

The Turkish also suffered during this campaign. As I walked through the Allied trenches I was struck by how truly senseless it seemed, that during the 15 month campaign they hardly advanced at all, and that the Turkish and Allied trenches are metres from each other.

It is a comfort to know that the Turkish recognise the bravery of the ANZAC diggers. There is a monument that quotes Ataturk in 1934:

Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives,
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country
Therefore rest in peace.
There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us
Where they lie side by side here in this country of ours
You the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries,
Wipe away your tears.
Your sons are now lying in our Bosom and are at peace.
After having lost their lives on our land they have become
our sons as well.

Which to me just sums up the truth of war. For whatever ideological, religious, or territorial reason you are fighting, and despite whether or not this fight is justified, the fact of the matter is that both sides lose lives, mothers and fathers lose sons, sisters lose brothers, children lose fathers. And whilst these young diggers are buried far away from their families, they have a beautiful and tranquil resting place. Apart from the tour buses.

Which is why at the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember them.

Lest We Forget