Jim Eagles: In the steps of the Anzacs

In a nation of migrants, such as New Zealand, an important reason for travel is the search for our roots. For instance, there is growing interest in sites of significance to the Maori migration.

More New Zealanders, not just Maori, make pilgrimages to places like Avana, on Rarotonga in the Cook Islands, which some traditions give as the point where voyaging canoes set off for Aotearoa; or Taputapuatea, on Raiatea in the Leeward Islands,the most important marae in ancient Polynesia.

Similarly, even though ties to Britain as "the mother country" have now largely dissolved, a high proportion of our long-distance journeys are still to England, Scotland and Ireland.

It can be a poignant moment when you first encounter a place associated with some far-off ancestor who is the reason you now live in New Zealand. I was surprised at how moved I felt when I visited the ancient church of St Mary's, at Eling in Hampshire, where my great-great-grandfather was baptised and, almost certainly, where he worshipped before heading for New Zealand 170 years ago.

Far from being some sort of colonial cringe, I believe that having a greater knowledge of where we come from makes us more certain of who we are as New Zealanders.

The same factor is at work in the huge numbers of New Zealanders and Australians who head for Anzac Cove on the Gallipoli Peninsula each Anzac Day to see for themselves the harsh battlefield where our emerging national identity took a significant step forward.

It is often said that in many ways April 25 is our most universally accepted national day. Instead of acknowledging the signing of a controversial treaty, the birthday of a foreign sovereign or the struggle of the working class, it recognises the sacrifices of New Zealanders, of every race, class and belief.

I haven't been to an Anzac Day at Gallipoli, but those who have say it is a hugely emotional occasion and that attending gave them a heightened awareness of their country, its short but proud contribution in world affairs, and the respect in which it is held as a result.

For me, and for many other Kiwis, going to Crete has a similar effect. My father fought there and it was there, in the village of Galatas, that New Zealand soldiers provided what is probably the finest demonstration of the qualities of flexibility, courage and tenacity that made them such feared warriors in war but such good citizens in peacetime.

To my shame, I don't think I had heard of Galatas until I went there with my parents in 1991 for the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Crete, when my father - who like many of his generation never spoke about the war - mentioned that he had been in a bayonet charge there.

That still didn't mean much to me until I spoke of it in passing to a former Australian Army major who was there as military correspondent for the Australian newspaper.

To my surprise the big Aussie practically stood to attention and saluted, saying that the bayonet charge by the New Zealanders in Galatas was one of the great feats of arms in World War II, and perhaps the finest bayonet charge in history.

Galatas then, as now, was a picturesque village, though since the war it has become almost a suburb of the city of Canea. It was extraordinary to be able to wander through its old stone buildings, with my Dad pointing out the steep, winding street up which he and his mates from the 18th Battalion charged. Bullet-holes still scar some of the ancient walls and the memorial in the town square where this Thursday, as on every May 25, the town commemorates the soldiers from the other side of the world who fought alongside them for Crete.

My older daughter and youngest brother have since visited Galatas, probably partly inspired by my reminiscences, and were disappointed.

Unlike the situation at Anzac Cove, where the events are well recorded on plaques, they found it difficult to work out where things happened, and to make matters worse my brother said the memorial "had some graffiti on it and there were a couple of empty bottles lying at the base".

Of course, it would be nice if New Zealand could do more to acknowledge the efforts of its soldiers by putting up some plaques identifying what happened. Failing that, pilgrims will be greatly aided by a new book, GALATAS 1941: courage in vain, by Lynn McConnell (Reed Books, $39.99).

McConnell, has done a magnificent job of explaining what happened, largely using the words of those who were involved. The only disappointment is the absence of a map of modern Galatas identifying where events occurred. But the descriptions and photos should be sufficient to allow visitors to work things out for themselves.

As McConnell explains, having been chased out of Galatas by the invading Germans, their fighting ability hugely handicapped by poor communications, the loss of most heavy weapons, the straffing and bombing of the Luftwaffe, and some poor tactical decisions from those on high, it would have been understandable if the Kiwis had continued to retreat.

Instead, they launched a counterattack which has become famous in the annals of warfare.

On one side of the village a group of drivers, gunners and engineers - bolstered by two companies of the 23rd Battalion - found inspiration in the cry of their commanding officer, Colonel Howard Kippenberger: "Stand for New Zealand! Stand for New Zealand! Stand every man who is a soldier! Stand every man who is a soldier!"

On the other side, the shattered remnants of the 18th Battalion, including my Dad, were similarly galvanised by their commander, Colonel John Gray, who on hearing that Kippenberger was making a stand, jumped out of the ditch in which many of the men were sheltering, fixed his bayonet, and called, "Come on 18th boys, into the village".

Their ferocious charge shattered the German troops - Galatas is reckoned to be the first time in World War II that anyone stood up to Hitler's war machine, showing it was beatable - and swept them out of the village.

It is a terrible story, but a magnificent one, and I'm sure my brother and daughter would have found their visits to Galatas more satisfying had they had McConnell's book to guide them.

Every country needs its legends, its stories of heroes, and its places of pilgrimage, where new generations can pay tribute to the deeds of yesteryear, and Galatas, and what happened there on May 25, 1941, are among ours.