Remember Lest We Forget

There’s something unfathomable about war and its unspeakable tragedy and yet it is a part of our most fundamental human nature. I used to take a very ♡ peace ♡ love ♡ mung beans approach to the notion of war until I came to know someone who served in the army as a career soldier. He had spent time in Afghanistan more than once and moved regularly around the country and the world as a routine part of his job. This job came with strong boundaries, many rules and no leeway. He was in it for the long haul and absolutely dedicated to the work. His personal ethos was that of a fighter and one who truly, rigorously and actually defended the kind of principles that we bang on about at dinner parties with perhaps no real understanding of their true meaning. We used to debate about war and guns and violence a lot. It was circular, tongue in cheek and usually ended in laughing dismissal on both sides. Until one time it didn’t when he simply told me that were it not for soldiers like him, there would be no freedom for hippies like me. It struck a chord that resonates to this day.In Australia we celebrate Anzac Day on the 25th of April. It is a public holiday. It is a nod to what is known as our nation’s “baptism of fire”, which is the battle of Gallipoli during the First World War. It is a crucial part of the forging of our national identity, both within our country and overseas because it was the battle that proved our mettle worldwide. It put us on the world stage. We take much of our national pride and our Aussie character from this classic episode in our short history.My grandfather fought in the Korean war and never spoke of it. We have his medals in a jewellery box, kept safe holding the terrible energy of what he must have seen and felt and lived to earn them. Still they glow with pride, as medals do. I used to ride my bike down to the War Veterans Home where he spent his latter years and as a child it never occurred to me that the men and women I met there had all borne witness to the horrors of war and more than that, had survived.Every Anzac Day there is a solemn dawn service held here in this beautiful little country town where I live. We have an Anzac memorial as most places do that bears the names of the young men who lost their lives, grouped by when and where they drew their last breath. In smaller towns this was sometimes an entire generation. When I imagine a town without men in their twenties and thirties and the grief their absence would leave, I lose my words. Every year as we wake in the dark it is freezing and misty. We gather at first light and it is quiet as we huddle together and so incredibly moving. I cannot hear the last post without tears that come from a reality I can only imagine. I listen to the poems and songs written by mothers who lost their sons and husbands to another man’s battle and it burns my chest. I remind myself how lucky I am to not know that awful truth.We may spend the rest of the day playing two up and carousing, gambling and drinking “in honour” of those who fell for us on the battlefield and if we’re really lucky, sharing stories with the diggers who came home. Truly it is worth taking pause to raise a glass to those who have paid the ultimate price for the freedom we enjoy.My country taught me some of the stories of our past while I was at school. My history teacher taught me that those who refuse to remember their past are condemned to repeat it. My community taught me how to honour that properly and with due reverence. My soldier friend taught me what it means in real life.Lest we forget.Image credit: Canberra War MemorialCourtesy of ABC Television Australia