[MarieL]

Today I remember so much .
25th of April was my grandmother's birthday and every year I would wake up with her watching the dawn service and that's where we would be until around 11am.
She would share what it was like in Sydney during the 2nd world war .

It was also a time to give thanks to all those courageous men and women who fought for our country and for us .
My Great Granfather fought in world war 1 and my 2nd cousin fought and lost his life in the Vietnam war.

William matthew Brannigan
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This is also a time that we remember a man who was a stand in grandfather for our children and a dear friend for over 40 years .
He fought in the Korean war and Vietnam

REEVES, John Lloyd Chief Petty Officer R.A.N.​

Today for me is a day to give thanks but also a day of sadness remembering these amazing people.

Two of my sons 20 year old and 23 year old are at our local dawn service now. It's so important for our children to keep remembering and honouring them

They are gone but will never be forgotten.

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A beautiful but sad story thank you for sharing ❤

 

[MarieL]

I attend every dawn service as too was in the military as a Gun Sargent 107 battery. But one of the main reason I and my wife attend is also because her Uncle Artu (Arthur) escaped from Poland when he was just 18, just before the German's invaded. He join Montgomery in Palestine and ended up in Turook with the Kiwis and Aussies. He was young and afraid but through all the noise and dust the thing that kept him going was the comradery and sh*t stirring between the Aussie and Kiwis. He came every year here to Bunbury to attendant the Dawn service with us.. great memories of a great man

Thank you for sharing. I remember reading how incredibly brave Polish fighters were

 

[Samsam]

I had 3 older brothers, one in each of the services during WWII. The middle one, aged 20, was a Pilot of a Mosquito brought down over Holland when returning from a mission over Germany, he was killed and the Germans gave permission for him to be buried in the local cemetery of Loppersum ( nearest city Groningen). 24 th February 1944.Those lovely people of Loppersum look after his grave as if he was one of their own. His birthday was 4th May which is also Holland’s Remembrance Day and every year flowers are laid on his grave. His family will always love and thank the kindness of the Dutch people. Incidentally, his Canadian Observer survived after spending the rest of the war in Stagaluft3 where he arrived just a fortnight after The Great Escape.

All my family were fighting in ww2 from my grandmother down. My grandmother was in Women's Royal Army Corps (WRAC, previously known as the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) the women's branch of the British Army during WW2. She was stationed on the British Anti-Aircraft guns in and around London Feeding the shells to the gunners during the Blitz. All her sons also fought. My Dad & his brother in the REME . His other brothers in the airforce, Navy & merchant Navy. 5 sons one killed in the RAF. My Belgian Uncle, Fràncois was a resistant fighter a 17yr old teenager. Betrayed, Caught & tortured by the Gestapo - then sent to Belsen ,dying of typhoid, at the end of the war after a forced march to Leipzig, Germany as a political prisoner.
My Mum & sister, both children, were taken to a concentration camp in Brussels, St Gilles, in retaliation. My Granmere fled with her 2 babies & the resistance hid her. My Dad was among the Normandy landings troops. Later he met my Mum in Brussels when it was liberated & she was released from the Gestapos St Gilles prison. Ironically my Dad's REME regiment were the 2nd British troops who'd entered Belsen. Dad's regiment were sent there, as they had the fuel needed to burn the bodies and barracks/ sheds that had typhoid. Dad said he smelled Belsen 2 miles before they'd reached it. He said nothing had prepared them for the inhumane sight of walking skeletons. I often think how awful it must have been for Dad having seen Belsen, then realise years later his brother-in-law had been in there .
1st pic my Grandmother 2nd my resistance fighter Uncle, 3rd pic my Dad in his British REME uniform & my Mum

This reminded me of a movie actually. We will never know what some people went through all in the name of ? So many lives lost. My dad was also in the blitz, similar age and lost 2 sisters in a raid in London. War must have changed people's lives, completely. I am so grateful for the many who never gave up and fought for our freedom.

 

[Samsam]

I try not to miss a dawn service. One thing I do miss now is watching my dad marching. He used to speak publicly about his war memories. I have many pictures of dad marching, proudly wearing his medals. Hiding the pain of what effect the war had on him and his loved ones, Dad, like many others, lost family members. His two infant sisters were killed in the London Blitz. He joined the navy and witnessed some horrific things, like many others. I am so grateful for what others sacrificed for us.
No Glory in war, but honour is given,
To those who have gone, and those still living.

 

[Rain72]

The SDC Newsletter Dawn Service: What ANZAC Day Means To You​

Good morning members,

I just wanted to dedicate a space on our forum for some of us to share what ANZAC Day means to them. There is absolutely no pressure for any one to participate, but if you choose to, the SDC Team along with the rest of the community would love to read what you have to say.

This thread today is for you all to share what ANZAC Day means to you or take the opportunity to commemorate someone or something important to you on this day with the rest of our community.

For me, ANZAC Day is a very special day. I had multiple family members involved in many different wars, and every morning, since I can remember, I have attended a Dawn Service with my grandparents, parents, and now, I take myself and my partner. My dear brother wears our family's Medallions with pride to every Dawn Service we attend. There's one Dawn Service that has stuck with me more than any I have ever attended, and that was the 2020 Dawn Service, when we were all in lockdown. The suburb I lived in at the time had organised for everyone to stand at the top of their driveways with a candle in hand at Dawn. We stood in silence for 10 minutes, then out of no where we heard the Last Post being played by someone on the trumpet. It was truly unbelievable. Like someone was walking the streets playing it for all to hear. I just thought in that moment how beautiful it was for everyone to come together at a time when there was such distance, to commemorate the Australian Men and Women who suffered and lost their lives so that we could live in the country we do today.

Thank you for reading my little story. I also just want to dedicate this post to my Pop (who I actually used to call 'Poppy'!) and his father. Both of which served this country.

Please feel free to share your stories in the comments below, and just a reminder that this community is a SAFE SPACE so please BE KIND. Today is not an easy day for everyone, so please keep those people who might be struggling today (and every day) front of mind when you comment below.

Lest We Forget.

View attachment 17724​

For me, ANZAC Day brings back memories of the one and only day, each year of my childhood, that I my mother would speak of my dead father. From age 3, I was routinely dressed in starched white on ANZAC Day morning. My mother would pin my father's medals across my chest and escort me to the starting point of the morning march. I would join other Legacy Wards - war orphans and children who, like me, lost their veteran dad after the end of the war. I would proudly march in my father's place, honouring a man I never knew - a man who died just six weeks after my birth; a man about whom my mother only ever spoke on ANZAC Day, when she told me of the battles he had fought in and the Navy uniform he wore.

On the ANZAC Day following my ninth birthday, I was chosen to stand the Guard of Honour. That meant leaving the march near its end and taking a place beside the memorial in front of the town library. I stood, for hours, between the drummer and the bagpipe player while people stepped up to the Memorial and laid their wreaths in remembrance. I stood proud, believing I was doing a great service to my dead father and to the country, honouring a memory and ensuring that patriotic acts were never forgotten.

I don't celebrate ANZAC Day now. Today, it has a very different meaning. It is a reminder of the sacrifice my father-in-law made - a sacrifice never acknowledged, much less rewarded.

I wrote a story in my father-in-law's honour. I called it ''Herbie's Private March: Salute to an Unsung ANZAC Hero". It's a story that is politically incorrect. It's a story that will offend many; one that patriots will hate. But it's a true story.

Later, I wrote and published my husband's story, "The Pencil Case". That story, too, is politically incorrect, but true.

Because of Herbie and my husband, I no longer celebrate ANZAC Day. My father's medals lie in a dresser drawer now. I pinned them on once, a few years ago, just to remind myself that for me, ANZAC Day has two very different meanings.

I have two very different stories to tell my grandchildren about this day of remembrance. I ask them to honour two men who lived very different lives, honouring them for vastly different reasons. I ask them to remember, always, the sacrifice of so many who fought so that they could be safe and free. But I remind them, too, of the treachery and betrayal that killed their great-grandfather's soul and caused their grandfather so much pain and suffering. I remind them that the government that sponsors great pomp and ceremony and asks us to salute our war heroes is the same government that allowed cruelty and injustice to destroy men we should be saluting.

History is written as the powerful want it written. But we must never take history on face value. We must always question and challenge. We must look for the unpopular truths. We must try to prevent the truth from being buried and forgotten. While we are saluting our war heroes, we should honour, also, the unsung heroes. And we should cry for justice for those to whom justice was denied.


.

 

[MarieL]

This reminded me of a movie actually. We will never know what some people went through all in the name of ? So many lives lost. My dad was also in the blitz, similar age and lost 2 sisters in a raid in London. War must have changed people's lives, completely. I am so grateful for the many who never gave up and fought for our freedom.

That's very sad. The blitz was terrible

 

[MarieL]

For me, ANZAC Day brings back memories of the one and only day, each year of my childhood, that I my mother would speak of my dead father. From age 3, I was routinely dressed in starched white on ANZAC Day morning. My mother would pin my father's medals across my chest and escort me to the starting point of the morning march. I would join other Legacy Wards - war orphans and children who, like me, lost their veteran dad after the end of the war. I would proudly march in my father's place, honouring a man I never knew - a man who died just six weeks after my birth; a man about whom my mother only ever spoke on ANZAC Day, when she told me of the battles he had fought in and the Navy uniform he wore.

On the ANZAC Day following my ninth birthday, I was chosen to stand the Guard of Honour. That meant leaving the march near its end and taking a place beside the memorial in front of the town library. I stood, for hours, between the drummer and the bagpipe player while people stepped up to the Memorial and laid their wreaths in remembrance. I stood proud, believing I was doing a great service to my dead father and to the country, honouring a memory and ensuring that patriotic acts were never forgotten.

I don't celebrate ANZAC Day now. Today, it has a very different meaning. It is a reminder of the sacrifice my father-in-law made - a sacrifice never acknowledged, much less rewarded.

I wrote a story in my father-in-law's honour. I called it ''Herbie's Private March: Salute to an Unsung ANZAC Hero". It's a story that is politically incorrect. It's a story that will offend many; one that patriots will hate. But it's a true story.

Later, I wrote and published my husband's story, "The Pencil Case". That story, too, is politically incorrect, but true.

Because of Herbie and my husband, I no longer celebrate ANZAC Day. My father's medals lie in a dresser drawer now. I pinned them on once, a few years ago, just to remind myself that for me, ANZAC Day has two very different meanings.

I have two very different stories to tell my grandchildren about this day of remembrance. I ask them to honour two men who lived very different lives, honouring them for vastly different reasons. I ask them to remember, always, the sacrifice of so many who fought so that they could be safe and free. But I remind them, too, of the treachery and betrayal that killed their great-grandfather's soul and caused their grandfather so much pain and suffering. I remind them that the government that sponsors great pomp and ceremony and asks us to salute our war heroes is the same government that allowed cruelty and injustice to destroy men we should be saluting.

History is written as the powerful want it written. But we must never take history on face value. We must always question and challenge. We must look for the unpopular truths. We must try to prevent the truth from being buried and forgotten. While we are saluting our war heroes, we should honour, also, the unsung heroes. And we should cry for justice for those to whom justice was denied.


.

Thank you for sharing wise words

 

[Rosie2023!]

My Uncles Edgar and Maurice both went to war and died of injuries…my father, their brother was not allowed to go because of fallen Arches..the disappointment was stark.
Today’s Memorials were full of Pride, Respect, Honour and teaches us to be so grateful for all our forebears sacrifice in so many ways.

 

[Ladyjay]

I had many Uncles, Cousins, relations in all of the Wars, War is a man made disagreement between participating countries, nothing good happens from itt.
We were pulled into war by big headed men in politics and we the people have had to deal with the outcomes.
And guess what, now there is another one our political leaders are getting us into and its not anything to do with us, But we have follow bloody America
Keep our boys and girls home and stop throwing our money into the cooking pot

 

[MaggieAmalia]

When I lived in Albany I attended a Anzac gathering on Middleton Beach. Suddenly the temperature became icy cold and I then saw weeping men in uniform walking amongst us. They were mourning the futility of war, the loss of many lives including their own and were in despair as no one could see their presence. The sadness of the people on the beach and the memorial service held there was what had brought those lost souls to us. Their grief became unbearable and I had to leave. When home I lit a candle and asked in prayer for spiritual help for those lost souls. Today I have been burning white candles for those who lost their lives and for those in the DF who marched today with dignity and pride. I'm so grateful to be living in this beautiful land Australia and I am grateful to the men and women who stand for peace and for those who gave their lives in service. Also gratitude for their families who suffered the loss whilst the were away in service.

 

[Maddison Dwyer]

Thank you so much for sharing everyone. This is a very special thread to read and I feel honoured to be a part of it. Lest We Forget