It’s interesting that as I get older my perception and understanding of what I know and think changes. I notice recognition of before un-articulated thoughts and ideas. Things I thought I knew, reasons for why I do and did what I do and did become clearer. I wonder why I did not realise these things before, when I was much younger. I wonder why, when I was younger I thought I knew differently, I thought my thought processes were mature. And they were, to an extent. Such a serious child and young adult, laughter and fun and mischief were only in books and stories, and later television or movies, not in my scope of experience. So I appeared more adult, or older than my years. I had clear ideas and concepts, what I valued, how I wanted my children to have a much more rounded experience than I had. Little did I know that due to my lack of experiences, my scope was somewhat limited.
Take Anzac Day for example. Dad served in the Air Force and marched in the Anzac Day parade in Tumut. I remember a photo, but I am not so clear on whether I was actually allowed to attend to watch him march. I suspect it may have been one of those things that didn’t happen in our home. Once he passed away sic weeks before my tenth birthday, I am pretty sure Mum never took me to any subsequent Anzac Day marches. As a teenager I think I may have walked down the main street in Tumut to one or two, not sure. Dad was a member of Legacy and the RSL. I remember that, mainly because there were others from those two organisations in Tumut who kind of kept an eye on us, especially Mr Todd, one of the Mr Todd’s (Errol and Ian) who owned the local newsagency, who always came up with presents for Easter and Christmas for my sister Martha and I. I knew Dad was a morse code radio operator on a ship near New Guinea in World War 2. At least these are my recollections. He was in a Scottish regiment for reasons I do not know. I have a copy of his war record, a photo of him in uniform and his beret.
My children’s father, whose great uncle was a member of the light horsemen and there were other family members who served, went to an Anzac Day march where ever we were, Dubbo, Tumut, Queanbeyan or the big one at the War Memorial in Canberra. It was important to him, as was going the War Memorial, at other times throughout the year, to remember those who served. For some reason it wasn’t so important to me. Until the separation and divorce, we always took the children to the Anzac Day march and the War Memorial, but I admit it didn’t have much meaning for me. Maybe it was because I had mourned for my dad for so many years and I had nothing left. Maybe because it was far removed from my experience, I didn’t grow up hearing stories of war, family members who serving in the military. Other families, like my ex-in laws have traditions of telling these stories, keeping the stories and the people and their deeds alive. I didn’t much like war movies, the killing and the violence too much for me. To me, war and military wasn’t personalised, I hadn’t made the connection.
After the divorce, the kids continued to attend Anzac Day and the War Memorial with their dad. I did occasionally watch the march, in person, not on television, and even went to a club where two up was played, but was more interested in the social aspect then the historical significance. I had not made the connection to the stories that were told, stories of years ago. I did always know and understand that by telling the stories and keeping them alive, the aim is to tell the stories of the atrocities so that others don’t romanticise war. And to share the stories of the heroes who gave their lives so we could live in freedom and safety. As I write this I remember stories we read in primary school. I can’t remember the titles but I do remember they were about children’s experiences in England during the first and second world wars.
When I attended the Anzac Day march in Cooma and the Ex Services Club afterwards, it was my first real interaction with people who had served in the military. The respect, the strength of shared experiences that brought them together and connected them to others with similar experiences. I was beginning to understand the relevance to the here and now. The pride and the care and attention people took each year, in the lead up to Anzac Day, to make sure their medals and suit were ready. All ironed and hanging ready, the medals out and ready, the sprig of rosemary for remembrance. The day has a set order for a reason. The attendance at the dawn service and the gunfire breakfast, to meet up with others who are or were Air Force, Navy or Army. Attendance at the march to pay respect to all and acknowledge service for country. Then the official lunch at the ex-services club. Where all who attend are treated with the respect they deserve and give thanks to those who served our country. It is a national day of pride, of connecting with family and others who are like minded, who respect and revere those who served so we could live as we do today. It is also a time to acknowledge and remember those who are still serving. The dedication and time others spend looking after others, defending the freedoms we can at times take for granted.
So now, at age fifty, I am finally starting to understand the significance of Anzac Day and why it means so much to so many people. It is a chance to come together with family members and friends; attend the march, have lunch, a barbeque, reminisce about old times, heroes, loved ones and those dedicated to service to others. I wish I had this stronger understanding and realisation when I was younger, when my children were younger. I know their dad has instilled in them the respect and reverence, as did I when they were much younger. I have told them stories of their grandfather, my father, and have kept family records for them. Each year, as there are less people who attend and march, it is even more important to share stories, to talk, to discuss, to raise a glass and give thanks to everyone who has taken the time in whatever capacity to protect others. Happy Anzac Day and thank you for your service.