Today (April 25) was Anzac Day, a public holiday for most, but it means more than that to many Australians. It is a day when we remember those Australians who fought in wars, in distant lands, for their country. It is not a day to glorify war. Rather, it is a day to remember those who fought and for many, died, far away from home. It is a day for former soldiers and family members to remember and mourn. The Australian spirit of "mateship" is associated with what is called the "Anzac spirit" - being there for your friend ("mate") through thick and thin. In wars, that could even mean giving your life.
The tradition of the first Anzacs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps), built on the sacrifice of those who fought and died at Gallipoli, lives on. The last of those who survived that first landing on April 25, 1915, and returned safe home was Ted Matthews, who died in 1997. The last survivor of the whole Gallipoli campaign, Alec Campbell, died last year. The tradition does not depend, however, on a living link. The flame has long been carried by others, first by those who survived the 1914-18 war. Then came those who returned from the 1939-45 war and, still later, those who fought in Korea, Vietnam and more recently, Iraq. Now, with many former servicemen now in their graves, younger relatives are proudly marching in their place, bearing the medals that their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers won.
Both of my grandfathers fought in the first World War. One of them survived the battle of the Somme. He came home, less one eye that had been shot out. Many of his comrades were not so fortunate. Both my grandfathers kept journals whilst overseas in combat, yet neither wanted to talk about it when they returned. They may have been heroes, but we'll never know. Apparently what they went through was too horrible to talk about. We can only imagine the terrors these men, one of them just newly married, went through.
Of course, as a JW, I wasn't allowed to commemorate Anzac Day. I had to go to the library whilst the rest of the school was in assembly. I'd be able to hear the bugle from inside the library, as it played the haunting "Last Post". I would silently remember those who fought, yet feel guilty for having such "nationalist" thoughts.
Today, as I do every Anzac Day these days, I remember my two grandfathers, who as young men, sacrificed their innocence and youth. I never met them, yet they will always live in my heart. I remember also all of the men who have fought in wars since - those who died, and those who returned changed men.
Lest we forget.