ANZAC DAY 2020 – Light Up The Dawn

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A commemoration like no other…

In a few hours, thousands of people across Australia will stand in their driveway or pause inside their home to pay respects and remember those who gave their lives in WW1.

This special commemoration of an important day in the Australian calendar for national remembrance is because of COVID-19 and the unprecedented lockdown and social-distancing restrictions placed on the community to halt the spread of the virus.

Mordialloc’s local member of parliament,  Tim Richardson MP, sent a special newsletter detailing the celebration of ANZAC Day and paying tribute to veterans.

ANZAC Day Dawn services are still being held without the crowds, so the RSL has asked those who have a brass instrument to play the Last Post for their neighbourhood who will #StandTO as the official service ends with the usual minute silence.

I’ve written other posts about ANZAC Day, not to elevate or celebrate the importance of military prowess but from the perspective that all war is a tragedy and a senseless waste of human life.

I took part in the Centenary Poppy Project and my sister’s quilt block was part of an Australia-wide Gallipoli Project, one of 100 blocks chosen to mark the WW1 Centenary.

WW1 is part of our family history – the trauma is personal. We have genuine heartache and tears remembering those who paid the ultimate price. The uncle buried in Egypt, who fought at Gallipoli, shares the same name as my father.

However, I fervently wish we had a national day every year to celebrate and work towards world peace!

The details of the grave of GEORGE ALEXANDER McINNES_is here. He is one of over 60,000 who sacrificed their life in WW1.

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The Annual Service At The Shrine

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sculpture at Soldiers’ memorial Bendigo

I’ve only attended the Shrine Dawn Service once but have never forgotten the emotional experience:

Ten years ago, I booked a seat on the free bus to the ANZAC dawn service at the Shrine, leaving Mordialloc Station at 4.20am. No alarm needed because I toss and turn half asleep, fearful of missing the bus. Warm clothes required for the short walk along Albert Street – especially for my head recovering from the ravages of chemotherapy.

Exhaustion, the chill from the sea air, and discomfort from cancer recovery negligible compared to what my Uncle George and other soldiers endured. I clutch a travel mug of freshly brewed tea and hurry towards a group of shadows hovering at the bus stop.

A blonde in a fur-trimmed camel coat and matching hat detaches herself from the fence and returns my ‘good morning’ with a smile. A mother and teenage son turn away obviously not wanting a conversation – it is a bit early to be chatty. An indecipherable black figure doesn’t move from a post further down the street.

The blonde speaks, ’I wish I’d thought of a travel mug.’

‘One of my better ideas. I never slept.’

‘Nor me, and I went out last night.’

‘Gosh, no point in going to bed then.’

As we laughed a ringtail possum scurried along the electricity wires, ‘He’s probably wondering what we’re doing here in the middle of the night,’ I said.

‘This is my first time.’

‘Me too,’ I say, ‘ it’s on my Bucket List.’ I point to my mauve turban, ‘breast cancer.’

‘Good on you. I’m meeting a friend who goes every year. Her dad’s a vet…’

The bus grumbles to a stop and a dozen more passengers materialise from parked cars in the street and station car park. The night streets are silent as we drive to the city, neon lights stab the inky sky, masking the stars.

At the Shrine, a sea of people merges in the predawn dimness. The number of people takes me by surprise. Such a hive of activity. All ages and genders, all shapes and sizes… a steady stream of buses from rural and suburban Melbourne, drop people off to join the crowd.

The Shrine looms out of the fog. Soldier and media scrum silhouetted against the brightening sky. A handful of lights dot the skyline, making the buildings on St Kilda Road discernible except for a massive glowing cube, changing from blue and green to red and silver, atop a building.

Perhaps Dr Who or Daleks will arrive from this gigantic ice cube to remind that man was made to mourn and peace is an elusive concept for every generation…

Serendipity or synchronicity, but even that light doused when a church service hush descended.

45,000 attend this Dawn Service.

The words and music of Buffy St Marie’s Universal Soldier and John Lennon’s Imagine come to mind just as the public address system fails miserably. I can’t hear what they say, despite gigantic strategically placed speakers.

Silently, I recite the 23rd Psalm in place of whatever solemn speech is being intoned.

To be close to the front, I squelched through grass still soggy from a recent storm and rapidly churned to mud by the crowd. I imagine George sleeping in the trenches and emotion lumps in my throat.

Buried in Egypt, he died six months after arriving at Gallipoli. A working-class boy from Williamstown. He would never have imagined this huge, eclectic crowd, heads bowed, remembering him and others who did not come home.

Colour crept into the sky, a dark red stain obliterating the fog. Two fruit bats hover and fly away, not the squadron of nesting bats a friend complained marred last year’s ceremony.

The flypast invisible because of heavy clouds but the aircraft’s’ rumble and drone a cause to celebrate with a rifle salute that startles me, even although I was prepared. How did George and his mates cope with constant bombardment? No wonder so many came home shell-shocked.

A glimmer of sunlight bounces off the medals adorning chests lined up centre stage and on the chests of people around me. No need for uniforms to remind us this is a military occasion.

The smell of traditional breakfast – sausages, bacon, eggs, toast… a drawcard for many but I have no appetite.  I weave through the crowd and climb on the bus to return home, fighting back tears and overwhelming sadness.

George, like so many others, died alone in a foreign land, never understanding what the war was about. His grave never visited by family…  Lest we forget.

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World War One began in 1914 and lasted for four years; 416 809  Australians volunteered for service. 324 000 served overseas and over 60 000 were killed, including 45,000 who died on the Western Front in France and Belgium and more than 8,000 who died on the Gallipoli Peninsula in Turkey.

Many nurses in the Australian Army Nursing Service served on the Western Front. These nurses worked in overcrowded hospitals for up to 16 hours a day, looking after soldiers with shocking injuries and burns. Those who worked in hospitals close to the fighting were also in danger of being shelled by the enemy.

Red poppies worn on Remembrance or Armistice Day, November 11, are often used as a symbol for ANZAC Day too.

The tradition has its origins in a poem written in 1915 by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, a doctor in the Royal Canadian Medical Corps. Lieutenant Colonel McCrae noticed that, despite the devastation caused by the war to towns, farms and forests, thousands of small red poppies began growing everywhere in Spring. This inspired his poem, first published in England’s Punch magazine in December 1915.

Within months it came to symbolise the sacrifices of all who were fighting in WW1.

In 1918 Moina Michael, an American, wrote a poem in reply, We Shall Keep the Faith, in which she promised to wear a poppy ‘in honour of our dead’ and so began the tradition of wearing a poppy in remembrance.

She and Frenchwoman Madame Anna Guérin, known as “The French Poppy Lady”, encouraged people to use the red Flanders poppy as a way of remembering those who had suffered in war.

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In Flanders Fields by John McCrae, May 1915

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.

 

Nurses and Doctors Always In the Front Line

During the current coronavirus catastrophe, we have lauded medical staff as heroes. This acknowledgement of their dedication and courage is important. They put themselves at risk and serve the community in peacetime and war.

When I was on duty at the Soldiers Memorial Institute for Open House Bendigo 2019, their historical exhibits and telling of Bendigo stories impressed me. I’ve been to many historical exhibitions and museums commemorating WW1, especially during Centenary celebrations, and I always learn something new or discover another aspect not considered before.

In the recently refurbished building, they present well the stories of Bendigo nurses and doctors who went to war and also Chinese Australians.

The Returned Soldiers’ Memorial Hall grew out of the returned soldiers’ associations that were established throughout Australia during and after World War I. The first such association in Bendigo was established at the home of a local woman but by 1917 the Returned Soldiers’ Association was advocating for the creation of club rooms at the former Hustler’s Royal Reserve mine site, Pall Mall.

Local architect George Dawson Garvin was commissioned to design the Memorial Hall and the Governor of Victoria officially opened it in 1921. They added the Institute building to the Victorian Heritage Register in 1997. Recent conservation works by Lovell Chen have included the removal of past extensions and, as the building is sited over old mine shafts and on a compacted mullock heap, underpinning.

A new gallery, designed to Passive House standards and conceived as a contemporary interpretation of the arcaded loggia, nestles behind the Institute. The external use of a single material for the walls and roof blurs the scale of this new addition, allowing it to read as a single storey building. An entry vestibule at the north end mediates between the inner gallery and an encircling verandah that also provides additional exhibition space. The verandah is timber lined (floor, walls and ceiling) focusing and framing the visitors views constantly outwards through the arcaded openings, in-filled with glass and perforated mesh.

Open House, Melbourne

Seventy-four Bendigo nurses volunteered to serve in Egypt, the Dardanelles, Salonika, France, Belgium, England, Italy, India, and on hospital and transport ships. Their qualifications ranged from infectious diseases, acute care, experience in theatre, ward and hospital management. They cared for the injured and sick with care and compassion.

Of the local nurses who served, two died because of their service, and twelve were invalided home. Four were Mentioned in Despatches, one received the award of the Royal Red Cross and four received the Royal Red Cross Second Class.

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Thirty-one doctors from Bendigo volunteered to serve, leaving the safety and security of their positions at the Bendigo Hospital, medical practices, or studies. Some supported the recruitment and training effort in Australia, others went overseas.

The local doctors came from two distinct groups. Fifteen were linked to the Bendigo Hospital; sixteen were born or educated in Bendigo, or had family connections to Bendigo and had practised in central Victoria.

Non-combatant medical officers, they dealt with horrific wounds, grave illnesses and deaths associated with war with constant compassion and dedication.

Of the Bendigo doctors who served, three died because of service, several were invalided home, seven Mentioned in Despatches, four received the Military Cross, two received foreign decorations, one received the Distinguished Service Order and three admitted to the Order of the British Empire.

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Over 200 Chinese-Australians joined the AIF. Almost all were born in Australia. Many were descendants of immigrants who came from southern China to central Victoria during the 1850s gold rushes.

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Samuel Tong-Way was born in Ballarat to Chinese-born parents. Despite being initially rejected by recruiting officers in 1916, Tong-Way persevered and enlisted in 1917 when there was an easing of restrictions. After training, he was posted to France in December 1918, just after the Armistice. Before returning home, Tong-Way obtained study leave at the Imperial College of Science and Technology in Kensington.

He returned to Australia in 1920 and resumed studies teaching. He taught at the Violet Street and Gravel Hill state schools and marched every ANZAC Day in Bendigo until the year before his death in 1988.

Whenever I see the honour rolls of war dead, the immensity of the loss to families is always overwhelming.  On the Bendigo roll, many surnames the same, and reflect a similar story in other Australian country towns – you ache for the farming families who lost several sons and cousins.

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The Honour Roll for WW1 Bendigo and surrounding districts

This ANZAC Day, I hope all those who pass the Gallipoli Precinct at St Nicholas’ Church in Mordialloc, will pause.

Please think of the tragic loss of life in all wars and make a commitment to always champion peace. I know I will when having my daily exercise walking Josie.

Lest We Forget

 

 

A Labour of Love Continues to be Cherished

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On Thursday evening, my sister Cate and I caught the train to North Williamstown to attend the launch of The Sons of Williamstown – ‘A Labour of Love’ – the completion of a project funded under the Anzac Centenary Local Grants Program.

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We received the invitation after establishing a connection last October, with the two historians researching the projectLindy Wallace and Loraine Callow. Lindy had read my blog post on discovering a relative who was an ANZAC . He came from Williamstown and  she emailed me about their project and we shared information. I had no idea there was an Honour Board with photographs of the 265 men who died in WW1 and a photograph of the elusive George.

Honour Board

George Alexander McInnes is one of the ‘Sons of Williamstown‘, Lindy and Loraine were tracing to make the men who died more than a photograph imprisoned in glass. Their labour of love ‘to conserve, research, document and share the many stories behind the faces on the Williamstown Town Hall Honour Board.’

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Thursday evening, a culmination of months of diligence, perseverance, exhausting days, sleepless nights and tears for  the researchers.  I also met Emma Ciolli who worked on the website and she admitted the project had been emotionally draining because most of the men were so young and the grief and loss felt by families and friends still palpable.

Five of the stories are short films on Youtube, but the others each have a page and it is hoped more information will be gathered over time with the exposure of the Internet.

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Loraine and Lindy flanked by the website team Riana and Emma.

Lindy’s email last year reveals her wonderful commitment and dedication to discovering more about the 265 men:

We’ve been able to confirm and identify all but 6-7 of them so far.  Because of the number of people involved, we early on decided mainly to stick to documenting service details and then expand on five stories, making them into little videos.  Oh but Mairi we’ve come across some truly beautiful and moving stories and would like to share as many personal stories as possible.  Only two weeks ago someone brought in their relatives diaries for us to read and copy.  Very moving to read his inner thoughts.  He was a poet and wrote a lot of his thoughts in verse (sound familiar?).

Our aim, like you with George, is to make the men more than just a number on their service dossiers and a name on an honour board.  All the while though we’ve been conscious that the stories of the men belong to their families; they’re not our stories and we don’t want to appropriate them.

Poor George McInnes – enteric fever was  terrible and was suffered by a huge number of men at Gallipoli because of the appalling sanitary conditions.  I recently read correspondence from a man describing the conditions to his family – they must have been horrified.

The above images from from The Spirit of Anzac Exhibition affected me deeply because I know there were not enough nurses or resources to cope with the injured or sick of Gallipoli. In Alexandria, where George died, hotels and other buildings were commandeered for the wounded – even the roof of the hospital.

There were two wards with 100 patients each and a ‘small’ ward with anything between 50-250 patients! The workload overwhelming with too few nurses working until they were numbed to not think too deeply of what was happening around them.

Nurses write of the stench of death and putrid wounds. Uniforms covered in blood and excrement, kits and bodies stank, soldiers unbathed, uniforms in shreds, no antiseptics, wounds remaining undressed, only cold water, kero tins converted to foot baths, fly blown wounds and amputations, men so ill beyond nursing… ‘one loses all sight of honour and glory’- these women dealt with the saddest part of the war and yet had to keep a professional detachment.

The manufactured and sanitised newspaper reports have to be read with caution – the primary sources Lindy and Loraine uncovered will be invaluable for future generations of researchers – if harrowing reading for descendants. I weep for fear George died alone and unattended.

No wonder Lindy and Loraine took so many of the stories to heart.

However, with the website up and running and the photographs and Honour Board lovingly restored I’m sure Lindy and Loraine will be looking to devote their amazing expertise and time to another historical project – after a well-earned rest!

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A project in the planning

Australia’s fascination with Anzacs and World War One does not seem to diminish – in fact it is growing each year. I know there are many in the community uncomfortable with the money spent on celebrating last year’s centenary but I’m glad I played a small part in the success of this project. George Alexander McInnes was 19 years old and like so many others his future was stolen. Evidence that they lived, worked, and left a family who grieved reminds us the cost of war is always too high.

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A display in Spirit of Anzac Exhibition – another project funded last year.

Postcards from Gallipoli by Mairi Neil

He survived the assault on Gallipoli
to die an unheroic death
from ‘enteric fever’ in Alexandria.
Weak, miserable, hungry and alone,
the tent hospital overcrowded,
too few nurses overwhelmed.
Our family’s Aussie digger
buried in foreign fields.
His working class parents too poor
to visit his grave
and the body count too high
to return him home.
A nineteen year old larrikin
eldest son farewelled,
a rabbit skin vest, Holy Bible,
and pipe welcomed home.
His war brief,
like his life.
Postcards ‘from the trenches’
sent love to family and friends
missing home, and wishing for peace.
Passed down through generations,
the neatly pencilled sentences
hint at the man he could have been.
A great uncle I never knew.
Each ANZAC Day I think of
George Alexander McInnes
and the thousands like him,
acknowledge the debt owed
to previous generations
for sacrifice, trauma, and loss.
But in the remembering there is
no forgetting the madness
and futility that is war.

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When I came to Australia in 1962, I attended Croydon State School, which sat opposite the Croydon War Memorial in Kent Avenue. The ceremonies and wreaths of flowers at the Cenotaph vivid in memory, but my knowledge about Anzac Day scant. And when I discovered George was an Anzac I wondered why his name was not on the memorial, having no idea of the family’s previous history.

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It was the era when we observed a minute silence at the eleventh hour, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month for Remembrance Day regardless of whether you were shopping, working or at school. I can recall being in Myer one day and the announcement to pause came over the tannoy. The elevators and escalators were stopped, the bustle silenced and heads bowed as many people did indeed ‘remember them’.

A minute in the more than half a million minutes in  the year is not too much of a sacrifice is it?

It was only when I went to high school and studied Australian History for my HSC that I began to think deeply about Anzac Day’s meaning and the effects of the war on the Australian psyche.

Since then, visits to The Shrine and the Australian War Memorial and events like The Spirit of Anzac Exhibition have expanded my knowledge.

My final year at school in 1970 also coincided with the Vietnam Moratorium. For several years we had the Vietnam War beamed into our lounge rooms each evening via the television, the tragic scenes profoundly affecting teenage me. I had three brothers, who were potential canon fodder to be conscripted and my parents often talked about their experiences during the Second World War.

Government political machinations aside, the fact conscription was introduced and it was reliant on whether your birthdate was pulled out of a barrel a bit like Tattslotto numbers added to the anger and opposition to Australia’s involvement.

In English, we studied The One Day of the Year a play written by Alan Seymour in 1959. It was banned for fear of offending the RSL and not performed professionally until 1961, and seemed to hit raw nerves again.

This essay by Associate Professor Anne Pender  is worth reading in full:

Anzacs and us
Consider the play today as we find ourselves in a period of intense commemoration of the Great War. We live in a period when thousands of young Australians flock to Gallipoli every year to participate in commemoration ceremonies and to see for themselves the place where many soldiers fought and died in 1915. The resurgence of patriotic fervor and heightened interest in the disastrous campaigns of the Dardanelles reinforces the significance of the play, and offers potential for new interpretations of its themes.

Australia is currently spending $325 million on commemorating the centenary of the First World War, 200 per cent more than the United Kingdom is putting towards its commemorative events, and a great deal more than what we spend on the mental health of returned service personnel (Brown pp. 20, 5; ABC interview). With this in mind, the meaning of the play takes on a new significance more than 50 years after it was first staged.

The central question about why we romanticise war, and why Anzac Day is so precious to Australians is salient. Historians have expressed concern about what they call ‘the relentless militarisation of our history’, arguing that ‘the commemoration of war and understandings of our national history have been confused and conflated’ (Lake and Reynolds p. vii)…

Any play should be considered in relation to its historical period. The context for the original performance, especially its banning, is vital to understanding the play. Equally important is to understand how the context for performance has changed and developed over time…

 Historian Mark McKenna puts the question strongly, asking why after the mass slaughter of the wars of the 20th century we ‘cling to a nineteenth century concept of nationhood: the belief that a nation can only be born through the spilling of the sacrificial blood of its young?’ (p. 34). Why are we fixated on constructing what was an horrific military disaster at Gallipoli as a marker of nationhood? How should we remember the soldiers who fought for Australia, and how do you think a play such as The One Day of the Year in performance should invite an audience to remember them? These are important questions and relate to an even bigger question: what does theatre offer democracy?

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Tim Watts MP, the Member for Gellibrand spoke at the launch on Thursday, not only talking about his grandfather who returned from World War One a much changed man, but the effect his grandfather’s behaviour had on his wife and daughter, Tim’s mother.

In hindsight, Tim recognises that his grandfather would have had PTSD – undiagnosed and untreated. He grew up with the family referring to his grandmother as ‘a hard woman’.

Tim now considers what kind of life his grandmother had living with her damaged husband and his traumatic memories.

They say she was a hard woman,’ said Tim, ‘but is it any wonder?’

When I congratulated Tim on his insight and sincerity, he admitted having a speech prepared by his assistants in his pocket, but chose instead to speak from the heart and share his personal story.

Thank you,‘ I said, ‘heartfelt speeches are much better.’

The other speakers added personal stories too – it was that kind of evening. My sister Cate said she’ll remember the relaxed, friendly atmosphere in the room and the warm welcome from Lindy and Loraine whom we’d only met once.

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Snatches of the Mayor of Hobsons Bay Councillor Peter Hemphill’s excellent speech can be found in his informative press release here.

The honour board is a truly special memorial – it is one of the few honour boards in Australia that has photographs as well as the names of those who died in the Great War.

The brave men who enlisted from Williamstown came from all walks of life: they were butchers, bakers, lawyers, architects – there was even a piano maker.

The honour board was put together by former Williamstown City Council Mayor Bill Henderson. Between 1917 and 1924, Cr Henderson went around to visit the families of the men who died during the war, seeking photographs of the fallen soldiers.

These were mounted on a blackwood honour board with doors opening out.

The work of Councillor Bill Henderson to track down most of these photographs was quite extraordinary. While it was truly a ‘labour of love’ for Cr Henderson, it also exposed him to the extraordinary grief being felt in his community by family who had lost fathers, sons or brothers…

Some of the gold paint lettering naming each photograph had stuck to the glass covering the honour board and the deterioration meant some soldiers’ names could soon be lost forever.

Expert conservator Jude Shahinger did an amazing job restoring the lettering and the beautiful woodwork in the honour board.

Local historians Lindy Wallace and Lorraine Callow researched each of the men to find out their service records and the stories behind some of the men. They sought information from the Australian War Memorial, Australian Infantry Force records and newspaper plus that from today’s families of the soldiers.

Confusing the research was that some surnames were misspelt and one had a surname that did not match the one the honour board.

This work has been extraordinary and quite an emotional experience for both researchers.

…professional photographer Rob Lawler photographed the images of the soldiers during the restoration process.  Most of the photographs collected by Cr Henderson are not held by the Australian War Memorial, so this project will benefit the national collection.

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The President of the Williamstown RSL also spoke to lead the very moving and well-known recitation: The Ode before we listened to the Bugle Call.

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.

He shared personal reminiscences too and mentioned a conversation when his son finished university.

How old are you, son?’

‘Twenty-two and a half.’

‘Do you know what I was doing at your age?’

‘What?’

‘I had just come home from Vietnam.’

‘Shit…’

If his son has watched the recent series on SBS I can imagine his reaction would add a few ‘expletives deleted’ because the grief and loss from the Vietnam War is still occurring as Vietnam veterans struggle with ongoing physical and mental health issues and the emotional pain of feeling the lack of reverence and gratitude so often given to World War One and Two veterans.

The Sons of Williamstown website and videos, the documentaries, memoir, novels, poetry and song testimony to the power of individual stories. They add to the larger narrative to give others a better understanding of war and I hope communities across Australia will continue to value them.

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On Monday, there will be many dawn ceremonies commemorating the landing at Gallipoli, but for most people it will be a time to remember the fallen of various wars – including the ones Australian troops are currently fighting.

In the words of ex-prime minister,  Paul Keating:
Out of the Great War came a lesson of ordinary people that were not ordinary. They did extraordinary things.

His sentiment can be applied to all conflicts and peace keeping assignments. The most enduring symbol of remembrance for most people is the poppy and projects like the ANZAC quilt blocks my sister was involved in and the 5000poppies catch the public’s imagination in a world where the images and news of conflict is incessant and instant.

Being able to take part in or make a physical symbol to show care, compassion and empathy is important for many people. For me, being creative is to make a statement for peace, to find alternative ways of affirming values and beliefs other than death and destruction.

Tim Richardson MP, the member for Mordialloc sits amidst some of the poppies that volunteers knitted, sewed or felted. Some of the over 250,000 poppies, were displayed at Federation Square as a tribute to all those who served in wars, conflicts and peacekeeping operations.

The poppy project is ongoing as is my family research.

Lest we forget!