Day Thirty One

Lest we forget

ANZAC DAY


Traditionally on this day, right across New Zealand and Australia, people gather in their hundreds of thousands to stand in reverent silence to honour those who served and are still serving in war zones.
This year, we can’t do that and for most of us, that’s heart-breaking. 
Pride and gratitude still fills n our hearts so we stand apart but together and Remember in silence.

We remember, in this devastating year of 2020, that we have other heroes to thank; other sacrifices to honour; other deaths to mourn.



I was five years old when I first went to a Remembrance Day service.
It’s commemorated on 11th November in the UK but the services themselves are held on the 2nd Sunday.
November is a dismal month, cold and often wet and in those days it was generally only men who attended, ex-servicemen  who still had the memories and horrors of war sharp in their minds.

They waited in heavy overcoats, mufflers and trilby hats, with pride, sorrow, gratitude or guilt, unaware that I, small and insignificant, stood amidst a crowd of giants.

My father was probably reluctant to have me as his companion at the Cenotaph, as afterwards, with his comrades, he doubtless hoped to share memories over 'a swift half’ in the pub.
  
I had no understanding of what was going on as the poppy wreaths were laid but the emotion and sense of loss was so palpable that tears ran freely down my cheeks.
The men sang ‘Abide with Me’ in stoically controlled voices and  I clutched my father’s hand in utter misery when The Last Post was played.

As an adult, I attend an ANZAC Day service each year.  It used to be at Dawn but as the veterans grew older, someone took pity and organised later gatherings. 

I’m taller now but as I stand weeping in the crowd of Returned Service personnel I still feel I am in the presence of giants.




At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,
We will remember them.

I te hekenga atu o te rā
Tae noa ki te arangamai i te ata
Ka maumahara tonu tātou ki a rātou


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