To The Fallen
A Tribute for ANZAC Day
I survived yet another night, death has forgotten me again, it is the 25th of April, its ANZAC Day, the only day of the year where I must fulfil my duty, my late son’s good mate drops by every second day and we talk about the past, last night he laid out my suit and my war medals, he’s been doing that for… a good 5 years now, he’s a good lad, my son had a great mate.
I put on my suit and my medals, I glance at my dear Milly before I grab my cane to walk out the house, in my driveway I see my son’s friend, I think his name is … James, I get a little mixed up. He helps me into the car and we drive to the train station, I reach into my pocket to pay for the fare, but James already bought my ticket, but I’m a proud man so he accepts my money, but he always slips it back into my pocket or my wallet when I’m not looking, that sneaky bugger.
There was a time when seeing a non white on a train was a rarity, but its common now, I lived to see everything that needs to be seen, I’ve seen the horrors of war, I’ve seen the dismissal of Whitlam, I’ve seen my friends die one by one, I’ve out lived my Milly and my son. We’ve arrived at St James train station, this is our stop. James guides me towards the parade while he tells me what his 4 year old daughter did yesterday, every time he speaks of her he can’t help but be proud, like I was when my son was born.
I’m marching with other old men, men I don’t know, but men who look familiar, we march and wave as the parade moves along the city streets. Every year my friends who return becomes fewer and fewer every year. My generation is dying, I’m alone, soon I’m going to be with my family.
As we stand at attention and in silence for that lone bugle being trumpeted the memories come flooding back, the feeling is hard to describe, but it’s the same feeling I got right after a fierce battle came to an end and during the silence you realise that one of your comrades is no longer with you.
I never think about what the Japanese did to my friends and I never think about what we did to them, but one day a year and every time I hold my medal in my hands, I fight back tears, one thing I never thought I’d do is to kill another human being. That lone bugle playing the last post is the most sorrowful piece of music known to man.
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This is an important day for my grandfather, its ANZAC Day, my grandfather fought in World War 2, its funny he seems like a gentle man, its hard to believe that he could ever take another human life. My grandmother died 15 years ago, the death of his ‘Milly’ left him devastated and soon after that his mental state went down hill.
For eight years my dad visited my granddad every second day, playing yahtzee, watching movies together and making sure he took all his pills, they were best friends, most children who visited their parents saw it as a chore, but not him. When my dad died of a heart attack 7 years ago, I honestly didn’t think my granddad would survive, he once told me that he hoped that I would never have the heart break of burying my children. So every second day I come by his house just as my father did before me.
He has dementia, he doesn’t remember me, he doesn’t remember my wedding or the birth of my daughter Milly. I remember when he finally forgot who I was, when I told him that I was his grandson William, he looked so confused, ashamed and embarrassed, that he could not even remember his own grandson. This would happen every time I came over until I couldn’t bear him to feel the shame again, so he settled on James, one of his son’s old mates.
He misses Milly, he glances at her picture every time he leaves the house, the glance worries me, there is some thing in that glance that seems very wrong… as if she never left or that he will see her again real soon. It’s almost as if he has nothing to live for, I weep at night sometimes while driving home. Two years ago he moved in with my family, he still thinks he never left his home. I try to show my granddad what he has to live for by trying to involve Milly in most of our activities. He has a bond with her but I don’t think he knows why. It really is the long goodbye.
I am so addiment that he participates in the ANZAC parade because he rarely sees his old friends from his unit. They greet him on sight, he feels he should know them yet he pretends to know them because he can’t put the name to the face, and the ones he does remember are no longer able to march.
I see him marching down the street at times looking a bit confused, but when he stands for the bugle, that is the only time he looks sure of himself, the only time he remembers clearly what he did for his country and why he is here today, to remember.
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We have sent Australia’s sons and daughters to protect our country, our motherland England and other nations, our sons and daughters have fought valiantly with honour and distinction, whatever political, cultural or religious persuasion, they will fight and commit the ultimate sacrifice so that we can sleep tonight
We have sons and daughters fighting in our military in Afghanistan, Iraq, the Solomon Islands and Fiji. They have fallen so that we can stand, the last devotion.
To the Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.
Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.
But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.
Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
Lest we forget.
http://www.awm.gov.au/commemoration/customs/poems.htm#fallen
