As I reflected earlier this week about my personal connection to Remembrance day and the broader significance of the day a number of family stories spring to mind that make it real.
On November 11th 1918 the world
witnessed the conclusion of hostilities in World War I, this horrific war was
to become known as the “war to end all wars”…
Around the world November 11th is
designated as a day of Remembrance and mourning for those that have fallen
during times of war. It was King George
V of England in 1919 that along with the President of the French Republic at
the time (Raymond Poincaré) who initially observed the day as a sign of respect
for the Armistice that had been signed the previous year. Since then its been adopted by many countries
as a day to remember all the combatants and pay tribute to their sacrifice.
Clearly, wonderful ideals after a long and bloody
war yet even then the fragility of peace was fleeting. And so it was with this as a backdrop that
earlier this week I personally took time to remember my family members that
over the generations had been a part of these tragic events.
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| A photo of Grandfather taken prior to leaving Australia in 1916 |
As many of you know my grandfather enlisted
in the Australian army on November 11th 1916 aged 35 years, leaving
behind a grieving wife and four children to care for. Fortunately, he survived
two bloody years on the Western Front in France and eventually made his way
home more than two years after the end of hostilities a very different man than
he had been before he had enlisted. For
the remainder of his life he continued to suffer from his war wounds – gunshot
wounds and labored breathing due to being gassed, although I think, like most
veterans he suffered from the survivor guilt almost as much as the physical
injuries.
How harrowing must it have been to confront
death on an hour-to-hour or day-to-day basis for two solid years, all the while
watching as your mates are being killed or wounded around you. The stupidity of trench warfare with the ebb
and flow of battle over seemingly meaningless yards of minced up soil seems so
ludicrous today, but that was life and death during that bloody and senseless war (still aren't they all?).
Surprisingly, grandfather’s attachment to
the military doesn't end there… Not by a
long margin!
With the outbreak of WWII in September 1939
grandfather endeavored to re-enlist, now aged 58! What on earth would push a man to try and
re-enlist especially after he knew exactly what horrors he might be
facing? The early years of WWII, in Australia
they were only taking the young and fit, anyone over 35 was pushed directly to
the militia, which was an affront to grandfather. Apparently he was so hell bent on “doing his
bit” that there was even talk of him sailing to England to join up there, but
fortunately clearer heads prevailed and so he was convinced to join the militia
and was subsequently posted to guard local harbour and coastal installations
for the duration.
Prior to the start of WWII his oldest son
(my uncle), Graeme had enlisted in the militia and had joined grandfathers old
Queensland unit, the 49th battalion which was being considered for
service in Papua New Guinea. At that
time Papua was an Australian protectorate hence the militia was able to fight
there, even though it’s clearly overseas and you don't have to be geographic
whiz to figure that out. J
Interestingly, the militia units that
fought in Papua alongside the AIF were not recognized for overseas
service. In those days your service
number was identified by your state of enlistment, so in uncle Graeme’s case
his militia number was Q 31507 (Queensland), but once he was transferred to the
AIF his service number became QX 31507 meaning that he fought overseas and was
given the recognition it was due whereas if you didn't have an X in your service number your role was significantly downplayed particularly in post war Australia.
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| A photo Uncle Graeme sent to my mum shortly before he was to shipped overseas to New Guinea. An interesting side note is the drawing of the three wise monkeys on the top right - I'm unsure of the significance or origin but mum always kept a set of brass monkeys like these over the mantel when we were growing up. |
In early 1942 uncle Graeme transferred to
the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) and was subsequently posted as a Lieutenant
to Papua New Guinea where he fought in the Northern Beaches campaign at Gona,
Buna and Sanananda.
On December 7th 1942 his battalion
attacked a series of well-concealed and protected Japanese pillboxes that sat
astride the road to Sanananda at the Huggins roadblock junction. Over the next
five hours his unit made a series of bloody frontal assaults in which they took
over 50% casualties (14 officers and 215 men were killed), thus essentially finishing
their ability to be an effective fighting force.
In March 1943 his unit he was evacuated back
to Australia, with him being sent directly to the Australian General Hospital with
a severe bout of malaria. Fortunately
for uncle Graeme his war was now over as he continued to suffer from serious
bouts of malaria on and off for the remainder of his life. He was discharged from the army in late 1944
on medical grounds.
Unfortunately for me I didn't know either
of them, with grandfather dying the year before I was born and uncle Graeme
living in Queensland and me growing up in Victoria (the equivalent of Seattle
and New York) thus making it impossible to visit during my childhood given our lack of money.
The most moving Remembrance day ceremony that I took part in was in 2011 at the Isurava memorial in Papua New Guinea which coincided with my hike of the Kokoda track. We were on hallowed ground, you could just feel it, surrounded on all sides by the enormity of the battlefield on which we stood. I don't think there was a dry eye in the group...
Even now if I close my eyes I can still feel the hot tropical sun beating down on my head as we stood at the memorial on the edge of the jungle clearing, and hear the words of the second verse from the "Ode to Remembrance" by Laurence Binyon initially first published in September 1914 in the London Times.
"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".
Lest we forget
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I wanted to recognize Grandfather and uncle Graeme and so no additional photos this week.
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