Into the
bowels of hell they went,
Intrepidly
they trudged—their lives spent,
So we
could enjoy freedom and peace,
And good life on which there’s a
lease.
Going into
battle as young men,
Far, far
away from their home den,
Freedom
for them was out of reach,
Whilst they fought upon that
beach.
And when
they flew those missions above,
Far from
thought—a peaceful dove,
They all
fought such a fearsome foe,
Not much certainty could they
stow.
Over the
seas they travelled to do,
What
civilisation must hold true,
What they
did for us we can’t repay,
Often their lives down they would
lay.
And that
leaves us with something to think,
Just how
much for us they went to the brink,
Our task evermore
is never to let,
Their sacrifice be barren—Lest We Forget.
***
What can we do, as a community of
human beings on planet Earth, so many of us touched by war but ironically free,
to maintain our grasp on the preciousness of civilisation?
That very question remains
eternally at the forefront of the minds of veterans the world over. In Australia and New Zealand, the ANZAC (Australian
and New Zealand Army Corps) legend continues to be remembered solemnly. Our
legacy of remembrance should never be
forgotten. And so, against our human default to forget we go.
So many of our ancestors fought on
foreign lands and never came home, and many also came home damaged from their
experience. War has had a profound impact on our society and culture. And
whether we believe in war or not is irrelevant.
The preservation of civilisation
is the mandate. It always was and always will be.
But war is always more than a
global concern; it’s inherently a personal story.
Lives are affected and the ripples
of damage and loss flow outward and so many through the succeeding generations must
deal with the shrapnel and fallout of a thing so far beyond everyone’s control.
And for the diggers and veterans
throughout history, those surviving and those gone, we ought to salute them.
For what they fight for and fought for, for our freedom, for civilisation,
their spirit endures.
The moment we forget our rich
legacy of loss—a thing we cannot ever hold in proper context—is the moment we
are destined, as a people, to repeat such a catastrophe.
It bodes us well, as each year
passes, to tip our hats and raise a glass...
Lest We Forget.
© 2012 S. J. Wickham.
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