Lest We Forget

I'm sleepy.  At the time of typing this post, it's still technically morning but I have been awake since 4.40am, courtesy of my evil nemesis, The Bladder.  Normally I'd have attempted a re-entry to the Land of Nod, but not today.  Unless you've been living under a rock, you'd be aware today is Anzac Day, and I wished to attend the local dawn service.  To my pride, my almost sixteen-year-old had asked to be awakened in order that he could also attend.

We walked together to the Cenotaph, which fortunately for us is only about a five minute walk away. It was still dark, and we were not alone.  We saw many locals making their way, and it was gratifying to see people much younger in attendance.  I looked at the young families, some with slippered-and-dressing-gowned, teddy bear toting children.  There were older vets who had served in Vietnam.  There were members of the local Zimbabwean community.  We are all Australians now.   

Master Not-Quite-16 and I found a place near the southern corner of the Cenotaph, standing beside members of the local Fire Brigade, all in full dress uniform.  The Catafalque Party took their places, and I crossed my arms to protect myself against the brisk air.  The trees and Cenotaph were silhouetted against the background of the dawn's breaking amber rays, and the pearly ethereal glow from the street lights.  The horse representing the fallen riders gave a snort, and the crowd listened to the prayer and responded, 'Lest we forget'.  The playing of 'The Last Post' signified the end to the brief but solemn, poignant ceremony.  My son told me he had enjoyed it.  Again, I'm proud of him today.

This message from the Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, commander of Turkish forces at Gallipoli, sums it up best:

'Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives....
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country, therefore rest in peace.  There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours....
You, the mothers who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears: your sons are now lying in our bosom and are at peace. Having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.'

Oh, and to that bloke I saw when we got there this morning, the one wearing the jacket emblazoned with 'Australian Patriots' handing out the literature, which is undoubtedly reflective of the posts I read on the organisation's Facebook page when I got home after the service: Well played, sir; jolly good.  Kudos to you.  Oh wait, that came out wrong.  What I meant to say is: Go fuck yourself with a cactus.