Anzac Day - April 25th

Today was Anzac Day, a day commemorated in Australia in honor of the men and women who died in battle, a day to recall the atrocities of war, the sacrifice of the fallen, the broken promise of World War I being the War to End all Wars.

There was a four am service at the memorial gates, by the sports field two blocks from where I live.

I didn’t go.

I slept in instead, and when I woke up at a deliciously, decadently late hour, the sun was out in force. Grabbing my book and throwing on a bathing suit, I raced for the beach, and happily lay in the sand roasting the ceaseless rain out of my skin and bathing in the sunshine.

Around eleven, I’d been sunned enough to bear the thought of leaving the sand and I was pretty curious about this Anzac day thing. The Anzac cookie I’d had yesterday (a ginger biscuit affair) had been pretty tasty, and beyond that it seemed to be culturally and locally a big deal. There was supposed to be a parade down the main street at eleven, and I wanted to see what was what. So I walked in to town and kept my eyes open.

As I walked, I passed yet another sign for "Anzac Day 2 Up" outside the Hotel Great Northern and interrupted the man setting up the outdoor tables, feeling perhaps a sense of kinship as his long striped apron was the same as the one I wear at work. I asked him first, if he had a second, and second, what the heck this "2 Up" thing was. Outside every bar in town for a week there have been signs, manufactured, hand written, chalked and markered, everyone was about it. I’d even had a Kiwi ex-pat shop-owner tell me weeks ago to stop by the Northern and watch 2 Up on Anzac day, although being a Kiwi she didn’t know what it was either. The aproned man outside the Northern kindly explained that it was a game the “diggers,” or guys in the trenches in WWI, used to play, involving betting on whether a set of coins would land both heads up or both tails up. The “spinner” throws the coins, the betters bet, the referees make sure everyone pays up, simple enough. According to my informal Anzac educator, this used to be hugely popular in bars and other establishments around Australia, but since there was no way for the house to take a cut and the government a tax profit, it was banned. It’s allowed now only once a year, on Anzac day, and the public houses take full advantage. 

I thanked him for the information and kept walking, and pretty soon spotted the crowd around the memorial gates. Wandering over, still wearing shorts and a t-shirt and carrying my beach bag, I was happy to find the crowd a mix of people, many dressed as casually as myself, others in dress clothes, and some in uniforms. Not feeling my attire was disrespectful, I entered the crowd, a smallish throng of maybe seventy people, and listened to the speech. A decorated older man delivered the address to the veterans seated on two rows of folding chairs, side tents of other dressed-up people seated on more folding chairs, a small Anglican choir with a keyboard, a row of older flag-bearers in uniforms and very young cadets at parade rest around the memorial, and one man in slacks leaning back against the wall, an old fashioned bugle in his hand. The rest of the audience informally gathered around in the barricaded street, some with dogs on leashes, others leaning against the folding picnic table where a sign said the local scouting group had been selling soft drinks. I was standing next to a very, very old fashioned Red Holden that gleamed like it was fresh off the production line, piloted by a very elderly lady in an excellent hat. I don’t know who she was, but I suspect she may have been a WWII veteran. Either way, she and her chariot radiated respect and understated panache.

I hadn’t intended to stay, but the speech drew me in. Apparently a vet himself, the man spoke calmly and plainly, describing war as one group of young men who don’t want to be somewhere trying to kill another group of young men who equally don’t want to be there. It was a good address, and well delivered.

The ceremony proceeded as such things will, ending with the singing of the Australian National Anthem, Advance Australia Fair, which I admit I found totally and utterly charming.

Australians all let us rejoice,
For we are young and free;
We’ve golden soil and wealth for toil;
Our home is girt by sea;
Our land abounds in nature’s gifts
Of beauty rich and rare;
In history’s page, let every stage
Advance Australia Fair.
In joyful strains then let us sing,
Advance Australia Fair.
Beneath our radiant Southern Cross
We’ll toil with hearts and hands;
To make this Commonwealth of ours
Renowned of all the lands;
For those who’ve come across the seas
We’ve boundless plains to share;
With courage let us all combine
To Advance Australia Fair.
In joyful strains then let us sing,
Advance Australia Fair.



The ceremony concluded. As I walked back down the street I ran into the property manager of my house-share, wearing a jacket decorated to the hilt. He turns out to be a history buff and military-remembrance club member coming from several generations of decorated military service. At my curious prompting he told me the stories affiliated with the medals and insignia, including one which was a peace medal given to all Australian schoolchildren after World War I as a promise that this terrible war had ended all wars. Poignantly, this medal was pinned to a jacket with rows of service medals from World Wars I and II. 

He gave me a sprig of rosemary, which people wear pinned to their lapels on Anzac day, and told me I really ought to go check out 2 Up. I did, later, passing through the Beachie on my way back from the beach that afternoon. Two men in jackets stand in the middle of a square of floor. One guy balances three coins on a stick and tosses them in the air. If the coins don't go over the "spinner's" head or if they touch the lines marking the square the toss is invalid and redone. Betters hold the tenner they're wagering on top of their heads, which quickly becomes amusing in a public house where winnings are quickly turned to beer. 

Cheers, Australia, to Anzac Day.