It is Anzac Day today.
I’d like to give thanks for the courage of all the Australians and New Zealanders who have served their country.
I met a real Anzac once when I was at school. He gave a talk. A lot of my classmates were rude, talking about the futility of war like the pseudo intellectuals they were. They didn’t realise that having a moral opposition to war didn’t necessarily mean you had to have an accompanying opposition to those who had served in a war.
The Anzac spoke of brotherhood, loyalty, love of country. Terrible tales, sad tales, inspiring tales. He passed around his medals. I could feel how precious they were.
When I met the Anzac soldier it was the first time I ever understood what honour meant. I felt safe in his presence as if nothing bad could ever happen if he was there. Meeting him moved me so much that I went home and cried – overwhelmed that people like him could exist.
I will always be grateful to the Anzac soldier, not just for the fact that he served his country; my country, but for the appreciation he gave me of dignity, honour, and bravery.
Lest we forget.