Lest We Forget

Back in high school days I used to march with the school brass band. It was one of the few school activities that made sense to me at the time, and I did it with pride. I didn’t know why I was proud to be there, it certainly wasn’t school boy war heroism. But I had an overwhelming feeling of conviction nonetheless.

Every year the media has to find new angles and stories to get our attention. This year the back-yard make over and ANZAC cake for a Kokoda track digger takes the first place award. Admittedly though, I usually read the newspaper. Our heroes this time were Victoria Cross recipients Keith Payne and Mark Donaldson, and rightly so. The Advertiser ran a pretty good story on what you would call an “ordinary soldier” by the name of Graeme Cornes (who also happens to be an old SANFL legend). We also read about the atrocities committed by ordinary men living in the brutality of war, including the “alarming” court martial statistics from WWII (it says a lot about the general public when the media uses history to shock us).

Last September I visited the Gallipoli Peninsula. I actually paid attention at school when we studied Australia at war, and surprised myself with how much information came back to me. But what amazed me, to the point of being overwhelming, was how small the battle grounds actually were. The battle at Lone Pine cost 2274 Australian and at least 4000 Turkish lives, and the area of the ridge is less than two soccer fields. I could walk around the battle ground faster than I could count to 6274.

Wandering around the cemeteries at Gallipoli I finally realized why I go to ANZAC day ceremonies. For me, ANZAC day is about remembrance: I remember the people whose lives will never be the same again, be they soldiers, civilians or those at home. I attend ANZAC day ceremonies so that we don’t forget the futility of war or the devastation it causes.

Drum Major, Saint Patrick's College Brass Band, Sydney ANZAC Day March 1989, wearing miniatures of my grandfathers WWII medals.