I was in Sydney on Wednesday of last week when the Anzac Day celebrations were held, commemorating all Australians and New Zealanders who served and died in wars and peace-keeping missions. I must admit I had not realised how big an annual event it is. We have Remembrance Sunday in the UK but it is not on this scale. For days beforehand there were signs everywhere and the news channels gave much air time to it. The times we live in being what they are, much of the coverage concerned the possibility of terrorist attack and how people should behave as normal etc. From early on the day itself there were TV broadcasts of dignitaries giving speeches and marches getting going all round the country.
As much out of curiosity as anything, I made my way at 10 in the morning to Hyde Park, where the Anzac Memorial is located. Veterans and others were already marching along Elizabeth Street to the corner of the Park where I had parked myself behind several rows of people who were lining all the nearby streets. Brass bands were playing and soon had me (silly old poofter that I am) feeling emotional. Then, to my surprise, bagpipe bands started to appear in full tartan clobber, busbies a-bobbing, sporrans a-swinging. Well, that did it, I really teared up then. Whoever invented the bagpipes was a genius - no instrument can compete with them in the heart-stirring department. It also came strongly home to me that this was a day commemorating sacrifice. We all know, deep down, that it is sacrifice that gives value to human life, from the simplest level of just doing a kindly deed for another to the ultimate level of giving one's life for others. All the rest of the ego-driven, self-indulgent stuff which occupies most of our time and energy pales into insignificance by comparison.
I doubt whether there could have been many survivors from World War Two in the marches, but a few looked old enough. As they hobbled past with their walking sticks and even zimmer frames, in tunics emblazoned with medals, heads held high whatever cruel indignities time and circumstance had inflicted on the rest of their bodies, the crowds would burst into loud applause. One feisty old guy in a wheelchair had a glass of beer in one hand and kept raising it to the crowds in acknowledgement. The army regiments went through first, followed by the air force units. At that point there was a fly past of two possibly World War Two bombers; they circled round twice to repeat the gesture. Next came the naval units; a small group from a submarine division were marching under a banner which read 'We Cometh Unseen'. Now there's a banner that all the masturbators of the world could unite under, I thought - oh, perish my dirty, ignoble mind!
After more than an hour we were getting down to the lower-key units, lots of younger guys and women. I found it hard to keep my enthusiasm at fever pitch for administrative units, radio operators and the like. Rather than wait for the Catering Corps to arrive, I left my post and strolled through Hyde Park where, by the Memorial, a flag-bedecked stage and seating were in place for dignitaries and speeches later on. I didn't hang around, but I found myself singing Waltzing Matilda (quietly) to myself for much of the rest of the day.
