100 Years of ANZAC at the War Memorial
By Paige Lowman
For me, ANZAC Day began at 4am. The air was a chilly 7 degrees, but still and silent. A record-breaking 120,000 civilians gathered together at the Australian War Memorial to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the landing at Gallipoli.
The service began with the reading of letters and diary entries of the deceased servicemen and women by military personnel.
“If Gallipoli was a cry, it was one long cry,” One letter said.
“It is horrifying to see how the young men are buried.” Said another.
Another letter recounted the experience of one young digger as he carried his fellow soldier to safety, knowing that this soldier was sure to die. The soldier being carried had been hit, and had bitten his tongue and cheek to the point where blood was “gushing from his mouth”, in order to stop himself from screaming in pain, and hence giving his fellow men the chance to escape quietly.
Just before the sun rose, the Last Post rang out across the crowd. Although there were 120,000 people, this was all that could be heard.
All around me, there were servicemen and women in their uniforms, saluting the song with pride.
Then came the minute of silence. I can’t speak for those around me, but I did not think of soldiers falling to their deaths in the rubble.
Instead, I thought of the young faces, smiling on the back of trucks and eating their tucker in their muddy uniforms. I thought of the camaraderie, and of the bravery in these young soldiers.
I thought of the pain that they must have felt, in carrying the bodies of their friends across the field, and buried them in piles. I thought of the bravery that they must have displayed.
“We did not say a word. We wanted to be soldiers,” one of the letters read.
I thought of the weeping mothers, as they received letters that their sons and daughters would not be returning home.
I thought of the wives, and of the children, of the fallen soldiers.
I did not think of the violence of war – instead, I chose to think of the love surrounding the soldiers who fought in it.
And, just like that, the service was over.
I returned to the War Memorial later, to pay my respects to the 62,000 Australians on the Roll of Honour for World War I.
The Eternal Flame danced in the rain, a reminder that the brightest flames cannot be extinguished. Just like the fallen soldiers, the memory remains, and it cannot be destroyed.
When I reached the Roll of Honour, I was reminded of the poem that was read at the Dawn Service earlier that morning, “In Flanders Fields“.
In Flanders fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce hard amid the guns below.We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
There were only a few civilians still lingering at the Memorial by midday, but all of them had a purpose. Some, to visit the gift shop and collect some 100th Anniversary memorabilia.
Others, to walk the lengths of the Roll of Honour, looking for their ancestor’s names. Some simply ran their fingertips along the names, and others placed poppies beside them.
There were many people who were serving our country who lingered the halls at that time. Though, you would not have known it to look at them. The only tell was the small badge, pinned to their shirt collars, proudly yet quietly displaying their services.
Others paced by the pool that separated the Roll of Honour for the first and second World Wars, to place wreaths in commemoration for the fallen soldiers.
Many of the wreaths contained letters, closed and sealed. We may never know what those letters said, but the significance is high – it is as anonymous and private as the lives of the fallen soldiers. But still, it is a presence that is felt as soon as it is seen.
Nearly all of the wreaths contain poppies. Some of them were full and glorious crowns of poppies, and others were a much more simplistic yet equally powerful demonstration of the significance of the flower.
It is somewhat strange to think, that something so beautiful could represent something so destructive. But it is in this beauty that the fallen soldiers find peace. For the spirit of ANZAC is not one of destruction, but it is one of mateship and bravery.
They shall not grow 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.
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