Editorial: Service stirs the emotions

Mark Story.

'Twas a very crisp, windless morning. So much so that beanies outnumbered berets at Hastings' dawn service.

How terribly cold to be rising at 4.30am and, were I being honest, during the national anthem I was kicking myself for not donning thermals.

But there are always moments in these services that curb the self-pity.

Like the rifle shots, which were so loud the irreverent heckling of Indian mynahs ceased indefinitely. The volleys punctuated the dawn so suddenly (despite being warned of them) that a huge chap in front of me flinched while, at the same time, an alarmed toddler turned her face into her mum's coat.

That's generally about the time you stop feeling sorry for yourself.

The bugler, too, was enjoying the inert darkness and the suspended effect it had on the acoustics; the first two notes of The Last Post simply hung there.

But John Roil, a member of 7 Battalion Regimental Association, stole the dawn with a yarn about his two great-uncles - who died in service but not before both had the dubious honour of "celebrating" their 21st birthday in the main theatre of war, the Western Front.

While the modern claim is that Anzac Day is increasingly embraced by younger generations (of which there is no doubt), those of us who neither served nor had loved ones killed are fooling ourselves if we think we can empathise with the aged diggers wearing the medals. Their pained faces, if you're inclined, like me, to avoid emotion at daybreak, are best to avoid.

Still, while Mr Roil's great-uncles would have had rather subdued 21sts, yesterday I figured they'd be stoked at having merited a mention on an icy Heretaunga Plains morning, a century after their cruel deaths.