Repost: Lest We Forget

Laurie, my Dad's father, was a Commando who fought in the conflicts in Timor and New Guinea. He survived to come home to his orange block and his family. He was the epitome of the Aussie farmer - gruff but affectionate. He didn't talk much about his service, although he was full of useful hints that he'd learned in the jungles. I don't know if he ever marched. He died with his family, having lived long enough to see his first great-grandchildren.

Jack, my Mum's father, was a Cook who was posted in Darwin during the intense bombing campaign carried out by Japanese forces. He survived to come home to his job at the drop forge, but never really came home to us. Occasionally he'd tell us an anecdote about baking hundreds of scones at once, or how a mate got surprised once by a crocodile, but he'd never talk about the bombing. He drank heavily, and he was a mean drunk. Today, we'd call it post-traumatic stress disorder. He never marched, but Anzac Day was a day when everything in his house stopped. He died old, broken and bitter in hospital, four months before his first great-grandchildren were born. Sometimes, when I look into my son's eyes, I see Jack staring out at me.

One of my great-uncles was a prisoner of war. Another was a pilot who was killed in action, and still another was on the verge of being shipped out when Japan surrendered. I know very little about them.

fire_wuff was an Air Cadet at school. Had things turned out differently, he might have signed on. On days like this, I thank the Gods he didn't.

War is abhorrent to me. It's appalling and callous and kills us all in one way or another - physically, emotionally, spiritually. As Wilfred Owen said, 'the old lie ... dulce et decorum est pro patria mori'.* But I'll stand silent on Anzac Day and remember them all, the family, the friends, the people I hear about in passing. We sent them out to die - we encouraged them to do it, told them it was the right thing to do, brought them up to love their country and be willing to lay down their lives for it. The least we can do is honour their memories.




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.













* "It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country".