Random Fandom Rants

27.8 ANZAC Day 25-4

So we went from a happy chapter, to a sad one. But it can't be helped. I have to say something.

Today is the day of remembrance in Australia and New Zealand, ANZAC Day. For the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps.
It is basically the 11th of November, but for Australian and New Zealand troops.
Today in 1915, hundreds of soldiers died on Turkey's Gallipoli Peninsula. Australian, New Zealander, British, French, Russian, Turkish, German, Austro-Hungarian. The Allies went ashore on the wrong beach, and Turkish soldiers picked them off before they even knew what was happening. It was a slaughter, but the soldiers continued to fight, the ANZACs until the 20th of December, and every else slowly evacutating from then, until the 19th of January, 2018, when the last of the Royal Marine Light Infantry departed the cove.
ANZAC Day is not just for those who died in Gallipoli. It is for all those Australians and New Zealanders who fought in any wars, for those who came home, and for those who didn't.
For me, it is personal. My great-grandfather was a naval officer in WW1 and my grandmother was a supply truck driver in WW2.

In the following poem, fellow Australians, New Zealanders and British might recognise the Ode of Remembrance. This is where it was taken from.
I have to say-I did not copy and paste any of the poem. I wrote it, from memory, onto this chapter (and then I checked it, just in case).
Lawrence's poem sends shivers down your spine when you read it, and see the message behind it. So I hope that if you are Australian or a New Zealander, that this brings you closer to ANZAC Day than you were before, or if you aren't Aussie or kiwi, it brings you a sense of mourning for the dead-your's, our's, everybody's.
Because these words? They belong to, and resemble, anyone.
(Okay, not so much the countries that have never been related to England, but you could replace the word 'England' with your country. It won't be word for word then, but it'd be close.)

Lest We Forget.

For the Fallen
Lawrence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen, in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal,
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation,
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle; they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again.
They sit no more at familiar tables at home.
They have no lot in our labours of the day-time.
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are, and our hearts profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known,
As the stars are known to the Night.

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.