0730 yesterday, ANZAC Day - for the non-Ozzies here – Australia and New Zealand Army Corps. The grunts the bloody Poms put on the wrong beach at Gallipoli during WW1 for cannon-fodder. My 7yo daughter’s Girl Guides troop is marching and she’s keen as mustard, but the walk is quite long, and there’s all that hurry up and waiting that goes with any military do, so I kinda’ have to go along in case of a melt-down (and I love doing stuff with her 
)
We assemble at the carpark of a shopping centre in Kallangur on ANZAC Avenue (consequently one of the bigger parades in South East Queensland) along with literally thousands of others – schools, scouts, cadets, bands, people with WWII trucks and Jeeps, and Vets, obviously from more recent campaigns, as the last ANZAC died in 2002. I see some kids in uniform, way too young to be wearing their bars of medals, and realise they’re from previous generations. A stark reminder of what today is all about – remembering those who have given their lives in the pursuit of freedom.
And as I’m marching behind Sophie’s troop, through more thousands of people lining the avenue, clapping for the marchers, I notice Vets dotted here and there, wearing their medals, and their walking-sticks, or in wheel-chairs, obviously unable to march, and I can’t help but burst into tears. Were it not for them, I probably wouldn’t be here today with an education and a job, and looking forward to a breakfast of my choice after the march…
So to all the soldiers here, past and passed, I’d like to say ‘Thank You’…