Lying in the bosom of a former enemy

Craig every second Tuesday.

Kia ora and gidday everyone. 

So last Friday I woke up early in London, before the dawn. Not quite early enough however to get myself into central London for the Anzac service at Hyde Park Corner - that would have been a 3am start to get there in time. Bit tough with late night work sessions, school runs, and father-duties. Maybe next year, when it will be a Saturday. 

My life has changed a lot since 2011, when I woke from a wee nap beside a peaceful Turkish beach (having stayed up most of the night), and saw the sun rise across a peninsula that has held deep meaning for people from my part of the world - Australia and New Zealand - for more than a century now. The above photo was my view that April 25. 

Anzac Day. Two words that carry plenty of weight, from where I come from. 

Those two words had been a part of my life since I was a Boy Scout marching in parades in the Top of the South Island of New Zealand, or learning about the Anzacs and the Gallipoli campaign at school. Later I had the privilege of writing about Anzac Day for several magazines, legal and lifestyle, including interviewing several serving New Zealand military personnel (including a Brigadier General) about Anzac Day's ongoing impact.

part of a multi-page feature I wrote on Anzac Day for WildTomato magazine in 2009

Still, visiting the Gallipoli Peninsula itself was an eye-opening experience.

A few quick thoughts on how the place shifted my perspective:

How young all the Anzacs were. I was 32 when we visited Gallipoli. As we huddled with hundreds of fellow antipodeans on a chilly night by the beach, they memorialised many dozens of individual Anzacs on big screens overnight. Only two were older than I was then. Most were teens/early 20s. Even the officers and leaders. Ditto with all the graves we'd seen and paused by on the walk in from the buses. We didn't send our men to war, we sent our boys.

How steep the Gallipoli cliffs are. As youngsters we learn Gallipoli was a British military bungle, a valiant defeat/retreat rather than stirring victory, but seeing those cliffs in person, and walking partway up after the beachside dawn service to attend the later morning services at Lone Pine then Chunuk Bair, sheesh. They're near-sheer cliff faces in many places that few would want to scale in the best of conditions let alone under heavy gunfire.

The scale of loss. More than 2,700 Kiwis and 8,700 Aussies died at Gallipoli. Thousands more terribly injured. Horrifying numbers that are even worse considering time/context. Despite being about as far away from WW1 battlegrounds you could be, NZ sent 42% of its men of military age to fight alongside UK/allies. Some perspective: NZ's Gallipoli losses - let alone the entire First World War - are the equivalent today of USA losing nearly 900,000 soldiers in one campaign, or more than 4.7 million killed in a single war.

Three countries, not two. Kiwis and Aussies learn lots about the Anzacs, the bond between our two nations, faraway outposts of former British Empire that punch far above their weight in global sport and other fields. But around 20,000 Turks died on that peninsula too, defending their country against invading armies. We may have been fighting for freedom, but so were they.

My last point above may be a bit controversial. But that was my realisation at Gallipoli. After the dawn service we chatted to Turkish soldiers, hiked steep trails to Chunuk Bair. Turkish Scouts handed out water. How many nations would warmly welcome the descendants of an invading force and commemorate the very men who killed so many of their own people? How many commanders would later, as President of their country, say words such as these:

It was a surreal, special experience visiting that tiny part of Turkey, a nation overflowing with rich history (Greek, Roman, Biblical, Ottoman Empire, and more) far beyond its (relatively) modern meaning for Aussies and Kiwis. 

So each Anzac Day now, I think of several pals from different eras and chapters of my life who've served my country and their countries in various roles, sometimes in war zones. 

 I also think about that trip to Gallipoli, more than a decade ago. 

As we commemorated the 110th anniversary on Friday, I mulled over some of the realisations I was left with, on that chilly morning on a Turkish beach more than a decade ago - and maybe the biggest one of all: despite years of thinking of Anzac Day as something for Australia & New Zealand, I'd been wrong.

For me now, it isn't about two countries, but three.

Until next time. Ka kite anō.

Whakataukī of the fortnight: 

Inspired by Zoe and her 'word of the week', I'll be ending my fortnightly posts by sharing a whakataukī (Māori proverb), a pithy and poetic thought to mull on as we go through life.

Nāu te rourou, nāku te rourou, ka ora ai te iwi

(With your food basket and my food basket the people will thrive, ie everybody has something to offer, and by working together we can all flourish.)