When I came to Sydney first there were still some of the original Anzacs, reverently chauffeured in old military vehicles at the head of the parade. The WWII veterans were sprightly men in their 70s and the Vietnam diggers were still relatively young men.
Now the Aussies who fought in the Great War are all gone, there are only 6 or 7 left in the world. The ranks of the Second World War soldiers are growing thinner at an exponential rate and even the men who fought in Vietnam have transitioned from middle age to seniority.
There were young marchers too, as Australians are involved in fresh conflicts like Iraq and Afghanistan and in peace keeping duty in places like East Timor.
Mingled in the ranks were the descendants of those diggers that have passed on.
All marched proudly, smiling despite their weariness. Some of the old blokes looked worn out, but pleased as punch. Old mates helped each other along. Others look like they could have done a second lap of the CDB, buoyed up the claps and cheers of the crowd.
On a day that was at times wet and cool and at other times quite warm, Sydney turned out to pay respect to the men and women who put their lives on the line for this country.
In the late 60s, up until the last decade or so, Anzac Day fell out of favour with the public, seeing it as a glorification of war. This view had thankfully changed and though tones of nationalism have crept into the country, this day is still just one of thanks and remembrance.
There are no convoys of tanks or screaming jets or hovering choppers, just a procession of former and current soldiers, sailors and airman, marching with dignity, pride and good humour.
I brought Cillian along to see his first march and he enjoyed himself no end. He loved the bands, the crowds and some of the old diggers waved to him as I waved his little arm.
Lest we forget.
An Irish association marches.
l
One of many marching bands.
No comments:
Post a Comment