ANZAC Day has always been a special. I
recall being captivated by the stories told at Primary School ANZAC ceremonies
about the deeds of Simpson and his donkey and VC recipient Albert Jacka.
Australia lost 60,000 people on the
battlefields of World War One. Our population at the time was 5.5 million.
Australians were engaged in battle from 25 April 1915 until 11 November 1918. A
mere 3 years and 7 months.
To put this in perspective, The USA
suffered 60,000 casualties during the war in Vietnam. Their population was 250
million.
The impact of the First
World War on Australia was extraordinary.
And what about the soldiers who return,
alive but mentally scarred from all wars.
As brave as they are, braver still but
in a different way are their families to whom they return. No-one could possibly
return from a battlefield experience and be the same as they were before.
An event a few months ago highlighted to
me just what we ask our service people to do when we ask them to go and fight a
war, and how out of character it must be for most, if not all those on the
battlefield.
My Grandfather was a veteran of
Gallipoli and the European theatres of the First World War. I should say our
Grandfather because all 6 of his Grandchildren loved and admired a warm,
generous, intelligent, inquisitive, interesting, kind and gentle man. He was an
even tempered gentlemen who walked tall.
He turned 18 at Anzac Cove having
arrived as a member of the 28th Battalion in September 2015.
An e-mail I received about 6 months ago
brought to my attention a tiny piece of information as to what our service people
do on our behalf.
It was a photo taken at the ANZAC
memorial in Albany Western Australia of a home made trench warfare weapon, a
weapon used in face to face battle. The soldiers designed and manufactured such
weapons as they were more effective than a bayonetted rifle. I contemplated including
the photo in this post but cannot bring myself to do so. The weapon is horrific
and you can see just how effective it would be and how easy it would be to use
against the skull of another person.
Our Grandfather was named as the user of
the weapon in seven successful trench raids on the European front.
I am not aware of any PTSD symptoms
suffered by our Grandfather. I find it difficult, if not impossible to believe
there would not have been some affect from his experiences.
I am lucky. I cannot perceive the horror
of war. The photo I received was disturbing on two levels.
I was confronted by an image of our
Grandfather that I would rather not have and simply cannot reconcile with the
person we knew and adored.
More broadly, we can never understand
just what it is we send our service people off to do on our behalf.
I would like to re-invent ANZAC Day.
Traditionally, the focus is on our deeds
at Gallipoli. I would like to see equal emphasis given to Kokoda, Crete, Passchendaele,
Long Tan, Herat, Timor, everywhere.
We tend to honour the deceased. I would
like to see formal recognition given to the survivors of our wars and thank
them for taking on the burden of their experience for the rest of their life.
I would like ANZAC Day to formally and
openly acknowledge and remember the families of returned servicemen. *
I would like the efforts and courage of
the wives, daughters, sons, brothers and sisters of those who have fought and
survived the battles to be hailed as heroes, be it a different kind of hero.
I would like to exclude all politicians
from having any active role or being acknowledged at all commemorative events except where they are also returned
service people.
In the words sung by Edwin Starr:
War,
what is it good for? Absolutely nothing
Lest we forget
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