As a 5 year old, I remember learning about the struggles that our soldiers went through in war. It seemed as though it was simply another tale, obviously sadder than than the events that took place in other stories. But as I ventured in to High School, I remember seeing a group of idiots who were laughing in the middle of an Anzac slideshow. The image of our deputy principal rushing the boys out of the assembly doors still sticks with me today. Considering they were about 15 years of age, and whilst they were holding their tattered notebooks, it saddened me to think that some time ago, there were boys, only a few months older than these idiots who were holding nothing but a gun and the Anzac spirit we have all come to admire and cherish today.
The boys were escorted out and the slideshow played on, photos of boys who weren't even legal battling for their lives. Embarrassingly, I felt tears run down my cheeks. Although my parents were migrants, and I didn't have any relatives who had fought in that war, I cried. I cried not just for the fallen Anzacs, but for their mothers, their fathers, their wives and most of all their kids. It's 2012, and although we aren't facing a world war, our Aussie troops are still on the other side of the world, fighting a war that is not even ours to fight. Personal opinions aside, I hope that some day the big guys in their crisp suits decide to grow up, and move on. Too many lives have been lost and many more will continue to be lost.
This photo envisions the amazing opportunities I have as a first generation Australian. If it wasn't for these soldiers, I would not have grown up in such an amazing country.
I would like to leave you with a poem I hold close to my heart, written by Wilfred Owen, a poet and fallen British soldier.
DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares(2) we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest(3) began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots(4)
Of tired, outstripped(5) Five-Nines(6) that dropped behind.
Gas!(7) Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets(8) just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime(9) . . .
Dim, through the misty panes(10) and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering,(11) choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud(12)
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest(13)
To children ardent(14) for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.(15)
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares(2) we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest(3) began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots(4)
Of tired, outstripped(5) Five-Nines(6) that dropped behind.
Gas!(7) Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets(8) just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime(9) . . .
Dim, through the misty panes(10) and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering,(11) choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud(12)
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest(13)
To children ardent(14) for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.(15)
Wilfred Owen
8 October 1917 - March, 1918
8 October 1917 - March, 1918
Lest We Forget,
Wogarella Xx
It's amazing how these "innocent lives" you mention, are the ones who INVADED a foreign land that the Turkish soldiers defended and died for! May all their souls rest in peace! But you are obviously a bit ignorant with the Galipolli history sweetheart. You've obviously been spoon fed like an idiot! Australia had no bloody right to be there. Oh and one more thing sweet cheeks, you said: "If it wasn't for these soldiers, I would not have grown up in such an amazing country." - Umm, you must be stupid in all honesty. Turks didn't invade Australia, you academically challenged person, it was the other way round! Please read up on history. Oh and P.S., no I'm not Turkish, very much Aussie.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your feedback, but last time I checked almost every country in history has contributed to a war at some stage. In fact, and I have nothing against Turks, but I'm fairly sure they invaded Syria and killed a large percentage of Muslim Alawites. Anzac day isn't just about our fallen soldiers, but revisiting the painful moments whereby people of both countries were robbed of their life. Sadly, lives are still being taken. Oh by the way I actually have a degree. So next time, feel free to comment, but don't assume anything about my academic background.
ReplyDelete