Lest We Forget

  

ANZAC DAY 2017:  So much upset this year, caused by the thoughtless use of the phrase ‘Lest we Forget’.   And I am not comfortable with the use of this now sacred phrase to promote a political point of view – and yet, when I asked around, in person and on-line, no one could tell me the origin or the deeper meaning apart from a ‘reminder to remember’.

I think it’s a warning, even a veiled threat – and with good reason. We need warnings and we need to understand consequences – that does not stop when you grow up.

I like to look at origins when I am interested in a subject, to help me understand the meaning even if it has changed from the original. I was not surprised to find that the phrase comes from the words of Moses, in the Old Testament.

Deuteronomy 6:12 (KJV)  Then beware lest thou forget the LORD, which brought thee forth out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage.

-        It is a reminder, a warning that when we come into a time of ease and plenty our attention can slip so that it focuses only on the good things we have and not on where they came from.

Inspired by this verse, Rudyard Kipling wrote his poem/hymn, ‘Recession’ in 1897.

A recessional is music or a hymn that is played at the end of a religious service. Kipling wrote this as a reminder of the fragility of wealth and power (of the British Empire) – a warning that if we forget how we achieved success, where it came from, we may find we are lacking when we need extra. It was not written as a memorial to those fallen in war.

God of our fathers, known of old,
  Lord of our far-flung battle line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
  Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!

etc….

As these words were heard again and again, at the end of five verses, and the close of the church service, it is easy to see that the words and meaning would be applied to other areas as a reminder of great loss.  

There are a number of modern ‘lest we forget’ quotes but the meaning is not always the same.  It seems that, if a passage begins with Lest we forget and then states what we should remember, or lest we forget pops up in the middle of a sentence, the meaning is not the same as the simple, lone warning at the end of the text.  Lest we Forget.

After WWI the phrase came into common usage through the British Commonwealth, appearing on war memorials, headstones and in epitaphs as a plea to not forget the sacrifice made by so many.

In Australia 'Lest we Forget' is a registered trademark, owned by the RSL on behalf of our returned service men and women.

The first Anzac commemorations were held on 25^th April 1916, a year after Australian and New Zealand soldiers set out to capture the Gallipoli peninsula. By the 1920's it had been established as a National day and now, sadly, it goes beyond that single anniversary and we honour all who have died in war or conflict since.  We hear words such as honour, courage, mateship and sacrifice linked with national identity and Australian spirit. All this is good and true and an important part of our culture, but the phrase we have attached to the day is still a warning that we must heed and we must pass down the generations - because we do forget.  

will you still feed me?

My Aunty Joan is my living hero.  Now, almost 97 she has finally come to the place of knowing she can't live on her own anymore.  She is almost blind.  She's had a couple of falls, no serious damage, but enough to show it's not safe to be alone. The little timber cottage in Gatton has been closed up and Joan waited in the local hospital for the next step. That step was something she could not handle herself so her daughters, son and their spouses had to organise a residential home for her. It took a while, but finally she is installed in a lovely unit of a large bedroom/sitting room and a large bathroom, all kitted out with movement sensors and emergency buttons.  There is a dining room and a TV room, and a swimming pool.

"Will you swim?"  I asked.

Joan was never a highly sociable person. As a child she disliked helping with her mother's fund raising bridge parties when she wanted to crawl into a corner to read a book.  Through her teens she studied nursing and as a young woman she faced hard work in several areas.  Later she nursed her husband through heart disease and during his last days Joan slept on the floor by his hospital bed, just to be there for him.  She was 85 when he died.  So then she lived alone for almost 12 years, eventually adjusting to the busy social whirl of meals on wheels deliveries, a fortnightly home help cleaner, visits from a nurse/social worker and an occasional shopping trip on the bus for the elderly. She told me she loved the mango tree that filled the backyard. It was her retreat. When life got too much she'd go out there to feed her face and calm down.

I was interested to hear about social life in the new 'home'.  She is pleased to be one of only three at her table in the dining room. One of the other ladies is very  quiet, and that suits Joan. The other one chatters non-stop and Joan says she just has to accept she will be asked if she takes sugar in her tea over and over again throughout each meal.

95th Birthday cake

She said, "I thought I'd be nice to this poor woman so when she said there was a good film on the television I went with her to watch it. Of course I couldn't see anything as we sat at the back of the room, and I couldn't hear it but she seemed to be enjoying herself and I just tried to stay awake and think about other things. Then the next day I said to her, 'That was an interesting film we saw yesterday'.  And do you know, she didn't have a clue to what I was talking about.  She said, 'What film, I didn't see a film, I went to bed early'.  So that was a waste of time." This was presented in the tone of dry humour that is my Aunty Joan. The humour that wraps around ordinary things and makes them amusing from her point of view. 

I choose to phone her rather than visit because visits are physically exhausting for her.  Joan has children who visit her regularly and I have phone calls - and she phones me as often as I phone her.  That is very special.  She told me once that she has the names of her children and grand-children written in a notebook by the phone so she can remember who everyone is and who to ask about.  And one day I realised my end of the family is on the list too as she asks after my sister and brother and then our children in order, during conversations.  I'm delighted to be 'on the list'.  My daughter she calls 'your girl' and my granddaughter is 'the little one', as she knows them the best from the family gatherings for her 90th and 95th birthday celebrations.  "And I'm not having another one for 5 years", she said each time.  

It was wonderful that for the 90th birthday her cousin Ian came up to Brisbane, from Sydney, for the event. Their mothers were sisters and though Ian was a bit younger he spent a lot of time with Joan and my mother. Now he is no longer available for parties or anything else leaving Joan as the surviving member of that generation, in our family.

But, Joan was not born as an old lady.  She was a vibrant young woman who did well at school and wanted to continue studying. Her exotic looks were not appreciated by her blond haired, blue eyed mother so Joan grew up thinking she was not attractive and would have to fend for herself.  Careers for women were limited to nursing or teaching and Joan followed her mother and aunts into nursing.  The war came and she was patching up Aussies wounded in the mountain jungles of New Guinea. One wounded soldier staggered down the Kokoda track and into her life.

My uncle talked of their meeting at their 50th Wedding Anniversay celebration.  "Joan was an Army nurse. After being wounded on the Kokoda trail I was delivered to her at a Military hospital in Sydney in Dec 1942. Joan was an energetic business-like officer with two pips on her shoulders and me a lowly corporal with two stripes on my sleeve. I was a little the worse for wear but was slowly brought back to working order with her help. Then Joan was sent off to the war in New Guinea and I went to work in Sydney for a firm of wool brokers."

His elbow had been shot away so doctors gave him the choice of having the arm permanently set straight or bent.  He chose bent so he could ride a horse and shoot a rifle. As he had studied wool classing before he joined the army Don went back to that city job, but the 'bush' was always in his heart. When Joan returned from the war they were married and Don worked as a station manager, just west of Charleville and a year or so later moved to Murweh.

Joan told me, "Don finally won the soldiers ballot for free land. Mogera was 80,000 acres of rough country inhabited by dingoes.  We chose a paddock near a dry dam and pitched a big army tent for a bedroom. Don built an iron shed for a kitchen and a bough shed to 'live in'! Our fourth child was born at Mogera 1952."

The iron shed was too hot so cooking was on an open fire outside and the baby was hung in a sling from the tent post, to protect him from snakes. The children played in the dust under the gaze of wild dingoes - starving in the drought and on the lookout for easy prey.  They had no water, no fences and no grass. Don pushed down Mulga scrub for the sheep to eat and guarded them on horseback. Then the wool boom burst and the price went down overnight. Don had a fall from the horse and a long stay in hospital.

Eventually a house was built, the station sold and another bought closer to town. At least the children could attend school but the school burnt down and Joan had to teach them at home after all. And, as Don described it, this venture turned out to be a non-profit business. Life was a battle with heat, drought, snakes in the wood pile, distance from family, from friends, even from the post office. Visitors were few. Sheep had to be cared for, fed, sheared, drenched, sometimes killed and eaten. Dogs and horses had to be trained, fed and cared for. Shearers were accommodated and fed, cows herded and milked, fruit cakes baked, dingoes and wild pigs hunted, kangaroos discouraged, snakes killed, beggars and thieves chased from the door, children educated, clothes made, books read by lantern light, clothing washed by hand, wood chopped, fires put out, fire breaks burned, neighbours helped, illnesses treated, wounds bandaged, vehicles repaired and each day started it all over again.

Finally a generator added evenings to their day, better vehicles brought the town closer and telephones connected the family. The outback station was sold and a smaller produce farm, a few hours from Brisbane, became home. Four children turned into two nurses, an engineer and business woman, six grandchildren and two great grandchildren.   

The house near Charleville - Joan's sister Margaret (my mother) visiting.

Of course Aunty Joan is not the only person to live a life of struggle and difficulty and she told me that herself when she talked about the desperate situation of other families during the depression. She has memories of going in the car with her father to deliver food parcels, until the family business closed and they could no longer afford to help others as they were also eating wild caught rabbits and home grown potatoes. The family lost their home and when her parent's marriage broke up Joan was sent to live with her mother's sister - not a big disaster for Joan as her cousin Claire was her best friend. Little sister Peg stayed with Mother while Father moved in with his former secretary. The loss of her father that way hurt Joan deeply, a hurt that is still there today, though it lives in the shadow of losing her oldest daughter to cancer, the same year that Don died. 

Joan once said to me - "We each have our own life and how we live it depends on the bits we inherit from parents."

And so I asked about her new home.

"It's all very nice," she said. "In fact it's luxury but I suppose I'll get used to it."  lol  "I'm not sure about the pool though."

'What do you do during the day?

"I read, I've got a nice chair here and there is a library. In the afternoon someone brings me a cup of tea, it's all very nice. I have lots of little sleeps. I can go to the TV room if I want, but I'm not interested in television now."

"Do you need anything? A fruit cake or a packet of biscuits?"

"I have some biscuits in the room but I can't eat them because I'm always full."

"Maybe I'll bring you a little bottle of coke when I come."

"He he, yes, that would be nice. But I have to be careful because I only have rotten teeth left."

"How's the food?"

"Oh, it's ..... it's alright. There's plenty of it."

Hmmmm - change in tone. She won't explain unless I insist.

"What is wrong with the food?"

" Well... it's not what I'm used to."

"You were used to meals-on-wheels."

"Yes."

"And this is different?"

"It's .... the way they ... present it."

"How?"

"It's frozen."

"Oh!"

"Apparently, this is what all the big hospitals do."

"And the meals-on-wheels were cooked fresh each day."

"Yes......  it was like I used to cook myself."

"Some frozen food is okay."

"Some is."
"Even meals-on-wheels is going to frozen dinners in some places."
"That's a shame."
"So you're eating airplane food."
She laughed. "They do whatever they do to heat it and it tastes okay. Rice is a bit .......... well ... let's say I've had enough chicken and rice to last me."

I am so sorry. So sorry that we can't give our darling oldies fresh food, sorry that our infirm get microwave dinners served in cardboard trays, with instant mashed potato and dried out beef. So sorry that your reward for a life of caring for others is that we can't afford to feed you properly. Forget about the wounded soldiers, the dust and dingoes, the barefooted children and snakes in the woodpile - forget about the sacrifice, the pioneer spirit, the building of family, here - have a frozen dinner.  

Caring for our elders should be part of family life. Children who don't see their grandparents regularly, if not daily, are missing an important part of their development and they lose track of where they are in history.

In traditional societies people look forward to living out their last years surrounded by their children and aging friends. Ancient Chinese society was held together by the belief in family. The greatest virtue being devotion to one’s parents.  They still respect the declining abilities of the aged to tend gardens, care for babies, assist in the education of children - allowing the young adults to work. Value is given to craft work, sharing skills, knowledge and understanding of life and passing on the family stories.  In sedentary farming societies around the world, the elderly are fed and cared for and live in the same hut or one near their adult children.

With nomadic people the elderly can become a burden and occasionally tribes were forced to abandon their aged and infirm. There is even a word for it.  Senilicide. It loosely means doing away with the olds.  When there is enough food to go around, everyone gets a share, even those who are not productive. During times of famine not feeding the elderly often saved the young.  When desperate, the Inuit left their old folk outside to die of exposure or starve to death, considering it to be assisted suicide. It was often a mutual decision.

Today's elderly live away from their children. After they do the expected retirement road trip they're supposed to quietly disappear into assisted living villages or nursing homes - if they can afford it, or a council flat, out of sight, until required for weddings and funerals. They feed themselves, they feed cats and lap dogs and sometimes go without.

We are all part of the aging population. Grannies struggling to keep up with technology give the smart young things the impression that old people have no place in the modern world. These old people are eating food, breathing air, using up valuable natural resources and clogging the medical system - becoming a burden. Some hospitals have a policy of treating young people first, some doctors prescribe drugs with little attention given to good health for the elderly, it's easier and cheaper. A version of senilicide has been practiced in hospitals and nursing homes for centuries - withhold food and they fade away. 

Often they don't really mind - being very old is not fun. But what is old? It's getting younger every year. Applying for a job is difficult at 55 and TV ads tell us we should be buying funeral insurance in our 40s. The Protestant work ethic of measuring a person's value by their ability to work - has led to our youth centred culture in which we idolise individualism and independence. In 2004, France had to pass decree requiring citizens keep in touch with their geriatric parents after a heat wave killed 15,000 people - most of them elderly and many bodies were not found for weeks because of neglect by their families. Also, France had the highest number of pensioner suicides in Europe.

So what are we going to do? Maybe these huge modern houses with parent retreats, teenager's living area and home theatres should also include granny flats, for us - but that depends on our children becoming millionaires. The question of where we'll end up when we can no longer manage independently is a big one.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, 
when I'm sixty/eighty four?

and KEEPING CALM

Once upon a time, in the north east of England, there were two lovely people named Manley.  Mary Manley, who was American born, and her English husband, Stuart Manley, who had a small manufacturing business in an old Victorian Railway station in the little town of Alnwick. Mary dreamed of opening a second hand book shop, using the swap system, and she planned to call it Barter Books. Fortunately Stuart liked the idea and said she could use the front room, of the railway station, for her book shop. So she did and Barter Books opened in 1991.

Skipping to the year 2000, Stuart was unpacking a box of old books they had picked up at auction, when, at the bottom of the box he found a sheet of folded paper. It turned out to be an old poster. He liked it and showed it to Mary. She liked it too, so much that without knowing anything about it she had the poster framed and put it up in the shop. 

Customers in the book shop noticed the poster and asked if they could buy one. So Mary and Stuart had copies printed and soon they were selling posters, over 40,000 copies in the first 8 years. 

The Keep Calm message was so popular it soon spread around the world, but where had it come from?

Going back 61 years to early 1939, when England faced the threat of another war,   The Ministry of Information commissioned three inspirational posters to be used in the interest of public safety - to assure the population that all necessary steps to defend the nation were being taken, and to stress an attitude of mind, during the difficult times they expected were ahead.

As the posters conveyed a message from the King to his people they were designed to be difficult to counterfeit -  with a handsome typeface topped by the crown of King George Vl, on a plain coloured background. Five million posters were printed.

The first poster stated ...

                    Freedom Is In Peril. Defend It With All Your Might.

... to alert the population to the seriousness of war.

The second poster stated ...

                    Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness,

                    Your Resolution Will Bring Us Victory.

... to encourage the nation to rally as one.

The second poster states ...

                    Keep Calm and Carry On.

... to reassure people when the country was invaded or occupied.

Posters 1 & 2 were displayed in public places - Railway Stations, Post Offices and shop windows from September 1939.   

Poster 3 was never used.

At the end of the war the unused posters were sent off to be destroyed ... all, it seems, except one, and it remained out of sight until discovered in a box of books more than 60 years later.

The posters Mary and Stuart sold were so popular the message was shared on line and suddenly Keep Calm and Carry On belonged to everyone. 

In 2007 online shops were selling the slogan on T-shirts and bags. Then one T-shirt company released a range of shirts that spoofed the poster such as Keep Calm and carry on sewing or Now Panic and Freak Out. Before long web stores allowed customers to design their own Keep Calm slogans.

By 2009 England was dealing with the global economic crisis and the attitude of mind conveyed by Keep Calm and Carry On became a strength to people who were struggling. At one stage 85 variations of the poster were recorded and it has become one of the first icons of the 21st century, appearing on walls, clothing, crockery, tote bags, and all types of souvenirs.

I was delighted when I discovered this story and to me this expression of keeping on is one to be celebrated. Firstly because in 1939 it was NOT needed. There was no invasion and no occupation.  But, the poster survived for over 60 years to bring the message of encouragement to the following generations - a reassurance that we go on, no matter what comes, to live our lives, to do our work and to care for each other.

We do not always understand the politics or economics of our world but we all have a place here, we all have a part to play in life on this planet - we just have to keep calm and carry on with it.

But back to the book shop.  The original building was designed by William Bell in 1887. As a railway station it was huge, 32,000 sq feet, far too grand for a small market town - but the town was also the seat of the Dukes of Northumberland, who would attract visiting royalty and so an impressive structure was necessary. The line closed in 1968 and the station building was put to several uses before becoming Barter Books.

The shop has many attractions, apart from a huge selection of second hand books, including open fires in winter, a refreshment room with skylights, a model railway, huge art works, free wifi, a children's room, plenty of seating, a reading room with newspapers and a display of antiquarian books. It's almost worth a trip to England to visit Barter Books.

Station built in 1887 - and as it is today

serving real HEROES

I am very proud to be working with a group known as Aussie Hero Quilts and Laundry bags, supporting our men and women deployed overseas. Between January 2012 and August 2013 AHQ  sent 1868 quilts and 3005 laundry bags to Aussies serving overseas.

It began in October 2011 as an activity for one Sydney quilting group who made and posted 15 laundry bags and 24 quilts to a group of soldiers deployed in Afghanistan. The response was so heart warming that the group were inspired to sew for deployed relatives and friends of friends and by the 1st of January 2012 the blog was launched and the group was becoming an Australia wide organisation with ALL our Aussie men and women serving overseas on their list.   

It is not possible to count the people involved because it's purely voluntary and people contribute when and how they are able. Even the core group has changed over time, except for the original co-ordinator and founder Jan-Maree, former RAAF herself, who receives requests, assigns missions and keeps track of the projects.  And, she also sews.  We all sew in one way or another, many sew laundry bags, some make patchwork blocks, some sew the blocks together to make quilts, some appliqué, some just quilt and many are able to combine all those talents and turn out full quilts.

The age of AHQers ranges from 7 years up to 101 and we include several men in the ranks. There are people sewing for Aussie Heroes in every state and territory of Australia and even a few from overseas. Those who sew are married, single, mothers, grandmas, wives or children of service men and women, ex-serving members, wives of veterans, and people who just care a lot.

Applique blocks and laundry bags

Laundry bags and quilts are sent in response to requests received from serving members - for themselves, the men serving under them or their mates. Other requests come from wives, girlfriends or mothers. Sometimes a box of laundry bags will be sent to a chaplain to be handed out to men and women, who do not receive other mail. Our parcels go to Army, Air Force and Navy personnel, in several different countries and at sea. To keep track of so many items and so many recipients, all orders go through Jan-Maree.

So the next question is why? 

Don't our armed services supply the needs of serving members?

The answer is yes, they do - but in bulk, and everything looks alike. Laundry bags for example are issued in plain white or green or sometimes pale blue. You write your initials on the outside with a marker pen and take the bag, filled with your dirty uniform, to the laundry. Some laundries are huge and are run by local people. You drop off your bag and come back a few days later to find hundreds of laundry bags waiting, all look exactly the same. It is common for soldiers to lose their laundry in this situation and much time is wasted looking for belongings that have been taken by mistake. 

Colourful laundry bags

Other posts have a small DIY laundry. You put your dirty uniform into a washing machine and leave your laundry bag on top. There is no time to stand around waiting, you might only be on base for two days and have other things to catch up with like eating and sleeping, so the machine is left to do the job. When the load is finished the next person pulls out the wet contents and loads them into a dryer with the laundry bag hanging on the door. When that dryer is needed by someone else your clothes are removed and stuffed into your laundry bag. You return to find your laundry, hopefully washed, dried and bagged, waiting. BUT some of these bags are mesh and hard to name, some are plastic shopping bags or clones of standard issue and easily mixed up so, once again, you have the frustrating task of searching for a clean uniform or going without.

AHQ laundry bags are made of bright fabrics with patches for initials or even the actual initials stitched on the outside. The most important thing is THEY ARE ALL DIFFERENT.  Just imagine how red and orange stripes or big pictures of daffy duck would stand out in a pile of lookalike bags.

Laundry bag (hanging) and quilt made for a RAAF fireman

And quilts. Aren't most of our deployed service men and women in hot deserts?  Well many of them are, but it can get pretty cold in the desert at night and did you know that it snows in Afghanistan in winter?  But our washable cotton quilts are not just for warmth, they are for colour and caring and to bring something from home into a harsh environment. They brighten up a dreary sleeping area or wrap around the shoulders of lonely men, like a big hug.  In fact the size we use, length and width is designed to do exactly that.

Quilts in the desert

We also make WWQs (wounded warrior quits) and some are kept on hand to be transported to hospital with the wounded. Sadly, there is the occasional need for a Fallen Warriors Quilt.  You can read more about this on the blog.

WWQ always have an Aussie theme

And the rewards? We get many rewards in the form of messages that are received every week and shared at - http://aussieheroquilts.blogspot.com.au 

Thank you so very much for my laundry bag! I absolutely love the colours and patterns. I really appreciate the effort and time you have taken to create this for me.  Receiving this gift has completely made my day and it will be something that will make me smile every time I look at it on our continuing patrols in the Middle East. It is easy to forget that other people apart from family appreciate what we are doing and it is very heart warming on these open lonely seas so far from home to be reminded of others back at home thinking of us.

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I am currently serving in the Middle east on deployment and would be honoured to receive an Aussie quilt.   Thank you so much for your kind thoughts it means a lot to us over here as we miss home terribly and to know we are thought of by many back home keeps us going stronger every day.

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Having a network like yours sending these gifts over here not only brings colour to our life, but reinforces the fact that we are not alone.  It is nice to have a constant visual reminder that the folks back home care enough to go to all this effort for us. These quilts and laundry bags are special to us not just for what they are, but also for what they represent.

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Afghanistan is a very bleak place, so it's really nice to have something girlie in a place like that. I have to honestly say that although I have never met you, every time I do my laundry I think of your kindness. I do believe that what goes around comes around, and you have a lot of good coming your way! 

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I am touched by your generosity, kindness and supportiveness to all the troops that are putting their life on the line for our country. It is people like you and your helpers in this project, that make us feel that what we are doing here, and being away from our family and friends for such a long period of time, is worth it.

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Thank you very much for the Quilt and Laundry bag which arrived in country around on the 2nd of June. However, I didn't receive it until the 8th because I've been very busy over the last few weeks.

I would like you to know that I now have a laundry bag that is envied by all who see it.  It is very distinct and has bought many comments. It is also extremely easy to find amongst the piles of washing.

The quilt is awesome. I have it in my room and took it out with me one time, however, I don't think I will be doing that again as it got filthy.  I had to wash it twice.  I felt terrible as I was wondering when I washed it if Sue would be unhappy with me. She did say this is the only Quilt like it in the world. However, it kept me warm and I didn't need to carry around a giant sleeping bag. I hope you are well and all is well with Aussie Hero Quilts. Thank you once again. 

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I am so pleased to hear about a quilt group sewing for such a worthy cause. I am a quilter who is deployed (separated from my machine - oh the injustice),  I started quilting many, many moons ago.  This email is because I would love a quilt.  I  have never had one made for me and it would give me great pleasure to receive one.  I have actually been going around camp admiring those who have chosen to put theirs on display and I try to view as many as possible.  I really am experiencing my own private quilt show - what fun.

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Hi Ladies,  Just a quick note to say how awesome the quilt and laundry bags are that XXX received from you.  I had a look at your blog and I think it is a fantastic thing that you are doing. What a great bunch of ladies! I love the kangaroo on XXX's quilt. I think you ladies are the Aussie Hero's - it is always great when people appreciate us.

I have a bright doona cover over here, so do not need a quilt but would really love a bright, loud laundry bag if someone has the time.

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The impact your group is having is just incredible.  I have made it my mission to ask everyone I meet if they have a quilt.  It is just amazing seeing grown men melt as they talk about "their" quilt.  The disbelief they have of a group of caring people actually taking the time and making the effort to put so much work into an item blows them away and they cannot believe that you ask for nothing for in return.  I met a guy only  a couple of days ago who said that he only had a laundry bag now, I asked him why?  He told me that he received a Star Wars quilt and it was just brilliant.  He was showing it off, when his mate begged to have it as he was such a big star wars fan.  He did not have the heart to say no and passed it over.  He found great pleasure in giving too.  The impact on morale is just beautiful. The laundry bags are all being used and it seems to be a fashion statement for some.  It's nice to see them sitting on top of the washing machines to mark which tub has their items. 

Laundry in Kandahar

You can find AHQ on facebook

or see the blog here 

http://aussieheroquilts.blogspot.com.au  

A group quilt, blocks made by different people and others putting it together

                "We care about the people, not the politics or the mission."

ANZAC DAY... every year

ANZAC DAY can mean... 

- a day off school or a national celebration 
- a difficult morning taking elderly people to the march or a day without normal TV 
- a cranky family after the dawn service or a drunk Dad after the RSL
- a day of nostalgia or a day of discomfort if your family are German or Japanese
- time to visit the family or visit the cemetery 
- or a bit of a mystery

On Anzac Day I think of my Dad. His birthday is also in April, but I usually forget the actual day. Anzac Day represents the massive change in the lives of my parents, that influenced my upbringing. While we live in a country sheltered by it's geography we were not untouched by the events that came under the Anzac banner.

So much of my early life was in the shadow of World War ll.  Growing up in the 1950s in Sydney was life in the 'Post War era'. Every family had someone who had 'been in the war'. This often  mysterious event, that happened far away, was very much in our daily lives. So many men came home with permanent reminders. Uncle Bruce limped on a wooden leg, a result of his plane being shot down and Uncle Don's arm was permanently bent.  Mr Wilson down the road had flashbacks to Changi prison and locked his wife and children out of the house. The neighbours always took them in.  The man who swept the railway platform turned his face away to hide his burn scars and missing eye, and we knew of men who lived in 'rehab' hospitals. There were other wounds that didn't show, the wounds that led to too many beers and too many arguments.

Both my parents and their siblings were in the services, as were family from the generation before - my grandparents and their siblings and cousins struggled through The Great War in different ways.  We now remember it as WWl - now that we have had other wars equally frightful.

My grandmother, Eva, who was a trained nurse, married in 1914.  As a married woman in those days she didn't work but during the Great War she was busy raising money for hospitals and organising groups to roll bandages and knit socks for soldiers. She and her husband promoted the planting of vegetable gardens instead of lawns, in their area of Sydney. They also collected food from family in the country, to help the families of men serving overseas - there were very few social services in those days and people, especially children, actually died of starvation. 

Two of my grandmother's sisters went to France, Claire as a nurse and Ada to drive ambulances. They brought home many souvenirs of the war which were stored in a glass cabinet in the living room of their mother's house and entertained all the younger family members for years. Then they opened a small hospital in Harris Street, Sydney, specialising in rehabilitation of war injuries. The building had been donated by a family friend.  My great Aunt Claire married one of the patients and he took her away to South Africa. 

Then came WWll. Mum's sister, Joan continued in the footsteps of her aunts as an Army nurse in Port Moresby. Her future husband staggered down the Kokoda track, one arm almost blown away. 

1943 Mum on the rifle range

Mum was a Sergeant in the Army and spent her war in Qld, supervising on the rifle range or in the office. Before the war she had aspired to be a fashion model but as men joined up to fight working women were expected to take on their civilian job. Mum was 18 and forced to work in a bank. She hated it but waited until she was 21 to join the army. In all life situations we all have different experiences and not everyone had the same war. She had friends who joined the Land Army and worked on farms in place of the men who were away.

For some young men it was a chance to escape from home, or boring jobs, to see the world and learn new skills.  All the services had cooks and drivers, admin staff, mechanics and nurses and the list goes on. Not everyone is exposed to horrors on the front line. Dad did not talk about his war but Mum did and made her years in the Army sound like an exciting school camp. War time in Brisbane was parties and picnics to help people relax and Mum met my father at a dance for serving officers.

1943 aged 22

Dad was at university when he joined the Navy in 1942. As a sub Lieutenant he served on ships as assistant navigator, saw action at sea and spent time on an enemy occupied island near Borneo, hiding in the jungle at night and in holes in the sand by day, waiting to be picked up . It's a shock to think he was only about 22 then, much younger than my children are now, in fact only four years older than my granddaughter!  Dad's only brother was in the army, and from photos I think he may have been in North Africa. I have a photo of Dad's father in army uniform too. Dad always had nightmares which caused him to shout in his sleep.  He said he had leg cramps. 

On Anzac Day Dad disappeared in the early hours to catch a train from our outer Sydney suburb of Caringbah into the city. He marched every year, until he died at 65, no matter where he was living.  After the March he went to his club, with navy friends. Two of them had remained in the service.  I think Dad always regretted leaving the navy. He got out to get married, as most of the young people did at the  time.  He continued in the reserve, RANR, went to sea for a couple of weeks once or twice a year, and gave weekly classes in navigation at Rushcutters Bay. I loved seeing him arrive home late on Thursday nights in his uniform. I especially loved him in the summer whites that showed off his tanned face. For a short time in my teens I went out with a navy dental assistant, stationed at Garden Island.  He walked me to the door one Thursday night and we ran into Dad in the driveway - Dad in full uniform - sailor, whose name I have forgotten, also in uniform that night and snapping to attention.  I was taken by surprise, but it was fun and I was proud of my Dad.

After retirement age, which I think was 60, Dad remained with the volunteer reserve, RANVR, until he left Sydney for is dream hobby farm near Taree. Dad's civilian career had been 30 years in banking. He was a serious person who understood commitment and respect.  Always a country boy at heart he loved animals and children and the sea. His hobbies were growing vegetables, reading, swimming, sailing and classical music. He donated blood, as often as they let him, for his whole working life - because he'd seen men die without it.  In 1964 the HMAS Voyager sank off Jervis Bay, after colliding with HMAS Melbourne and 82 men died. While in grief for them all Dad lost more friends. For Dad, Anzac Day was a tribute to all those who were lost, and a show of respect for those who had survived.  He was anti war and anti violence. 

My mother's reaction to the post war years was to embrace the immigrants who poured into Australia from Europe. She loved meeting new and interesting people, especially from the 'Continent'. She like all things continental -  and she soon learnt to cook spaghetti bolognaise (using tomato soup) and to say welcome in Dutch. Her new friends came from Austria and Holland and Russia and Germany.  Mum loved this variety of people and backgrounds and also the fact that Australia could offer them a home. We children learned the difficult to pronounce names and ate food cooked with garlic and the children from Europe learnt to speak English in a few weeks.

When stories of Vietnam began appearing in newspapers I asked Dad where it was. I had heard of Indo-China but place names like Vietnam, Cambodia and even Thailand were new to us.  Dad said it was not worth discussing and stopped bringing the newspaper home.  He was hoping it would be over quickly, but before long my sister and I were waving goodbye to friends, some who didn't come back and some who came back changed. I attended anti war demonstrations but also met American sailors at parties. Young Australians were marching in the streets of Sydney and it seemed like a lot of fun. This was the first televised war and we saw it on TV every night.  When horror stories of the behaviour of soldiers on both sides led to the abuse of returning servicemen, Dad did talk about it. He told me to separate the men from the politics - to remember that the boys we knew who were in the fighting were people just like us and that hadn't changed.  The Anzac Day marches, which had been growing shorter as WWl veterans dropped out, became longer with the addition of the Vietnam Vets.

1961

Years later my parents divorced. Mum married a man she'd known for years, a German who had served in the German airforce in WWll.  That was a situation we lived with and all handled in our own way.  Of course it was very difficult for Dad and there were many emotional years for everyone - it's almost impossible to explain.  Dad married again too, eventually, but that's another story.

My father's navy sea chest, with his name stencilled on the sides, was my toy box as a child, and we played with a white canvas bag that was probably his laundry bag.  Now I sew laundry bags for Australian Defence Force personnel deployed overseas. Working in a school for over 20 years I've known a number of students who went on to the Army or Air Force, including children of staff members and friends.  Our Prep teacher's son, Michael, who I first met when he was two weeks old, served with the army in Afghanistan in 2010/11. His mother put a link on facebook to the blog for Aussie Hero Quilts and Laundry bags, and as I loved sewing I had a look. Not only did they make patchwork quilts, and I love patchwork, they also made bright coloured laundry bags to help the service men and women keep track of their laundry. I knew this was something I could do. Every laundry bag or quilt block I sew now holds my thoughts of Dad and his war service.  I am pleased to be part of this group of dedicated ladies who are all about helping our defence force personnel feel closer to home but my continual prayer is that fewer and fewer people will have the need.

In 1945, Dad wrote in his diary;  Dear God, guide me, may my choice be right...Easter is now past, went to church and communion.  I prayed that you might lead me Lord, in the job ahead, be it what it will, that I shall be able to do my job, to the best of my ability, and if I'm called upon to die, may it be faced with courage.  I'm prepared for that, if it will help to bring peace and happiness to the country that I love and to the world!  To those that I love I'm not afraid...I'll do my job.  Padre Eyers is a fine man, a man that I can follow, if I follow his teaching well I can't go far wrong.  He is a fine inspiring Padre, well loved by his men.

Anzac Day is for my Dad. I have his service medals mounted and framed with a photo of him in uniform, at the incredibly young age of 22. While my husband takes his father to the dawn service and the Anzac March I turn on the TV.  In my mind Dad is still marching alongside all those men and women who understand the high price of commitment.

1945 Mum and Dad in Sydney, on the way to tell her family that they were engaged.

                                     

 If would like to know more

AUSSIE HERO QUILTS AND LAUNDRY BAGS 

http://aussieheroquilts.blogspot.com.au/

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