A part of many lives that may never be reconciled, mystery and awe for the younger, sorrow, shame, or bonding pride for others. I remember too the old soldiers marching as though stepping from time and a life far away back into suburban streets, unpainted landscapes, drum beats upon the paved streets that children might wave and dream a dream of gallant lads whilst mothers watched thinking of a young man lost and being alone except for a war that never stopped.
This from projecthr...
I remember as an almost seven year old, marching beside my grandfather, at the Dawn parade in Auckland. It's one of those memories you never forget - the ceremony, the pride and honour of belonging to someone so much part of the day. It was his last ANZAC day.
As I marched along, holding my grandfather's sleeve, because he had lost an arm in WWI, I remember the other old soldiers around me, stopping to pat me on the head and smile, as if I was part of their family too.
I realise now I was. For them, the survivors of Gallipoli, a little six year old girl was what it was all about - their children and their children's children, and the thought of a better and free life for them all - that was why so many happily gave their time and for some their lives to fight a battle, that wasn't of their making.
You can argue over the politics or the right or wrongfulness of what was done during the wars this country has involved itself in - but in the end what matters most of all, is the men and woman who gave and suffered more than any of us have ever known - just to be sure we had a future.
Of course we will remember them - Lest We Forget
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project_hr (2282 ) 10:34 am, Mon 25 Apr #14
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