I remarked before that Anzac Day provides people with a sense of being connected, and paying homage to something that is bigger than ourselves. I've said this need lies in all of us, and even had the temerity to suggest that for those of us who aren't religious, it fills that need to connect to a greater ideal.
Anzac Day morning on Friday had that feeling of people being glad and proud to sacrifice their morning (and a sleep-in) to share in a sense of honour, if only for a short time. "Honour" is a rather old-fashioned word, and it's lacking a lot in the context of day-to-day lives. It's not even particularly applicable to a lot of what goes on these days.
We're noting a sacrifice we can barely comprehend. A culture of conflict which people simply called "the war". In comparison to religion it's recent history. It's real.
Yet over 30 years ago, when I was a boy scout and it was our obligatory duty to turn up to Anzac services, remembering the "war" seemed not only pointless but even a little tasteless to a boy raised by liberal parents. War also seemed a bit adventurous to a youngster who kept a stash of Commando comics (which my parents weren't keen on). Back then, RSAs were places with snooker tables and heavy drinkers, and cops waited down the road to catch drink-drivers.
But 30 years ago, there were a lot of veterans. Now, in terms of World War II, there are extremely few. Perhaps now we turn out in greater numbers, not only to pay perhaps a vague homage to those young men and women who fell during the war, but because of a greater reality - many of the survivors, our relatives, our grandfathers and great-grandfathers, are now dead. That is the truth of today's generation, with no surviving WWI veterans, and only about 3000 WWII vets in New Zealand. I suspect we are at these services, in bigger numbers than ever, because we pay homage to real people we knew. We wear their medals. We thank our past relatives for surviving the war, coming back to live their lives in New Zealand and fathering us. Men died and lost all they could ever be, all they could ever do, wiping out whole successive generations. But others came home, raised families and prospered. They taught us that bravery and honour continues by being good men in the adventure that is living your life.
