Kylie & Jack 1: Humble Beginnings

37. Lest We Forget

Thursday, Apr 25th, 4:49 AM

In years gone by, Murruma commemorated ANZAC Day just like every other town across Australia. They had their local veterans just like everywhere else and on that sacred day, the wore their best suits with all their medals on their lapels and marched with all the national pride and grace their weary bodies would allow, up the main street of the village to the town hall.

Kylie was only six years old when the last big march happened in Murruma, as the last local veteran, Johnny Burgess died two weeks after ANZAC Day. The following year, people were at a loss as to what to do for the day, because there had never been an ANZAC Day in anyone's memory without veterans.

In 2015, for the centenary of the Gallipoli landing in World War One, Lynne had organised a town meeting up at the school, getting the fire brigade, club, P and C committee, the CWA, even the gymkhana committee together to make the hundredth ANZAC Day a possibility for Murruma.

Janelle coordinated with just about every woman in a fifty kilometre radius to knit, sew and crochet red poppies and created a massive wall hanging that is on a permanent display in the hall, alongside a small note printed up by Kylie. Protected by an old shoe box in Kylie's old bedroom at Murruma, is a booklet she and Mike had worked on, researching all the names on the Murruma Honour Roll and finding out their connection to the town, as it once was a century ago.

For this years' service, someone had convinced the Wangarra RSL and RAAF base to coordinate a dawn service at the Murruma hall, which Kylie refused to miss, getting up at half past three that morning, dragging a groaning Jack behind her – who had foolheartedly, in his opinion, agreed to attend with her.

As they stood on top of each other in the all too bright bathroom, getting ready, Jack was gobsmacked to see how solemn Kylie was; from her choice of outfit, even the way she brushed her hair.

As she turned around to exit the bathroom, essentially knocking heads with him, he took in her appearance: her hair was set in loose curls, her face adorning the simplest of make–up, but colouring her in the most dignified manner, her eyes shining brightly with something like a timeless grace, as if she was living between two ages. She wore a deep red, long sleeved, ruffled v–neck chiffon blouse, complete with black tight fitting jeggings and beige ankle boots – not necessarily ideal for marching four hundred and fifty metres in. Jack also noticed, pinned above her left breast, was a handmade knitted poppy and she wore around her neck a simple silver chain with an old slouch hat pin of the Rising Sun, that belonged to her grandmother's uncle Sid Beattie, who served in the war.

"Wow – Kylz ... you look ... stun – I mean – beautiful!" Jack stammered, running a hand through his hair.

He was wearing black trousers and a white shirt, with a pair of black dress shoes. Kylie offered a small smile to him, keeping her eyes averted. This was always such a ceremonious day for her and she refused to let herself become a mess.

They drove through the dark and the fog to Murruma. The fading darkness laced with this sense of surreal wonderment. They pulled up at the pub, surprised to find the road chock–a–block with cars, as the pub carpark was overflowing. One of Murruma's fire trucks was parked on the road; it was being driven by John, with Kylie's cousin on the back, setting up the speaker system, with the bagpipe music they would march to. A small group of military personnel from the RAAF base were also present in their formal uniform, including slouch hats and ceremonial weapons.

As Kylie looked around in the meek light, could see people from Urambo and Taratatta; even Corrabo and a few other places. It made her heart truly sing that so many locals still understood the significance of the day. Although, it did irritate her to see Carol Pyke flitting around offering twigs of rosemary for people to wear. Jack caught the shadow of irritation on her face and smirking, whispered what was wrong.