Dawn Service

Seriously - yesterday was a public holiday, and when my alarm went off at 2.30am I was not a happy bunny. And it was raining, raining, raining. I decided that there was no way the other girls would still be serious about going out to Martin Place for the ANZAC Day dawn service, so I pressed snooze and went back to sleep.

10 minutes later, still not impressed, it's still bucketing down, I venture out to see if the girls are awake - they are, and fully dressed, and still totally committed to leaving the house at 3am. 3am! *sigh* I go back to my room and get dressed.

Anyway, after locating my earmuffs and getting some lipgloss on, I felt more human and we piled into the car and set off. The streets were so empty, it felt eerie. When we got into the city there were sparse crowds of people - and you could recognise two distinct types. There were the people who were still out drinking from the night before (oh, I'd forgotten those days!) and the people who had gotten up early to come out in the rain to honour the ANZAC's and their sacrifice. I started to be proud that I was part of the latter group.


So we gathered at Martin Place - I was suprised at the number of people in the crowd. The rain kept falling on and off throughout the service, the beautiful thing was that as soon as the rain would start again, there was a lovely mushroom effect - people would pop their umbrellas up and shelter everyone around them. (Note, this effect did not benefit Sarah, who I think was standing under the run-off from 3 different umbrellas, and ended up soaked!)

4am - no seriously, 4am!

The service was beautiful. I couldn't stop the tears. The last post sent chills down my spine, as it always does. To think about these amazing men who gave their lives for us - and not only for us, but for the freedom of people who they'd never even meet. Sarah told me last night that apparently in WW1 Australia sent more men per capita than any other country. What an amazing sacrifice. I might not agree with the leaders of my country, and their policies on sending my people off all over the world into dangerous situations - but that doesn't stop me feeling proud of the people brave enough to make the choice to go, and humbled and grateful for the freedom that I live in as a result.

After the service had finished and the barriers were pulled away, people swirled forward to see the wreaths and take pictures of the cenotaph, and some high school student volunteers started packing up all the chairs. Through the crowd I saw an old man, with his medals all shiny and polished, sitting down on a chair in obvious distress. Before I could move, 2 St Johns Ambulance people were at his side, making sure he was okay and giving him a smile. Their beautiful, respectful concern sent me to pieces.

So, as cringeworthy as we may be sometimes, as suspicious of our politicians as I am, and as much as I'm certain in my resolve to move back overseas for good one day, I'm happy to confirm that yesterday morning I realised that I am proud to be Australian.

Amy, Em, Shells

(and that wearing pink earmuffs makes me happy - it was a big morning for revelations)