By Phil Crockart.
Over 100 years ago a large contingent of Australian and New Zealand soldiers attempted to storm the shores of Gallipoli. The object was to “ambush” the Turks on their march southward and force them back north, take Constantinople, giving us a base of operation and thus shorten the war.
Some of these soldiers were as young as 15 and as old as 50, the boys lied about their age to the recruiters. Due to a mistake on which beach to land, and some ignorance in the high command, our boys were cut down and only a percentage of the troops were able to penetrate into the higher ground. Thousands of young and not so young troops were lying dead or dying on that beach.
As grey nomads and maybe some baby boomers, it behoves us to spend a moment or two in reflection of this sad yet nation defining moment.
These brave soldiers had illusions of victory for King and country, they had visions of a great battle and glory (as any young patriot would). I can only but imagine the fear and trepidation these troops felt as they approached that beach and the big weapons started booming out their notes of death and destruction.
When I was in the RAAF I had the joy of attending many ANZAC marches in various towns around the Gippsland area, as a member of the City of Salebrass band. Each town gave me the honour of playing the last post and reveille at their services. I know I played these tributes many, many times, each time was a new emotional roller coaster for me, it was rare that, once finished I didn’t have tears in my eyes. It must have been a sight, seeing a man in military uniform crying.As a 66 year old I still have emotions when I hear the last post playing.
I also managed to speak with some old ‘diggers’ at the local pub after the service. They spoke about the fear and pain as they landed at that place. Some of the stories still come to haunt me, mud and rain and blood in winter; dust and wind and blood in summer, a gruesome scene painted by these old blokes over a beer. The most common theme in these chats was the many mates, “cobbers” they called them, who they saw mutilated by machine gun fire from above with no mercy shown. Yet, in saying that, the Christmas and retrieval of the dead shows a humanity on both sides.
As age has taken our last WW1 Vets, these stories will now be second and third hand.
Nowadays I have stopped marching and playing my cornet. The last few ANZAC march I participated in I was deeply moved by the number of young kids, teenagers and toddlers holding banners that simply read “Thank You”.
Lest we Forget
