I was to-ing and fro-ing as to whether to go to the Dawn Service in town tomorrow. Eventually, this morning I think it was when I made the decision, not to go - I would probably have to get up at 3.30 or 4 in the ay-em, which is only about six hours away now, to catch the train to get in. Whereas if I were living in the city, perhaps I would only have to wake up about 5ish.
I miss living in the city, I did it for a period of time in Wellington - three minutes walk to Manners Mall, maybe seven or eight to Courtenay Place...
Anyways, I was all for doing a quiet Anzac Day thing, until I got a call from a customer doing a job for an Anzac Day ceremony tomorrow morning. And outside, dusk was just starting to fall. And I thought back 91 years, or to the night before any big military campaign Australians or New Zealanders, or heck, anyone else, has been in. Were they scared, did they think beyond the next day, did they wonder whether the battle would be successful or not, were they looking out for their mates, or were they getting Dutch courage? What was going through their minds at the time?
I was lucky, none of my grandparents or great grandparents were of an age to get drafted for any of the wars - my father could maybe have gone off for National Service, which may have possibly perhaps meant a trip to Vietnam, but he got an exemption because of marriage. I have no family knowledge of war, apart from what my grandparents have told me of home front conditions - rations, American soldiers getting trained up, the blatant and brutal racism between the blacks and whites, the ferocity and deadliness of training at Trentham, the main army base near Wellington. The best New Zealand troops of course being stuck in Libya and Italy, in return for complete American protection during the war - the Australians of course bringing their main forces back home to fight the Japanese, New Zealand caved to the persuasion of Britain.
And all the above mainly covered in a few Saturday afternoons at the pub with my grandfather and father, one of my grandfather's friends had been in the Dutch army when the Japanese took Indonesia, or had been sent over to reclaim the colonies before the locals declared independence, one of the two - as with when my grandmother talks about her younger days, I wish I had a tape recorder to have them just talk normally. Would be a great oral history, even with them not being on the front lines...
Anyways, where was I? Oh, the Anzac ceremony call, and the dusk falling - thinking about what the soldiers would have thought, ahead of any battle in history, let alone the wars Aussies and Kiwis have been involved in. Had tears forming in my eyes, always get emotional this time of year, try to grin and laugh it off, but there you go - was thinking of asking to take some time away from customers, but then would have just been laughed at or something, and I only had half an hour to go on my shift...
But I made a decision to go down to Anzac Square, where the main memorial is in Brisbane, and take a few piccies of the Roman columns and eternal flame down there. Such a photogenic subject, I have been down there a few times before.
Have The Last Post and Ravelli playing away in my head already. And of course, the memories from my trip to the Gallipoli battlefields sweep over me as well - heck, my whole nickname is one of the battles of that campaign. And I'm sure I am going to repeat myself every year along similar lines when April 25 comes along.
Lest we forget.
Oh, the specific phrase I thought of at dusk tonight was 'at the going down of the sun...' But I'm sure you could guess that already.
Pauly
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Anzac Eve
Tried posting this yesterday, but Blogger seemed to be down -
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