Anzac Day 2020 was one for the history books, during the Covid-19 lockdown residents paid tribute to the brave service men, women and animals in the only way possible: at home.
From candles lit in driveways to socially distant street ceremonies with the last post bellowing across the region, Noosa and the Sunshine Coast went above and beyond to celebrate and remember those who gave their all.
In a time that is uncertain and difficult, it was humbling to see how Australians adapted to the current pandemic changes and go above and beyond to remember them.
Barbara Joy Weatherhead and her daughter Clea Rose woke early on Saturday, 25 April to join in the driveway memorial with candle lit.
Ms Weatherhead is an avid writer, and has slowly been composing her life’s stories with the help of Clea.
Ms Weatherhead has travelled the world and acquired a talent for expression through storytelling, she composed the following story on Anzac Day:
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.
This morning Clea and I arose early.
Dawn was breaking and as we walked up the driveway to the road we admired the soft mist that was rising from the fields that surround our new “shelter from the Storm” that we have named “the bunker”.
The sweet pink dawn light was shining through and I remembered an old hymn from my childhood, a favourite of my fathers and his family.
“When the mists have rolled in splendour from the beauty of the hills.”
This created a sweet nostalgia within me. We were about to participate in the virtual dawn service on this Anzac Day. In the midst of the coronavirus lockdown people all over Australia and New Zealand were gathering at their windows, on their balconies, at the end of their driveways to stand together in solidarity to honour all people who had suffered the consequence of war wherever and whenever they were affected. The fallout is very wide and inter-generational.
We carried two tea lights and our mobile phone and settled on a spot alongside our road. We are not near neighbours so we were surrounded by trees and accompanied by many very vocal birds enjoying the breaking of dawn. An occasional car drove by and several trucks with tradies off to work zoomed by.
We shared with all other folks the ceremony live-steamed from Canberra, through the majesty of internet.
Beginning with the Ode, the last Post, and a minute of silence to reflect and remember. That minute would be so different for every person. Some would remember family and friends who had fallen or returned broken, hurt, angry or silent.
I remember so much in one minute, images flash by. My high school best buddy who was conscripted and died within months of arriving in Vietnam.
My old Great Uncle Frank who had lung damage from mustard gas in the trenches in France. I sat on a little stool near his feet and he told me about how horrible war was and he did not want me to see one. But sadly there had been another war after his and more young men had died.
He told me the story of Simpson and his donkey at Gallipoli. These moments were etched in my mind as a small child forever.
I remembered Dads sister, Aunty Muriel telling me that when Uncle Maurice returned from PNG where he had served in the lonely and extremely dangerous post as a signalman watching out for the Japanese he returned a different man.
She stood one day in despair at a street junction in Launceston. She looked up and diagonally across from where she stood she saw a building declaring itself to be the College of Arts. She knew to her heart and bones she was at a crossroads in her life. Leave the shadow of the fun man who had gone to war and returned silent and only interested in bike riding or do something to make herself happy. So she walked across the road entered the old brick building, enrolled and began painting.
I also remembered the powerlessness and fear I felt when I was expectantly caught in crossfire in Laos in a skirmish between the Pathet Lao and Government Army. Bullets flying everywhere and definitely no one sympathetic to me, a young white girl alone looking for a buried ancient Buddhist temple in the jungle. My first deep realisation that my passport was not going to help me here. Tactics of war my style, look small, invisible, hide and hope for the best while I lay low.
Anyway after my flashes there was a deep serenity and silence. I was standing with my daughter with our candles at our feet and a gentle cool fresh breeze was drifting past us.
Then the reveille began, joyful, uplifting, hopeful. There was a feeling of fellowship with all people everywhere on our planet and a deep longing for Peace.
We wandered back to our bunker to share a cuppa wondering why we are not up at dawn every morning to enjoy this precious time. It is an opportunity to profoundly connect with nature as it stirs toward a new day.
