Anzac Day 2014 promised good news for the local farmers, and a somewhat bleak day for those of us planning to attend the dawn service and the later march in Geraldton. Overcast skies, drizzle and rain periods were not the climatic conditions we wanted, but let's face it, this is not unusual for Anzac Day.
The less than encouraging weather news was not my only problem as we struggled into consciousness and our clothes at the insistence of our 0430 hours alarm call. As I faced the mirror, tie in hand, I was struck by moment of panic....how do I tie this bloody thing? It has been so long. Recall was not instant, but my hands eventually followed the regular route of many years and a reasonably neat knot was achieved.
I had been invited to join a short dawn service march to the Geraldton RSL from a nearby car park but chose instead to stand with Liz as part of the surprisingly good turnout of locals. My good spouse finally had the opportunity to use the Driazabone coat she has been carrying under the bed all this time....and it was most appropriate. she was as snug as a bug in a rug.
I did not fare quite so well in the dawn mist, but this was soon forgotten as we repaired indoors to the welcome sights and sounds of a massive RSL 'gunfire breakfast'.
But after a hearty munch on bacon, eggs and sausages, all washed down with coffee generously laced by the local RSL ladies on the rum table, and the obligatory pose with photos of Geraldton RSL notables in the passageway, it was back to the van for some running repairs.
We had originally planned to use the few hours between the end of breakfast and the assembly for the main march taking in the sights of the Geraldton waterfront area, but those plans were shelved in deference to the weather and the need for me to dry out. With the air conditioner on the 'dry' setting and with coats, shirt, tie and trousers all hanging from various points in the van drying out, we looked for some time like a Chinese laundry, but it worked.
And whilst all this was going on, I had the great pleasure of receiving a call from Steve and Gwenda Larkins from Adelaide. Steve is the President of my RSL Sub-Branch and a great friend through both that connection and the Keswick Barracks Officers' Mess. It was a real treat to have a chat to them both on Anzac Day.
By the appointed hour I was spruced up again and back in action lined up at the march assembly point. I had been offered a slot with the local RSL assorted group, but chose instead to join two of the local Australian Federal Police. Not only were they thin on the ground, but the AFP are still stationed with the UN Forces in Cyprus. It seemed a good fit, and the female sergeant alongside whom I marched was more than grateful for the support of someone who knows a bit about drill.
I was impressed by the numbers who turned out for the Geraldton march, no matter that the dress standard was decidedly optional, even in the colour party group.
The Memorial guard group were very well turned out in their period uniforms, and later performed with real precision during the various phases of the service.
Here, preceding the combined RSL group is one of a number of old WW2 jeeps used to transport those too frail to march.
A Geraldton band provided the necessary martial music for our jaunt through the foreshore streets, and to my great relief, not only played well but set a comfortable marching beat of 110 steps to the minute.
We have been surprised to note the involvement of both the Police and Emergency Service groups in the Anzac Day celebrations in WA. Quite unlike Adelaide, where police involvement is limited to the Police Band and on duty members performing traffic duty, here in Geraldton a large off duty contingent of the local police formed up and marched with the rest of us.
And from my vantage point, tucked up between the WA Police contingent and the local Army Cadet group, I could see that they marched pretty well (even if one did forget his cap!)
In Geraldton, it seems, everybody gets into the Anzac Day march act, including, to my great surprise, members of the local Masonic Lodge in their quaint attire and large groups of scouts, guides and school children.
I mentioned before that the female AFP Sergeant was more than grateful for my presence. This was particularly so as we approached the saluting point where, on our approach, I was quickly co-opted in whispered tones to give the 'eyes right' commands. Easily done....the many, many drill sessions to which I was subjected at Fort Largs are not easily forgotten.
It was not until the end of the march that I received a real surprise...and not one I relished. I had fully expected to be dismissed as we halted in front of the RSL buildings, but no....other than the RSL group who broke off and made their way to waiting chairs, we all remained on parade throughout the entire proceedings. Perhaps I should have marched with them as I was offered in the first place.
This was not quite what I had signed up for, but once there, there was no escape. Liz was in fits! I was even deserted by my female marching companion who had to lay a wreath. I could hardly leave the poor flag bearer on his own. Please, no rain now!
The service kicked off with a fellow dressed as a Turkish soldier who recited those famous words of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (the Turkish commander at Gallipoli)
"Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives…You are now lying
in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no
difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by
side here in this country of ours…You, the mothers, who sent their sons from
faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and
are in peace, after having lost their lives on this land they have become our
sons as well."
An impressive start. And then there was something else I have never seen before at an Anzac Day service....a dove release when these feathered symbols of peace rose into the air and flapped off towards home.
Well, all but one that was. This dove provided a moment of light relief and amusement for all watching as it stubbornly refused to join its mates circling overhead. A few taps on its tail feathers eventually persuaded the recalcitrant that it was up to him (or her) to give up on the idea of a return trip in the cage and make its own way home.
I was more than tickled when I downloaded the photos Liz took of the morning to see that she had included this as the next shot. I think she is getting the hang of things!
Following the dove release the service and ceremony took its usual form with one exception. Eighty wreaths were laid...yes, eighty! So what you ask? Answer...this all took time. It has been many years since I last had to stand stock still, formally 'at ease' (which is not easy at all) for any length of time. My shoulders and back were beginning to protest at wreath number ten! Apart from the expected service groups, Geraldton organisations of every type, including all the local schools, feel the need to become involved.
And God bless the little tykes. I think it a great thing that youngsters are encouraged to participate in this way.....but they were so slow!
A fine address by a visiting Navy Commodore, to whom I had a good yarn later,
was well received by the goodly crowd of onlookers
before my aching body had the relief of movement as we were called to attention for the ode and the bugle calls, performed with quavering gusto by one of the band members.
So, after several drinks, a lot of chat and a good feed, it was time to take a last look at the Memorial bedecked with wreaths as we made our way to the Cruiser.
I did not fare quite so well in the dawn mist, but this was soon forgotten as we repaired indoors to the welcome sights and sounds of a massive RSL 'gunfire breakfast'.
But after a hearty munch on bacon, eggs and sausages, all washed down with coffee generously laced by the local RSL ladies on the rum table, and the obligatory pose with photos of Geraldton RSL notables in the passageway, it was back to the van for some running repairs.
We had originally planned to use the few hours between the end of breakfast and the assembly for the main march taking in the sights of the Geraldton waterfront area, but those plans were shelved in deference to the weather and the need for me to dry out. With the air conditioner on the 'dry' setting and with coats, shirt, tie and trousers all hanging from various points in the van drying out, we looked for some time like a Chinese laundry, but it worked.
And whilst all this was going on, I had the great pleasure of receiving a call from Steve and Gwenda Larkins from Adelaide. Steve is the President of my RSL Sub-Branch and a great friend through both that connection and the Keswick Barracks Officers' Mess. It was a real treat to have a chat to them both on Anzac Day.
By the appointed hour I was spruced up again and back in action lined up at the march assembly point. I had been offered a slot with the local RSL assorted group, but chose instead to join two of the local Australian Federal Police. Not only were they thin on the ground, but the AFP are still stationed with the UN Forces in Cyprus. It seemed a good fit, and the female sergeant alongside whom I marched was more than grateful for the support of someone who knows a bit about drill.
I was impressed by the numbers who turned out for the Geraldton march, no matter that the dress standard was decidedly optional, even in the colour party group.
The Memorial guard group were very well turned out in their period uniforms, and later performed with real precision during the various phases of the service.
Here, preceding the combined RSL group is one of a number of old WW2 jeeps used to transport those too frail to march.
A Geraldton band provided the necessary martial music for our jaunt through the foreshore streets, and to my great relief, not only played well but set a comfortable marching beat of 110 steps to the minute.
We have been surprised to note the involvement of both the Police and Emergency Service groups in the Anzac Day celebrations in WA. Quite unlike Adelaide, where police involvement is limited to the Police Band and on duty members performing traffic duty, here in Geraldton a large off duty contingent of the local police formed up and marched with the rest of us.
And from my vantage point, tucked up between the WA Police contingent and the local Army Cadet group, I could see that they marched pretty well (even if one did forget his cap!)
In Geraldton, it seems, everybody gets into the Anzac Day march act, including, to my great surprise, members of the local Masonic Lodge in their quaint attire and large groups of scouts, guides and school children.
I mentioned before that the female AFP Sergeant was more than grateful for my presence. This was particularly so as we approached the saluting point where, on our approach, I was quickly co-opted in whispered tones to give the 'eyes right' commands. Easily done....the many, many drill sessions to which I was subjected at Fort Largs are not easily forgotten.
It was not until the end of the march that I received a real surprise...and not one I relished. I had fully expected to be dismissed as we halted in front of the RSL buildings, but no....other than the RSL group who broke off and made their way to waiting chairs, we all remained on parade throughout the entire proceedings. Perhaps I should have marched with them as I was offered in the first place.
This was not quite what I had signed up for, but once there, there was no escape. Liz was in fits! I was even deserted by my female marching companion who had to lay a wreath. I could hardly leave the poor flag bearer on his own. Please, no rain now!
The service kicked off with a fellow dressed as a Turkish soldier who recited those famous words of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk (the Turkish commander at Gallipoli)
"Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives…You are now lying
in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no
difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by
side here in this country of ours…You, the mothers, who sent their sons from
faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and
are in peace, after having lost their lives on this land they have become our
sons as well."An impressive start. And then there was something else I have never seen before at an Anzac Day service....a dove release when these feathered symbols of peace rose into the air and flapped off towards home.
Well, all but one that was. This dove provided a moment of light relief and amusement for all watching as it stubbornly refused to join its mates circling overhead. A few taps on its tail feathers eventually persuaded the recalcitrant that it was up to him (or her) to give up on the idea of a return trip in the cage and make its own way home.
I was more than tickled when I downloaded the photos Liz took of the morning to see that she had included this as the next shot. I think she is getting the hang of things!
Following the dove release the service and ceremony took its usual form with one exception. Eighty wreaths were laid...yes, eighty! So what you ask? Answer...this all took time. It has been many years since I last had to stand stock still, formally 'at ease' (which is not easy at all) for any length of time. My shoulders and back were beginning to protest at wreath number ten! Apart from the expected service groups, Geraldton organisations of every type, including all the local schools, feel the need to become involved.
And God bless the little tykes. I think it a great thing that youngsters are encouraged to participate in this way.....but they were so slow!
A fine address by a visiting Navy Commodore, to whom I had a good yarn later,
was well received by the goodly crowd of onlookers
before my aching body had the relief of movement as we were called to attention for the ode and the bugle calls, performed with quavering gusto by one of the band members.
"Parade, dismiss". At last. I had forgotten what a welcome sound these words can be. With duty done, it was off to the bar for a well earned refreshment or two. And then to lunch. What a spread. A seemingly inexhaustible supply of pastries, quiches, sandwiches, cold meat platters, cheese and biscuits and cakes of all varieties streamed endlessly from the kitchen. This was country hospitality at its very best and made for a memorable conclusion to the morning.
So, after several drinks, a lot of chat and a good feed, it was time to take a last look at the Memorial bedecked with wreaths as we made our way to the Cruiser.
It had been a truly wonderful Anzac Day, one at which Liz and I had been generously welcomed and embraced by the local RSL community and made to feel very much a part of the proceedings. In Geraldton they do not do these things by halves and we remain very grateful.
By now I was feeling just a tad spent, but clearly not to the extent of this poor fellow for whom things had just been altogether too much.
The time had come to farewell those who were continuing to enjoy the fellowship of the RSL outdoor entertaining area under the dome of the Sydney Memorial on nearby Mount Scott,
and make our way back to Drummond Cove, return the medals to the safe, hang up the good clobber for another year and return to the dress and reality of caravanning life.
And to top off the day, as Liz, with driving duty done, finally had the chance to enjoy a quiet glass of bubbles under the awning, we had the great pleasure of receiving another call from Adelaide, this time from our great mate Gary Casey with whom we have shared many hilarious moments both at home and at various UN reunions. My day was complete.
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