ANZAC DAY 2011

On the 16 July, 1917 my grandfather, Charles Winter Clarke enlisted into the Australian Imperial Force and on the 21 November 1917 embarked with the 4th Light Horse Regiment, 30th Reinforcements on the HMAT A71 Nestor to fight in WW1. Prior to enlisting he was a forty four year old farrier who was a teacher  at the Melbourne Veterinary College (hospital for horses and dogs).

The battle honors of the 4th Light Horse Brigade (Australian Mounted Division) were: Anzac, Defence of Anzac, Suvla, Sari Bair, Gallipoli 1915, Egypt 1915-17, Gaza-Beersheba, El Mughar, Nebi Samwil, Jerusalem, Jordan (Es Salt), Megiddo, Nablus, Sharon, Damascus, Palestine 1917-18, Messines 1917, Ypres 1917, Broodeseinde, Passchendale, Lys, Kemmel, Marne 1918, Tardenois, France and Flanders 1916-18, Egypt, Gallipoli, Sinai, Palestine, Western Front. They were involved in the following campaigns: Palestine: First Battle of Gaza, Second Battle of Gaza, Third Battle of Gaza, Beersheba, Jerusalem, Jericho, Es Salt, Megiddo and Damascus.

My father, David Henry Clarke enlisted into the Australian Army on 12 June 1940 and served with the 2/11 Field Regiment until his discharge on 5 November 1945. He fought in Suez, Palestine and other fronts. He was wounded but survived. I didn't know my father well, I know only that like many people who went to war he did not care to speak about it. Both my grandfather and my father were repatriated back to Australia - I suppose they may be considered lucky.

Out of the fog of this Anzac Day morning I place their photographs here as a tribute to their service and contribution. I don't think that doing so in any war glorifies war! How can war be glorious? You only have to read Robert Lawrence Binyon's poem  For the Fallen to hear the pain that was experienced by those who lost loved one and those who always feared that they would hear the worst. This is only a small part of the poem.

View of fog from my balcony at 7.47 am 25.04.2011

They shall grow not old, as we that are left
grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the
years condemn.

At the going down of the sun
and in the morning

We will remember them.

Last year on the 26 April 2010, a day after Anzac Day I wrote the following (excerpt) on my blog after watching the soldiers marching in the parade:

I don't know who these men are except that they were soldiers. They marched with their medals and their memories. Many in the crowd who had gathered to show their recognition, respect and gratitude, clapped their hands ~ what else can be done? Some shouted out or waved an Australian flag on the end of a stick. It's a small gesture. Media chatter advocating that ANZAC Day was a celebration of war and of the deeds of 'white men' dissolved in the overwhelming silence. It was a solemn occasion, as the soldiers marched and the people watched. I tried to get a sense of what people were thinking. Their faces, serious and strained ~ many would have already attended the Dawn Service at the Shrine of Remembrance ~ it was a cold morning, but not as cold at 11am as it would have been at five...I thought, of course about my father and his father, but as I looked at those marching I could only see young men ~ too young, sent to war, to fight, to die ~ if not physically then inside, where the pain still lay. And it was on their faces ~ eyes ahead, or off in the distance ~ in their own thoughts and I cried just briefly for all those lost to war or pain. I think that for many, these soldiers, who have been through a horrendous experience that they just can't talk about, represent their own life struggles ~ and so, we see in them the courage that we too must draw upon each day.