Every year on the 25th April Australians collectively commemorate all Australians who have served and died in all wars, conflicts and peacekeeping operations. Ceremonies are held in towns and cities to acknowledge the service of our war veterans. We reflect on their sacrifice, which continues to be meaningful and relevant to our sense of identity as a nation.
I vaguely recall watching an Anzac parade sometime in the 80s as a child, lining up on the streets of Gatton, one of the larger country towns close to home. It must have been after the Catholic church service mum and dad dragged us along to each Sunday (see former post "Go To a Spiritual Church"). I don't ever remember going to an actual Anzac service though, apart from those we had at school. Monday 25th April 2011, I attended an 8am Anzac service in my local community at Graceville.
Graceville Memorial Park is set against the backdrop of a beautiful heritage listed grand stand proudly watching over a well-kept cricket oval bordered by a perfect white picket fence. When I arrived the Salvation Army band was playing and the crowd was more than a few hundred strong. It seems most families, couples and dogs in the neighbourhood who had foregone the opportunity to holiday on the extended long weekend had turned up at the service.
We sang the national anthem (first verse only), the master of ceremonies led us through the reciting of a poem and the school choir sang "God Save the Queen". The MC made the mistake of thinking that a bunch of awkward, pre-pubescent kids would appreciate having a microphone thrust in their face, amplifying for all their squeaky off-key tones. I didn't mind, and surely the rest of the crowd didn't. We were hardly there to critique the vocal ability of the youngsters, but the youngsters were visibly uncomfortable and somewhat annoyed.
There was the guest speaker who when called for, wasn't in attendance, a dog that kept barking and the owner, Big Bearded Bloke trying to "sssshhh" his furry friend. A woman with tourette's syndrome provided a colourful commentary using various adjectives starting with the letter "f" and a lone jogger who had clearly forgotten what day it was came pounding through in their footy shorts and sweatbands.
I wouldn't say that I am significantly emotional on Anzac day however I do reserve a certain amount of respect and sentimentality for war veterans. Enter bagpipe band. Cue: goosebumps and tears. There is something deep and stirring about the sound of bagpipes that will always disturb a number of emotions which normally remain dormant.
Wreaths were laid and no doubt most of the crowd reflected on the significance of the day, the lives and loves that were lost and perhaps what it all means to modern Australia and Australians. Even now almost 100 years on from the commencement of World War I Australians seems to want to keep the tradition and to mark the day with respect.
The one minute silence is something I personally love. There is something beautiful about dead silence at such events, although in this case it was set to the soundtrack of Big Bearded Bloke quietly "ssssshhhh"-ing while Fido woof! woof!ed louder the more he was ssshed and the woman with her impulsive swearing.
The ceremony ends and the crowd once again awakens and normal life resumes. Some people stroll back to their cars slowly with lingering thoughts and emotions, children run to the playground nearby laughing and giggling and the young couples head off in search of a Latte.
Lest we forget? Largely we do forget until the next Anzac Day comes round.
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