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ANZAC Day and Thoughts Relating
10 years ago
Any Aussies or Kiwis will know that today is ANZAC Day, and it is the most significant one since its inception. It's the 100th anniversary of the landings at Gallipoli, and it has been met with record turnouts to dawn services, military parades, heaps of collectable merchandise and all that.
I was at the Brisbane dawn service, because seeing as I couldn't attended the ones at Gallipoli itself I thought I'd better do something to participate. The host of the ceremony made note that, as the 100th ANZAC Day, we should all think about what it means to us, individually.
I found myself thinking back to more than 20 years ago. I was maybe 5 or 6. I was at an ANZAC Day parade in Melbourne with my Grandad, a veteran of WW2. He never talked much about the war, not to me and my brother at least, except to tell us how horrible it was and to show the four bullet scars he earned in 1943 in Borneo to drive in that point; two in his chest, two exit wounds in his back.
I remember being at that parade, holding my Grandads hand, watching the marching soldiers go by. I remember there came, slowly, some men who were much older, much fewer in number than the rest. Some walked, most rode in jeeps, waving at all around. They were veterans of WW1, men in their 90s, some maybe 100 quite probably, as this was in the early 1990s.
I remember there was one, in a jeep, his face was ancient and lined, massive wrinkles and jowels, his nose was plugged with hoses for the oxygen tanks beside him. He wore a dark suit, wide brimmed hat, and a chest full of medals. He waved and waved, looking all about. And then he looked right at me, just for a moment, no more attention paid to me than any of the other children there I'm sure, but no less either I'd think. A slight smile, a wave, and then he was gone, along with the others as the passed along the street.
And now they're all gone. There are no more living veterans of the First World War. Any kids of mine won't be able to ask them about their experiences, or see them in parades. They're all a part of history now, as disconnected as people who served in the Boer War, or the American Civil War, or the Napoleonic Wars.
How long until we run out of WW2 veterans? It's already happening. My grandad died in 1995, but at least I got to hear some of his stories first hand. My Nana, though she was only a teenager durring WW2, lived through the Blitz, and is now 86. She told us the story the other day how she and her brother, my great uncle, decided to stop in a tobaccanist to buy their father a cigarette lighter as a birthday gift. In the store they heard the air raid sirens blare, before a huge explosion rocked the street as a bomb detonated down the road. If they hadn't had stopped, they would've been right under it.
Guys, most of us have grandparents who, if they didnt fight, at least lived through the Second World War as children and young adults. Their stories of everyday life in that time are a gift to us, a side of history hardly ever shown in books and movies. Small, personal stories, funny and tragic and thought provoking. You owe it to them to listen and remember. I urge you, go now and talk to your grandparents, parents, uncles and aunts, relatives and friends. Listen, learn, record for future generations their stories before they're lost to history.
I was at the Brisbane dawn service, because seeing as I couldn't attended the ones at Gallipoli itself I thought I'd better do something to participate. The host of the ceremony made note that, as the 100th ANZAC Day, we should all think about what it means to us, individually.
I found myself thinking back to more than 20 years ago. I was maybe 5 or 6. I was at an ANZAC Day parade in Melbourne with my Grandad, a veteran of WW2. He never talked much about the war, not to me and my brother at least, except to tell us how horrible it was and to show the four bullet scars he earned in 1943 in Borneo to drive in that point; two in his chest, two exit wounds in his back.
I remember being at that parade, holding my Grandads hand, watching the marching soldiers go by. I remember there came, slowly, some men who were much older, much fewer in number than the rest. Some walked, most rode in jeeps, waving at all around. They were veterans of WW1, men in their 90s, some maybe 100 quite probably, as this was in the early 1990s.
I remember there was one, in a jeep, his face was ancient and lined, massive wrinkles and jowels, his nose was plugged with hoses for the oxygen tanks beside him. He wore a dark suit, wide brimmed hat, and a chest full of medals. He waved and waved, looking all about. And then he looked right at me, just for a moment, no more attention paid to me than any of the other children there I'm sure, but no less either I'd think. A slight smile, a wave, and then he was gone, along with the others as the passed along the street.
And now they're all gone. There are no more living veterans of the First World War. Any kids of mine won't be able to ask them about their experiences, or see them in parades. They're all a part of history now, as disconnected as people who served in the Boer War, or the American Civil War, or the Napoleonic Wars.
How long until we run out of WW2 veterans? It's already happening. My grandad died in 1995, but at least I got to hear some of his stories first hand. My Nana, though she was only a teenager durring WW2, lived through the Blitz, and is now 86. She told us the story the other day how she and her brother, my great uncle, decided to stop in a tobaccanist to buy their father a cigarette lighter as a birthday gift. In the store they heard the air raid sirens blare, before a huge explosion rocked the street as a bomb detonated down the road. If they hadn't had stopped, they would've been right under it.
Guys, most of us have grandparents who, if they didnt fight, at least lived through the Second World War as children and young adults. Their stories of everyday life in that time are a gift to us, a side of history hardly ever shown in books and movies. Small, personal stories, funny and tragic and thought provoking. You owe it to them to listen and remember. I urge you, go now and talk to your grandparents, parents, uncles and aunts, relatives and friends. Listen, learn, record for future generations their stories before they're lost to history.
