By SANDY BURGHAM
While I had been aware of an increased sense of Anzacness among ordinary Kiwis in the past years, I was something of a laggard in the area of Anzac involvement except for buying a poppy.
But last Thursday the outer Velcro of the movement finally collected me and my
family, changing the routine of our April 25ths, and our sense of community, forever more.
We had been Anzac-aware all week, itself a fairly new phenomenon in this household where we had merely used April 25 as an excuse for a midweek lie-in and a chance to muck around. I confess our new sensibility was not driven by my own conscience but that of our daughter who at 6 seems to have grasped the significance of Anzac a lot earlier than her parents ever did.
It started when she brought home from school the recipe for Anzac biscuits, which we whipped up for school and for her Poppa who is a Korean War vet and RSA member.
Then during my parent-as-home-teacher spiel about the significance of having a mid-week holiday, she merely rolled her eyes in a oh-where-have-you-been sort of manner only to inform me that indeed Anzac was to commemorate those brave soldiers who had fought and died in the war.
Hmmmm. It was at this moment that my Dad rang and asked if I could drop him at his local RSA so he could march alongside his fellow vets as he has done for some years while I had customarily being lying in and mucking around.
Thus we ended up attending the parade as one big family with grandchildren, cousins, and son-in-laws all accompanying a chuffed Dad. Walking alongside the parade was not only a thrill for the kids but also for the adults who have rarely felt part of any cultural ritual in New Zealand, particularly one that is as interracial and fully inclusive.
It was unexpectedly moving to participate even as an onlooker, to witness what is ordinarily a rather sad street in a lower socio suburb, transformed by the ceremony, uniform and solidarity of all those who turned up. And to acknowledge my father, whom I have only ever considered as merely my Dad, and not a patriotic young man with a taste for adventure, eager to represent his country.
"Why haven't we done this before?" I asked my sister who was equally moved and mystified that we had never thought to turn up in our 80-odd collective years of beingness and whose sole contribution to Anzac Day had, like mine, been about token poppies and home baking.
I certainly don't remember being as inspired or as informed about Anzac as new generations seem to be. I could blame personal slackness and insensitivity but I am wondering if there is a deeper reason to do with the way the Baby Boom generation, of which I am on the cusp, were educated and programmed.
This generation born out of the "let's look ahead" post-war optimism have been notorious for their self-indulgence, their cynicism for the sake of cynicism and their stance of generally being against things, the traditions of their parents included.
In the process many of us have missed a lifetime of Anzacness, which honours and acknowledges not oneself, or an individual, but others as one group for a change, and those who are old or dead.
It should be noted that it's not the Boomers who have rekindled interest in Anzac Day but new generations with different perspectives. As Gallipoli attracts increased numbers each year, especially many younger ones on their OE, it is finally being realised that as the vets die, we risk losing a deep sense of connectedness and respect for our fellow countrymen.
The most touching thing in the parade were the grandchildren marching on behalf of their forefathers bearing their medals with pride. It gave some hope that even as our RSA vets move through the cycle of life, there are new generations waiting in the wings who will keep the flame burning.
Hence, Anzac Day seems on the road to becoming the one ritual that draws communities, generations, races and nations together in this part of the world.
As it doesn't offend racial or minority groups, it is fast becoming our own answer to Thanksgiving.
Far more than February 6, it is Anzac Day that is allowing us all to reclaim our sense of community that has lain dormant for some years, and to restore a great sense of New Zealandness.
Feature: Anzac Day
Anzac photo exhibition:
Harold Paton's pictures of WW II
By SANDY BURGHAM
While I had been aware of an increased sense of Anzacness among ordinary Kiwis in the past years, I was something of a laggard in the area of Anzac involvement except for buying a poppy.
But last Thursday the outer Velcro of the movement finally collected me and my
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