Dawn Service

Authors note: For the benefit of non-Australian's, Anzac Day is commemorated by Australia and New Zealand on 25 April every year to honour members of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps who fought at Gallipoli in Turkey during World War I. On that day we not only pay our respects for their sacrifice, and for making us proud; but also to respect everyone who have served, and those who are still serving. Anzac day is seldom written in capitals, even though it is an acronym. Also, "digger" is what we call our WWI veterans, it is not derogatory in any way.

3rd place winner in "HONORING OUR VETERANS " 

Dawn Service - Draft

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, before gazing out of the grubby car window. The twilight sky was a surreal blend of fiery orange and deep red. A thin layer of mesmerizing purple clouds scattered the horizon. Everything was silent, the radio was switched off, there was no other traffic and no one spoke. There was just the gentle hum of the engine.

With a forced sigh I turned, looking across the car towards my father, who drove. He had insisted that I come with him today. I didn't understand why I had to get up at 5 in the morning to "pay my respects," to some dead people who I didn't know.

"Daaaad..."

"What Michael?" he replied cooly.

"Why do I have to come? I just want to go home."

Dad didn't seem to hear.

"I don't get why I have to "pay my respects," to a bunch of dead people I don't even know."

He glanced across at me for a moment, a glimmer of thought flashing in his hazel eyes. After a few moments he replied, in the same relaxed tone.

"Because they deserve it. Michael, these people died for our freedom. Not only that, they forged us Australian's an identity, qualities such as mateship, resilience and tenacity became synonymous with being Australian."

I blinked. "Synonymous?"

Dad laughed for a moment. "In a way, they became Australian characteristics." He paused for a moment, "remember that Australia was only a newly-born nation back then. Barely even ten years old."

"Hmm..." I still didn't feel like it is worth getting up at 5 in the morning for. I closed by eyes, my head rested against the car window.

~ ~ ~

I woke up to the sound of gravel passing under the tires as the car came to a halt. I gazed at the clock in the console, "5:22".

"We're here," my dad chirped as he pushed the driver's door open and stepped outside. With a yawn I pulled the door handle and let myself out of the car. The air was crisp, and the sun still hidden just beyond the horizon somewhere. I huddled in my jumper, watching the steam that came from my mouth with each breath.

Dad came around and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. I gazed up at him. He wore a blue tailored formal military uniform, with rows of badges and medals, most were neatly lined up on his right side. I'd never seen him wear this uniform before, or the medals for that matter. I couldn't help but to grin seeing him like that. It was pretty cool having a dad with so many medals.

"Are those all your medals?"

"In a way," he smiled. "The ones that I wear on my right were my Great Grandfather's, the one's I'm wearing on the left are mine. If you earned them, you wear them over your heart... Oh, and this is for you."

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small red flower. I watched, puzzled, as he gently placed the flower in my breast pocket.

"It's a poppy flower. A symbol of remembrance," he continued, smiling. I just shrugged.

I gazed around, surveying the area. Back towards the car park was a wooden sign that read: "Arthur Whitling Park." To my left there was a temporary stage, with an arrangement of musical instruments lined on one side. There were rows of chairs stemming back away from the stage, and then a few more rows that faced the side of the stage. There was already people sitting in those chairs, they looked pretty old. They wore the same type of uniform as dad.

"They are veterans," dad commented, catching my gaze. "Let's get a seat."

A few minutes later the rows of chairs were all full, and there was even many others standing around the outside. Just ordinary people, like mum and dad. Some of them carried babies in their arms, other's had had young children standing beside their parents. I was surprised, when dad told me what Anzac day was I was expecting to be surrounded by military people.

Several men, of varying ages, stepped onto the stage. The eldest, walked to the microphone. He had so many medals on him I was surprised he could stand. Suddenly, a man to the side began playing some horn-like instrument. Something about the tune was so harrowing, I felt the hairs on my arms and neck prickle. I sat their in silence, speechless. Everyone was still, with their heads bowed slightly forward.

I copied.

After nearly a minute the man finished. The elderly man began for the microphone.

"What was that about?" I whispered, looking at the man with the horn-like instrument.

"That's a bugle call, called The Last Post," dad replied, whispering into my ear.

"Bugle call? So that thing is called is called a bugle?" He nodded, laughing silently.

I watched in silence from then on. I'd never seen anything quite so unique before. Fifteen minutes later I finally saw the tip of the sun pass over the horizon. Whilst I didn't understand what was going on, I couldn't help but to be taken aback. Everything seemed so surreal, so solemn, so peaceful. It was the strangest feeling.

Towards the end of the ceremony, a man read a poem into the microphone. His voice was so sombre. As he spoke one of the men began hoisting the Australian flag.

"They shall grow not 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."

"Lest we forget."

The man with the bugle did another "bugle call." Then the people on the stage began to leave the stage in single file.

I was still trying to make sense of it all. After most of the people around us had left, I finally stood up. Dad copied.

"So we go to Anzac day to remember those who died for our us?" I whispered to him.

"No, it is more than that. We go to Anzac day to remember those who died for us, and those who are still fighting for us. We go to Anzac day to show our appreciation for our diggers and what they have done for us... We go to Anzac day to support our troops. All of our troops; past and present."