Bruce in West Oz
New member
On the 25th April, 1915, Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) troops stormed the beaches at Gallipoli.
It was an offensive they couldn't win -- but their gallantry, incredible bravery and sheer old-fashioned guts forged two nations.
On the 25th, we in Australia remember ALL service personnel, male and female, as well as civilian resistance fighters, who fought in any war, "conflict" or "police action" you care to name.
We pledge to never forget what they sacrificed, and the debt we owe.
They were "ordinary" people, like my Uncle Fred, a slight, mild-mannered man, quiet to a fault, always laughing, who slogged his way across the Kokoda Trail in New Guinea, fighting every muddy inch of the way.
People like my Uncle Les, a "Rat of Tobruk", who was given permission to leave his 25-pounder to get a cup of tea from the Red Cross truck -- 30 seconds before his gun emplacement took a direct hit.
People like my mother's brother, also Uncle Les, who island-hopped the Pacific with the Americans.
People like my best friend who lost his life when a "rookie" pilot he was teaching clipped a tree and barreled them in.
People like my Grandad -- too old to fight -- who spent the war in a flat, featureless, superheated hell-hole of an air force base in the N-W of Australia -- no air-con, no ice-cream, no nothing.
People like my Dad, who lied about his age, got Nanna to sign his enlistment papers, and joined the Royal Australian Navy at 16, to fight in Darwin.
People like my friend who came back from Vietnam and tried to take up teaching. We thought it was funny (back then) to walk past him and say "dit-dit-da-da-da" in a fasletto and watch him go white-faced. It was only later we found he was a radio operator and declared "Morse-happy". Then we were ashamed.
Yes, we owe them ALL -- and I feel sometimes as though I let them all down. I was conscripted for Vietnam -- and failed the medical. (Suspected duodenal ulcer -- at 20!!)
Reports of Australian troops have always branded them as "ill-disciplined" but also "crack shots" and, in days gone by, "excellent horsemen".
Crack shots?? Yes, because then guns were a tool. They were common, and people took pride in using them. They knew guns, and shooting was a skill proudly passed down from father to son -- or daughter.
It helped, too, that they were equipped with rifles like the SMLE .303, one of the finest battle rifles of its time. (And I mean no slight to the Garand.) In rapid fire, it was reported that German soldiers actually radioed that they were under fire from massed machine guns.
So tomorrow, I -- and many other Australians and our mates the Kiwis -- will remember. Despite what they say on TV, we won't "celebrate" Anzac Day. We will, however, commemorate it and all the people who so richly deserve to be remembered and thanked.
Thank you.
"At the going down of the sun
And in the morning
We will remember them.
Lest we forget."
B
It was an offensive they couldn't win -- but their gallantry, incredible bravery and sheer old-fashioned guts forged two nations.
On the 25th, we in Australia remember ALL service personnel, male and female, as well as civilian resistance fighters, who fought in any war, "conflict" or "police action" you care to name.
We pledge to never forget what they sacrificed, and the debt we owe.
They were "ordinary" people, like my Uncle Fred, a slight, mild-mannered man, quiet to a fault, always laughing, who slogged his way across the Kokoda Trail in New Guinea, fighting every muddy inch of the way.
People like my Uncle Les, a "Rat of Tobruk", who was given permission to leave his 25-pounder to get a cup of tea from the Red Cross truck -- 30 seconds before his gun emplacement took a direct hit.
People like my mother's brother, also Uncle Les, who island-hopped the Pacific with the Americans.
People like my best friend who lost his life when a "rookie" pilot he was teaching clipped a tree and barreled them in.
People like my Grandad -- too old to fight -- who spent the war in a flat, featureless, superheated hell-hole of an air force base in the N-W of Australia -- no air-con, no ice-cream, no nothing.
People like my Dad, who lied about his age, got Nanna to sign his enlistment papers, and joined the Royal Australian Navy at 16, to fight in Darwin.
People like my friend who came back from Vietnam and tried to take up teaching. We thought it was funny (back then) to walk past him and say "dit-dit-da-da-da" in a fasletto and watch him go white-faced. It was only later we found he was a radio operator and declared "Morse-happy". Then we were ashamed.
Yes, we owe them ALL -- and I feel sometimes as though I let them all down. I was conscripted for Vietnam -- and failed the medical. (Suspected duodenal ulcer -- at 20!!)
Reports of Australian troops have always branded them as "ill-disciplined" but also "crack shots" and, in days gone by, "excellent horsemen".
Crack shots?? Yes, because then guns were a tool. They were common, and people took pride in using them. They knew guns, and shooting was a skill proudly passed down from father to son -- or daughter.
It helped, too, that they were equipped with rifles like the SMLE .303, one of the finest battle rifles of its time. (And I mean no slight to the Garand.) In rapid fire, it was reported that German soldiers actually radioed that they were under fire from massed machine guns.
So tomorrow, I -- and many other Australians and our mates the Kiwis -- will remember. Despite what they say on TV, we won't "celebrate" Anzac Day. We will, however, commemorate it and all the people who so richly deserve to be remembered and thanked.
Thank you.
"At the going down of the sun
And in the morning
We will remember them.
Lest we forget."
B
