11.11.11 Lest We Forget.

They shall grow not 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.

~Laurence Binyon~

Here in Australia the 11th day of the 11th month is Remembrance Day. We hold a minutes silence for those who have fallen in defence of our beautiful land on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. This year falling in 2011 especially poignant.

Even we, the generations who have not lived through wars close to our shores, feel the awe and need to honour the brave servicmen who did so much for us.

Every man or woman who has served our country, every battle, war, fight they have engaged in need to be acknowledged and remembered.

Lest we forget...

Thank you. Thank you all.

All the fallen or the returned battle weary, all were someone's someone: father, brother, son, cousin, uncle, friend, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, niece, nephew... The few who sacrificed so much for the many. I wrote this for my uncle, and have posted it here before, but today he is foremost in my heart so I am posting it here once more.

Uncle Jack
My Aunt was sobbing softly
In the kitchen’s dying light
As I hid deep in corner
I just knew that things weren’t right

We kids had marched at daybreak
Up early on that day
Young children, very earnest
For the ANZAC Day parade

Uncle Jack strode strong behind us
Laconic smile at his best
With all the medals shining
Pinned high upon his chest

Every time I turned to look back
His cheeky wink was sent
And he blew me sloppy kisses
As along the streets we went

But now my Aunt was crying
When I thought she would be proud
Cause my Uncle survived Changi
He was a digger tall and loud.

Mum put her arms around her
Gently asking: “Is it worse?
Have the nightmares lessened,
Or does he still lash out and curse?”

He had survived such horrors
Watched most his good friends die
On that gruesome Burma railway
As it sucked away their lives

A gentle man had signed up
And died with all his mates
The man who had returned home
Broken, scarred and full of hate

Night terrors revealed so much
Of that he would not speak
Where he’d strangle all his captors
Whilst deeply lost in sleep

By day he’d still be funny
A loving family man
But nights were filled with violence
As he battled them again

My Aunt wiped away the tearstains
And stood up with a sigh
“Well, be best be getting cooking
It’s nearly their teatime.”

I walked out of the kitchen
To where the men sat in the sun
My Uncle Jack hugged and asked me,
“Whachya doin, little one?”

I held on really tightly
Words trapped within my mouth
Trying to say so much
But they wouldn’t come on out

Instead I said “I love you”
When I meant “You are so brave.
Thank you for coming home again,
And for this life of mine you’ve saved.”

Anzac Day 2011 - Lest We Forget

I for one, am truly proud to be an Australian. God bless all our servicemen, past and present.

Thank you for all you have done to keep our golden land of beauty safe.

Last year I posted my own tribute to someone close to me, this year I have no words to express my undying gratitude and pride in what these people have sacrificed for me. Because everyone one of them have helped everyone of us.

Memoir Monday - Anzac Day: Lest We Forget

Now normally I use these posts to carry on about some of the stupid crap I have gotten into during my forty six or so years of life, but here in Australia this weekend is truly special.

Yesterday was Anzac Day, April 25th. Today we have a public holiday to commemorate due to it falling on a Sunday (not sure of the logic, but hey, any excuse for a BBQ, a long weekend and a little two-up). I have not attended  an Anzac Day march for many years, though we do watch the bigger gatherings on TV. Having a child with Asperger Syndrome is not conducive to attending such crowded, loud celebrations.

But, although I have attended many marches over the years right into adulthood, it is the ones of my childhood in my small, country hometown which stick vividly in my mind and can cause the tears to well.

I would swell with pride as I watched our proud diggers march, many who were not up to the walk were pushed in wheelchairs by other frail mates. My uncle was one of those who strode the path walking tall and proud. Head held high, medals proudly adorning his chest, he strode tall and true. A survivor of Changi, the horrors of war had physically and emotionally scarred him forever, but to me he was a loving part of my family. The typical Aussie larrakin, he lovingly teased and tickled, taking pride in my little big mouth attitude. It was not until I was older and allowed to help out at some of his soldier mates get togethers that I began to realise the horrors he had survived.

And so, on Anzac Day, many years after he has departed this earth, I dedicate this Memoir Monday to him.

Lest We Forget.

Uncle Jack

My Aunt was sobbing softly

In the kitchen’s dying light

As I hid deep in the corner

I just knew that things weren’t right

We kids had marched at daybreak

Up early on that day

Young children, oh so earnest

For the ANZAC Day parade

Uncle Jack strode strong behind us

Laconic smile at his best

With all the medals shining

Pinned high upon his chest

Every time I turned to look back

His cheeky wink was sent

And he blew me sloppy kisses

As along the streets we went

But now my Aunt was crying

When I thought she should be proud

Cause my Uncle survived Changi

He was a digger tall and loud.

Mum put her arms around her

Gently asking: “Is it worse?

Have the nightmares lessened,

Or does he still lash out and curse?”

He had survived such horrors

Watched most his good friends die

On that gruesome Burma railway

As it sucked away their lives

A gentle man had signed up

And died with all his mates

The man who had returned home

Broken, scarred and full of hate

Night terrors revealed so much

Of that he would not speak

Where he’d strangle all his captors

Whilst deeply lost in sleep

By day he’d still be funny

A loving family man

But nights were filled with violence

As he battled them again

 

My Aunt wiped away the tearstains

And stood up with a sigh

“Well, be best be getting cooking

It’s nearly their teatime.”

I walked out of the kitchen

To where the men sat in the sun

My Uncle Jack hugged then asked me,

“Whachya doin, little one?”

I held on so tightly

Words trapped within my mouth

Trying to say so much

But they wouldn’t come on out

Instead I said “I love you”

When I meant “You are so brave.

Thank you for coming home again,

And for this life of mine you’ve saved.”