Some might think I'm making light of war by the comparison. I am not. The men who fought in WWI and WWII have my utmost respect. I've spent the best part of the last couple of years making two documentaries about some of these men and, in fact, the aircrew of today too, who continue to do an outstanding job for this country. In educating myself about the part we have played on the world stage, and that we continue, I have never felt prouder to be a New Zealander.
My quiet hope is that viewers will be imbued with that same feeling and, along the way, appreciate what those men "from the utmost ends of the earth" managed, under the most trying of circumstances.
I also hope people are inspired to converse with the old folk in their families about their youth. If they are in their nineties, they'll recall living through a depression and a world at war. They'll also tell stories of appreciating the value of peace, community, security and the value of a hard-earned dollar post-conflict. Once they go, their stories go with them.
For one of the docos, I had the pleasure of interviewing some of the remaining WWII Spitfire, Lancaster and Wellington aircrews. They are, quite simply, extraordinary men with extraordinary stories. The fact they survived at all, given the daily danger they faced, is a feat in itself. Invariably, they are humble, understated men. My (late) father, as a 1923 baby, was their vintage so I feel a real kinship with them. He got his wings the day the war ended flying post-war for the Territorial Air Force, before joining NAC, so I have had flying around me all my life (including marrying an RNZAF pilot). I love having my dad's old flying overalls in the living room at home to remind me of his youth. Every old person has a young person's memories locked away. You just need to ask them.
In 2017 I went back a generation, piecing the story together of my grandfather's time in WWI. When I went to France that year, it was emotional to follow in his footsteps 100 years later. He survived but was shell shocked in 1917. Indeed, he was a shell of the man who left for war, later dying an early death of a heart attack, a few days after farewelling my uncle, off to WWII. While I was in France, I sought out a little northern town called Le Quesnoy. One day when travel allows, add it to your bucket list. On November 4, 1918, a week before the war ended, the New Zealand Division, on its own, liberated this town without the loss of any civilian life. A tough ask, given it was protected by huge walls and occupied by the Germans from 1914.
Generation after generation of the townsfolk have never forgotten their Kiwi liberators, always commemorating Anzac Day – although not this year. It is the home of our future NZ Museum and Visitors Centre on the Western Front, which will be a place to remember our forefathers' contributions to all wars. A place also to remind ourselves about friendships forged, the hardships and cost of war, and the future we now all have, thanks to their sacrifice.
We are not glorifying war by remembering it, we are simply honouring those who played their part and saying thank you, particularly to those who paid the ultimate price with their lives. Lest we forget.
• To make a donation to the RSA visit this Givealittle page
• Join us from 5.45am on Saturday for the virtual Anzac Day Dawn Service at nzherald.co.nz or Newstalk ZB
• Print out our special Anzac Day poster, pin it in your window and help us line the streets with poppies.
