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For Australians (and New Zealanders), April 25 – ANZAC Day – is our pre-eminent day of commemoration. It is then that our nations stop and reflect on those who have served our countries in war and war-like conflicts, particularly those who have made the supreme sacrifice.
It is, of course, the day the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps landed on the beaches of Gallipoli, and was our first day of national remembrance, with the inaugural ceremony held in 1916, even as conflict raged in Europe.
Those guns finally fell silent at 11am on November 11, 1918, when an armistice came into effect, essentially ending what was then called The Great War.
November 11 became known as Armistice Day and the Allied commemorations were held at 11am on that day, each year. Following World War II, Armistice Day was formally renamed Remembrance Day (and is known as Veterans Day in the US).
And it remains an important day in our national life.
Remembrance – an act, not just a recollection – is a duty. It compels us to remember, and commemorate, the selfless service of our military personnel, who served (and serve) in our country's name.
And today, that remembrance is extended to the military personnel of our wartime Allies, as well.
Importantly, commemoration is not a celebration, nor glorification, of war. It is not a time for chest-beating or jingoism.
If you've attended a Remembrance Day service, you'll know that it is a solemn occasion, when thoughts turn to those who served, and particularly those who died in their nation's service.
Two poems are often recited at these services; one stanza of one of them became known as the Ode of Remembrance.
John McCrae's poem, In Flanders Fields is well known. It reads:
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.
It is from Flanders, and likely as a result of this poem, that the red poppy is often worn as a symbol of remembrance.
I have had the sad privilege of walking among the overwhelming number of those white crosses in Western France, and of paying my respects to our war dead there. The experience is hard to put into words. But the poppies still grow there, wild, on the roadside.
I like to think that's fitting – both as a symbol of triumph over adversity, but also as a living reminder of what happened there.
The other poem, Laurence Binyon's For The Fallen, pays direct tribute to those who died serving their country, and it reminds us of our duty.
I will pause for a minute's reflection and remembrance at 11am today. I would encourage you to do the same.
They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.
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.
Lest We Forget
