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Discussion in 'The Pub' started by hornet, Apr 25, 2015.
Lest We Forget..
Good morning sir hornet,
We will remember them.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
Lest We Forget
We shall remember them.
Lest we Forget
I was there at about 7 this morning.
I played cornet at a suburban commemoration. I notice that the 'service' has gone completely secular. No mention of God of any brand.
A big thumbs down to the meathead who disrupted proceedings twice on his open pipe Harley.
Ours was very much not a secular service. We sang " Abide with me" and "Amazing Grace", the service opened and closed with prayer with prayer (and thankfully without the obligatory mawkish grovel to a tiny number of the population) and the address was given by the local Anglican minister, who spoke eloquently of sacrifice and especially of Jesus' sacrifice. It was a very good service, one worthy of its centenary stature.
I had the tremendous privilege of being at Gallipoli for ANZAC Day this year. Granted, I was working, and only got to see the services on TV screens, and even then I was busy. But it was very moving to reflect on the sacrifices these soldiers and their families made. I attach the saddest grave stone I found (at Shrapnel Valley):
To be vaguely motorcyclical: the Jandarma (Turkish domestic military force) ride an assortment of motorcycles (I at least identified BMW GS800s and I think some kind of VFR) almost always 2-up, and they wear knee-pads strapped over their pants. PTW are pretty common in the area but they're mostly mopeds and scooters or 250cc or less motorcycles.
I arose early, showered, hoped that the thunder storm would pass by in time, got dressed in my finery, ensured my medal was correctly displayed and went out to the RAAF Base for the dawn service. I prefer to go to the RAAF or Army base, more respect, more meaning and less flag wearing bogans.
I caught up with some old mates I hadn't seen in a few years - they still wear the uniform and have been posted back to Wagga, again. After the service - I joined them for a quick rum and milk before going home for breakfast.
After breakfast I went in to town too march. Before the march I caught up with more mates. We listened to the real veterans tell stories. We spoke of mates who are no longer with us. Then we marched. We kept in step (as best we can) we swung our arms and we held our heads high. We waved to the crowd and we felt proud and embarrassed. We remember those that made the ultimate sacrifice, we remember the ones who came home physically and mentally shattered. I said my farewells and went and had coffee with my wife then went home.
I rang my brother, we remembered our father, grandfather and spoke of our great grandfather. I rang my son. We remembered his grandfather and spoke of our ancestors. I cried, I rarely cry. On ANZAC Day I cry.
I wasn't going to post anything but I wanted to tell you b12mick my dad served in New Guinea in WWII as a signaller and in the army for 1095 days. Came home a smoker and an old man. He died at 51...in 1974 I never really knew him or what he really did there. He never really spoke about it. Mum and he would have a blue about him going to ANZAC day because he always came home pissed and sad. He wasn't a drinker either my dad.
after he died I got given a little ornate old tin of his...apparently it was actually his Uncle's...it contained a field dressing bag from WW1, the dog tag from WW1 (looks like tin and had been written on using a nail and hammer), a bit of a some cannon and a squashed bullet... apparently this great Uncle of mine was killed over there...I should donate it to the war museum I guess.
I still look at photos of my dad and he was 38 when I was born and he looked like a 70 year old does today...
People who shit all over ANZAC day need to understand that it is about remembering those who are gone and the effects of war on everyone...
I recently got a hold of all dad's war records under the FOI, constant bouts of malaria, tropical sores, diarrhoea gee that sounds like fun for the boys...he went away 17 and came back 70 with hypertension, ulcers and a heavy smoker...
He got fined a couple of shillings pay all the time for insubordination...I can't believe that...I never saw that side if dad but I was young when he died.
The only things Dad ever told me about the war was that he and his mates ate their horses before they moved from Borneo (I used to cry about that and to this day wonder if he was winding me up!) and that he saw a volcano erupt...
Apart from going fishing with dad and playing scalectrix with him my favourite memory is sitting on the back of a motorbike behind dad in his singlet and thongs, with my face pressed up tight against his back, clinging on like a baby monkey, riding up our driveway on my brother's new bike (he got to ride to uni in 1969)...my very first motorbike ride
I understand b12mick
Went and found the little tin tonight...hadn't looked at for a while...amazing... wasted my keeping it...will donate to war museum if they want them...here are some pictures of the bits n pieces
Should find out more about where the poor bastard went...