Thousands remember their heroes (ANZAC Day)

THOUSANDS of people have braved a wet morning around the nation to remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country at the Anzac Day dawn service.

Masses assembled at the Cenotaph at Martin Place in Sydney just before 4.30am (AEST) for the ceremony to mark the ill-fated landing at Gallipoli 92 years ago.

War veterans were in attendance, but the early morning crowd was a predominantly young one.

The crowd stood huddled beneath a sea of umbrellas as the sometimes heavy rain fell throughout the service.

Naval Commander of Australia, Rear Admiral Davyd Thomas, said the Anzac story resonated with so many Australians because it was about ordinary people.

"It's interesting how a tactical defeat can outshine any number of successes and form part of our national identity," Rear Admiral Thomas said.

"The wonderful thing about the Anzac story is that it's not a story that glorifies war.

"It's a story about ordinary people struggling to overcome their fears and frailties but achieving extraordinary things."

One of my favorites...

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It’s time to stop rambling ‘cause there’s work to be done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
How the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he’d blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

Now those that were left, well we tried to survive
In a mad world of blood, death and fire
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
But around me the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
For no more I’ll go waltzing Matilda
All around the green bush far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where my legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
Then turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving old dreams of past glory
And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, “What are they marching for?”
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who’ll come a waltzing Matilda with me
And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong
Who’ll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?

Yup, I can see that.

Went to the Anzac march today. As part of the school, I can participate, get all dressed up in my uniform, and whatnot - so we march down the street, and to the memorial park.

We all troop in, sit down, and we sing a few hymns, listen to a few addresses - and it starts to rain. Lightly at first, but, after a few minutes, it’s absolutely pissing down. You’ve got the reservists and soldiers there standing in their uniforms, facing the flags, the speakers up there yelling through the microphone just to be heard, and the rest of us sitting down on the soaking grass.

Nobody suggests we move, or that we postpone the ceremony for a few minutes so that we can wait for the rain to subside.

After about ten, it clears up (and heads off towards my place, which is very welcome, seeing as we’re low on water), and we’re all soaked to the bone. The speeches finish up, and, to finish it off, we sign the national anthem. And then God Save the Queen, of course.

There’s sort a sense of something, there. You sit through the rain and sing and listen regardless of how wet you get, because it’s Anzac Day. You wouldn’t do it on Australia Day, or the Queen’s birthday, even, but no-one, bar no-one, moved, or even suggested moving.

That’s Anzac day. There’s an incredible amount of respect and sorrow there - even if you’re not a patriot normally, if you’re anything but the most diehard of liberals or socialists, you’re there. Because it’s the least you can do for the men who died for our country.

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