ANZAC Day: Lest we forget
ANZAC Day falls on the 25th of April every year. It’s a day in which Australians and New Zealanders commemorate and pay homage to those who served the nation in wars in our history. The day is marked by dawn services and marches in towns and cities throughout the land. It’s a day of sombre reflection in which we give thanks and say a prayer for those who payed the ultimate sacrifice.
‘And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda’ was written by Scottish songwriter, Eric Bogle in 1971. It tells the story of a young Australian soldier who landed on the shores at Gallipoli in World War One. At the time of writing (with the Vietnam War still in full swing), the feelings about ANZAC Day was more ambiguous than it is now. For a time, many saw the day as an anachronistic celebration of war, and Bogle’s lyrics seem to be suggesting that. In recent years, and for reasons not properly explained, the ambiguity seems to have washed away. It’s now held in the highest reverence. For the past decade or so, hundreds of young Aussie and Kiwi backpackers descend on Gallipoli in Turkey, with flags draped around their shoulders to stand in awe before the imposing cliffs…and leave behind trash.
Some stats surrounding ANZAC Day :
- The last digger who saw action at Gallipoli died in 2002
- Gallipoli was a military disaster. 8,000 Australian soldiers lost their lives for practically nothing, no territory was gained, no objectives achieved
- 102,000 Australians have lost their lives in wars.
Makes you wonder. Made Eric Bogle wonder too.
Now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Renewing their dreams of past glories
I see the old men all tired, stiff and worn
Those weary old heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask “What are they marching for?”
And I ask myself the same question
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The day we of the north invest our grief for those of our country fallen in wars is the eleventh day of the eleventh month (at the eleventh hour). It seems a perfect time, especially where the world has descended into late fall, with winter close on its heels.
It’s fall there too, in Australia, though seasonally it has no resemblance to the clear metaphors for death we experience here. Such a gloomy time November is, especially in Vancouver, with days barely long enough to catch your breath after coffee, and a grey blanket of cloud obscuring the sun on all but its most energetically defiant days. It’s wet, and miserable, and much of the green has died for the year.
And then there’s the US. The US celebrates Memorial Day in May, with the onrush of coming summer. People are gardening, or preparing their boats for the hot, vibrant days to come. Brave children swim in the still chilly northern lakes.
And then, just a matter of weeks later, the nation celebrates the 4th of July, the day independence was declared, an independence won years later through costly, bloody battle. It’s a day of parades, and gaudy flags, baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and japanese cars. There are soldiers and guns and ammo, and fireworks while the Star Spangled Banner is sung, again and again. Singing about a desperate battle in which the author wished for no more hope than that shreds of tattered material still dangled from the flag pole while all around him, mayhem ensued, men killed and were murdered when the bombs burst on their targets and the glare of the rockets signalled only incoming ordnance.
Lest we forget, yes.
I can’t encounter these days, nor think of them, without being reminded of Mark Twain’s War Prayer…
http://www.midwinter.com/lurk/making/warprayer.html
The days I would prefer to remember are the days on which soldiers chose not to fight, and the days leaders chose not to send them to their deaths.
Hey Patrick. Just read this comment, thanks for the insight and the great link!