I grew up in a family where the morning hours of Anzac Day were dedicated to watching the Sydney Anzac Day march on television.
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I remember as a child sitting on the floor in the lounge room transfixed to the TV watching and listening to the commentary as each unit or squadron marched past.
For our family it was a most natural occupation, it was in our DNA. My grandfather was part of the first landing at Gallipoli on April 25, 1915.
My great-uncle, after whom I am named, was an Army Chaplain to British soldiers during Word War I and to Australian soldiers during Word War II. My dad served in the Royal Australian Air Force in WWII at HQ Squadron London during the blitz. And my eldest brother was in the RAAF during the Malayan crisis.
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When you mentioned war or military service in our home there was never a thought of triumphalism or conquest.
It was always gratitude, deep and often tearful gratitude, for those who served and paid the supreme sacrifice and the inescapable reality of the awful cost of war.
My grandfather was gassed in the trenches and my Dad suffered from war-related injuries all of his life, often living on the edge of family life, unable to participate fully in work or home.
There is no glory in war.
War is not a military version of the Olympic Games. There are no winners only degrees of loss.
Medals recognise theatres of service and, for some, documented acts of courage.
But most of the courage in war is undocumented. It takes place in the trench or the shell scraping or the hanger or on the deck as ordinary men and women silently wait, or as they banter or as they clean their weapons and prepare themselves. Just being there is courageous. And for many, they will pay a life-long cost for their willingness to be there.
So, you see, I don’t celebrate Anzac Day, there’s nothing to celebrate.
I commemorate (honour, remember) and remain forever grateful for ordinary men and women – nurses, labourers, tradies, teachers, farmers, clerks and so many other descripts who were just willing to be “there”.
We will remember them.
Reverend Doctor David Jones, pictured left, was an Army Chaplain who retired from service at the Royal Military College Duntroon in 2017. He is now the minister at Braidwood Uniting Church.