Lest We Forget.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years contemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

I know it was a week and a half ago now, but I’m writing about it anyway, because Anzac Day has always been special to me.  My family has gone to the dawn parade since I can remember.  Each year we get up at 5.30am, wrap up warm, don our Anzac poppies and go to the dawn parade.  My favourite part is always the recessional, when everyone stands either side of the road to applaud the veterans as they march past.

There used to be a man in the parade every year.  I remember seeing him marching with the other veterans and then for several years watching his son pushing him in his wheelchair alongside them.  But now, his son walks in his place.  And each year when I look out for that little old man with the crocheted blanket over his knees and the medals pinned to his jacket and he’s not there, a few tears escape.  Yes, for a man i never met or spoke to and no, I don’t know exactly why.  I’m not one of those girls that cry all the time, but something about his absence squeezes on my heart a little bit.

I will never know what it was like to go to war, because another generation did that for me.  I can never understand what those men and women went through, but I can honour their sacrifice by showing gratitude and respect, and I can remember.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.