Remembering my first Anzac Parade

 

When I was a girl, 5 or 6,

we went to our first Anzac Parade,

just we three -my brother and mother and me.

Because, "your Grandad fought in the war,"

which made me think he went to this Anzac war

But no, not that one, another one. Another war?

How many wars? My little mind boggled.

And he was gassed, by mustard gas,

which sounds like something I will never like the taste of.

Now he's in hospital, in an oxygen tent, where he can no longer,

hold my hand - because of war.

It was hot, that day of my first parade.

The soldiers wore uniforms the colour of dying grass,

heavy medals clinked beneath the strong sunshine,

as my sweaty hand sought out my mother's trembling grasp.

I awkwardly shuffled from toe to toe, wandering if Santa Claus

was coming to this parade, hopefully to throw some lollies to me.

Mother saluted the steadfast soldiers as they strode silently past,

I raised my hand in a bent salute, shielding my eyes from the sun.

Was this what Gallipoli was like?

I didn't think that I would ever like war.

We went straight home,

marching past my school, no stops, no treats

from the dairy and my little brother started to cry.

I whispered, "shut up!" and my mother growled at me for swearing,

on Anzac Day. I began to hate war.

I practiced my own Anzac Day march along the footpath to our house, but

lacked coordination, choosing to skip and dance instead.

Not very warlike.

"You'd never be a good solider," my mother murmured to me,

critically true, like mothers sometimes do.

I didn't suit compost green clothes.

"Fine by me," my little self silently answered her.

My dad never went to war, nor my brothers,

my sons have stayed home too,

and I hope my grandsons never go.

"Shoot pheasants and turkeys instead, grow vegetables, make art

and music. Do good unto others, win those wars," I tell them.

Yet, honour still, those who went, those who fell and the many who still came

home.

And march we will, once a year, LEST WE FORGET 💘🌹

while raising a flag; salute and plant another cross beneath a granite memorial,

as we stand and celebrate the peace those soldiers won.

Then men who marched in heavy dark green uniforms, on hot days,

doing for others,

so that we can have freedom and

live.

Free.