ANZAC day in London

I arrived home from Israel at 10pm so the thought of Dawn Service at 5am on the other side of London with 2 night buses to get there was not appealing. Alas the service on Whitehall at 8am was definitely on the cards.   I woke at 6:30am as dawn sun streamed into the neighbouring houses (yes I live in a north facing house in the Northern Hemisphere!) . Dashing down to get the tube at 7:00 to meet René at Westminster for 7:30. The recommended time for arrival by the NZ High Commission to ensure you see the action. As I waited on René to join me my friend Jo Brough arrived and we had a brief catch up. René and I secured standing positions opposite the Cenetaph with the Press being forced in front of us for much of the service. We clearly in the spot for the photos.  

Shortly before the service commensed my dear school friend Andrew Barnett came to join us and told us he had achieved a "lying down photo" with the Prime Minster of NZ at the Dawn Service at Hyde Park. So famous was this event he was published in the Shanghai Daily, Daily Life and Yahoo News. This really made Andrews day and he was in such good spirits for 7.45am in shorts on a cool London Spring morning!

Suddenly the procession was upon us and the leading service men and women formed an orderly formation to the right of us with the dignitrys the NZ High Commissioner, Australian High Commissioner and his Right Honarable John Keys presiding. Wreaths were laid and a moment silence observed. A young Australian girl from Perth read a passage from the Bible and a boy from a local London Public School read another. It was touching. Brief. Solemn. Not without tears. A trumpet played the last post and the dignitaries and the service men made the procession back to Westminster for the formal Church Service.

By 8:15 in less military fashion we broke the barriers to admire the wreaths and have our own moments of remembering. I thought of the experience I'd had in Gallipoli, Turkey bewildered by the landscape and the task those young ANZACs had, the donkey and the Medic who had tried to save his men during that combat, my first visit to Europe and the trenches of Belgium, the cemetry's of mass white crosses of Normandy where my Great Uncle had landed and walked all the way to victory in Berlin,  the Israeli participation I had learnt about the previous week, my Great Uncle who drowned on leave, the rations books of my Dad's family and left over whitebait used as compost when Grandma had had enough (blasphemous today!) and my dear old Cousin Ginger Jim who had sailed off to the Navy and imparting his name with my own Dad. 

Remembering and commemorating these fallen soldiers is always personal, Based on your own experience and understanding but one morning every year I think its important to take that time to reflect. Not least to acknowledge the enormity and obsurdity of it to prevent it happening again. 

Lest We Forget.