My eyes aren't working properly, this is due to the fact that they were open at 3.45 this morning. I love the ANZAC Day service, but the whole "dawn" thing is a killer for those of us who are not good in the mornings. I'm fine once I'm up, but oh my, the getting up bit was hard today.
Two of the little travelers have inherited my morning disposition. The first little traveler always requires some assistance, but after a trip to the Australian War Memorial last year she was keen to see her first dawn service. The fourth little traveler, not so much. He was there for the food.
"I'm eating this lamington for the soldiers in Jallipoly"
"It's Gallipoli Henry"
"Yep, I'm eating it for them"
I think there must have been about one hundred and fifty people there this morning. Living in an expat community often reminds me of growing up in a country town. As we wandered in and joined the group we said hello to a few of our teachers, there were familiar faces from work, sport and fun. A lot of little waves and hand gestures and nodding across the crowd.
We all looked a bit weird. Like we'd had a really big night and quickly sobered up by having a shower. No-one tells you that bit about getting old. That you look like shit if you don't get enough sleep. That it all takes a bit longer in the morning. That you may wake up with a creese across your cheek that will be with you until lunch time.
So there we all stood. Gym teachers in shorts, office workers in suits, men and women in uniform. A British soldier, a Canadian bugler and a collection of embassy workers from New Zealand, Australia and Turkey.
We were a motley group, but a group with a common goal.
That we would remember them.
No matter where we are.
We will remember them.