ANZAC Day

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Today, 25 April is ANZAC Day, a commemoration of Australia’s and New Zealand’s involvement in armed conflict throughout the world. Dawn Service ceremonies are underway in communities throughout our countries; since I can’t be out there this morning I thought I would share it with this community. For us this is a day of quiet reflection on those who have fought and given up so much for their country.

At dawn on 25 April 1915 – 99 years ago today – allied forces attempted to take the Gallipoli peninsula in Turkey, which would assist a British operation aimed at taking the Turkish capital and effectively knock them out of World War I. It was intended to be a fast victory but instead turned into months of trench warfare, followed by a decisive defeat of allied forces.

My great grandfather was among those in the trenches at Gallipoli. As a child I never really understood why he didn’t want to talk about the war. I never understood what he or his mates endured. The truth is so many of them didn’t have a clue what they were getting themselves into either.

As the years have gone by we’ve continued to have soldiers serve in conflicts throughout the world, first fighting under a British flag then under our own. No matter what else changes, that awful necessity of statehood – the need for our young and strong to kill and bleed on foreign soil – has remained. There is no doubt that it’s safeguarded our freedom and certainly our interests, but it’s a hell of a high price.

One of the commanders of the Turkish forces during the Gallipoli campaign was a Colonel Mustafa Kemal, who later became known as Ataturk (Father of the Turks). One of the greatest tributes to fallen allied soldiers are the words of this man, formerly our enemy, who in 1934 said:

“Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours... you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.”

For those of you who serve or have served – thank you.

Lest we forget.
 
I would like to share a story that was told to me by a a very good and now sadly deceased friend of mine. His Grandfather had fought at Gallipoli as a young man. As a young child my mate Leigh remembered asking his Grandad why he had two big dings in his head. He told me they were very noticeable like he had been hit with a hammer. His Grandfather told him his Grandma had hit him with the frying pan for coming home late from the pub. It wasn't for many years after the old boy had passed away that Leigh found out he had been a trench runner or messenger and had been hit twice in the helmet by Turkish bullets and yet survived.
 
Thank you severtecher and thanks for sharing that Meako. My great-grandfather was wounded by shrapnel in Gallipoli. One piece they removed in the early 1980's and the other piece stayed with him until he passed - aged 97. I do remember asking him if he knew Simpson and ever saw the donkey - he told me yes they were friends and I will never be sure he was just joking with his naive great-grandson.
 
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