Webdiary - Founded and Inspired by Margo Kingston

John Pratt,  I believe you, and I am sure I would agree that "some of them are the best men I have ever met."

So, can you throw any light on the paradox that so many harsh/cruel regimes, such as Burma's, are run by the military or ex-military?

I had wondered if you were speaking of evil in a metaphysical way:  however I see that you are speaking of it largely as the actions of the power-crazy, overly greedy, hubristic, immoral etc.

For a start, we could reduce the power that we give our glorious leaders. They are reliant on a compliant populace to fulfill their schemes.   And I think that that is, in some small ways, beginning.

F. Kendal, the 19th century in Europe was not so peaceful.

Have you forgotten the European revolutions of 1848, the Crimean War, the Polish uprising, the Austro Prussian War or the Franco Prussian War? 

What about the European armies conquering continents in Australia, Africa, India, America and China?

The European taste for war continued throughout the 19th Century. 

Hundreds of thousands were killed by European armies throughout Europe and the rest of the world, many stone age nations were destroyed by the new power of industrialised war.

As I understand it, "Europe as a whole ha(d) enjoyed peace with itself" for the 100 years before WW1, Jenny Hume, (although there were internal disputes), so no net gain there from WW1 or 11.   Things reverted to the status quo, got back to normal, as they are inclined to do. 

"To eliminate all war we have to eliminate all evil."  Wow.  Big statement.  How do you define evil?

"So there will continue to be wars till our species has left this planet."   That is certainly a possibility, but - um, a little negative?  As with the above, it's not a statement that I could agree with.

Jenny Hume: "I do not know how many from the past suffered pts. I'm fairly confident that, at least in the early days of WW1, shell-shock was not recognised, and its sufferers were shot as malingerers."

It used to be said that war was a way for old men to kill young men.

Nowadays it's a way for all men to kill women and children.

I interact in a small way with a small number of regular military. The fathers I meet are most loving, kindly men...(do you think his problems are that I love him too much? said one) or are they "trained killers", as some say? Perhaps they are loving, kindly trained killers. I happen to find them to be quite fine and decent men.

I would single out Y, who leaves his 8 yr old son with me for about an hour, (with other children). Y is quintessentially military: tall, superfit, macho: every bristle on his formidable skull seems to stand at attention.

Y speaks to his child with the most astonishing tenderness as he leaves him. Often he hesitates in the doorway and swiftly reenters to kiss and hug his son again, before leaving. If Y is ever in a combat situation where children are damaged or killed, I would be very surprised if he could handle that with any kind of equanimity. I don't think that such warfare, against civilians or children, is why he joined up. They don't show that in their recruitment ads on telly, do they? But, I suspect that such has something to do with the high rates of PTS from modern wars.

As for WWII: - how disgusting that we need to number them - I felt that the youtube link I gave was particularly pertinent for such as Cyrie:

"And I can't help but wonder, oh Willie McBride
Do all those who lie here know why they died
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause
Did you really believe that this war would end wars.
The suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the pain
The killing, the dying, were all done in vain
Oh Willie McBride it all happened again,
And again and again and again and again"

From the WW1 vets I knew, yes: they had believed that this war would end wars, and as a result they became quiet cynics. An appropriate response.

But, to honour the Cyries and Willy McBrides, can maudlin ceremonies repay them? Or, does it need our resolve in saying, "Never again. Never again. Never again."

That's the way that I see it. Out of respect for the value and the loss of those kids, as they were, I will try to stop it happening to any other young men. Or young women, now that the machine has found it can use them too.

I think that Willy McBride would like that.

John Pratt: Yes, it's a beautiful and heartfelt poem, John...a little ironic for it to be quoted so often on such occasions, in that Lawrence Binyon was a Quaker, and, as such, a pacifist.

In his days war profiteering was regarded as shameful. Now it is a legitimate, highly profitable business. ...haven't Halliburton shares gone up 1300% or somesuch since the invasion of Iraq?

If this war fizzles out, (unlikely tho that is), I suspect that there will soon be something else somewhere else for the powers-that-be to tell us to be frightened of and to feel a need to defend ourselves against. It's the business of business to both find and create opportunities for expansion and profit. They won't give that up easily, and the trusting public unfortunately will probably go along with it., particularly if we are only attacking people with brown skins.

And, of course ... I wonder whether young men are still so silly, romantic and misguided; which attributes provide so much of the fuel for these conflagrations.

I recall at the time of the 1st Gulf War, (or 1st Bush War, whatever you like to call it), asking my son how many from his all boys high school would volunteer, if given the option.

"The whole school would stampede down to the recruitment office," was his reply.

Well, that's youth. The, sweet , sad, regrettable, noble foolishness of youth. As with so much of their other young silly risk takings, we need to protect them from themselves.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrQnnZJ68Xo

I really have a problem with "they shall not grow old/As we who are left grow old", in that it suggests some kind of benefit or privilege from dying young.

We all know that that is not so.

Why do we repeat this mantra? Because it sounds good? Feels good?

Because it gives some kind of meaning and purpose to these myriad of slaughtered lives?

Or, because it makes us feel good, or at least ok?

And, it allows us to distort the past enough to repeat it.

Richard:  F Kendall, cou old you be so kind as to add a heading to your posts?  I love everything you write, which is why I don't like writing headings for you :)

Such as Anzac Day are great days for sentiment ... right up my alley. In that spirit, I contribute:

He comes when the gullies are wrapped in the gloaming
And limelights are trained on the top of the gums,
To stand at the sliprails awaiting the homing
Of one who marched off to the beat of the drum.

So handsome he looked in the putties and khaki,
Light hearted he went, like a youngster at play,
But why comes he never to speak to his Darkie?
Around at the rails at the close of the day.

We'll take the old horse to the paddocks tomorrow,
Where grasses are waving breast high on the plain,
And there with the clean-skins we'll turn him in sorrow,
And muster him never, oh never again.

The bushbirds will sing when the shadows are creeping
A sweet plaintive note, soft and sweet as a bell's –
Oh, would it might ring where the bush boy is sleeping
And colour his dreams by the far Dardanelles.

I absolutely cannot understand why everyone does not agree with the brave young girl/woman at the first anti-Iraq war protest, in Brisbane, with her sign saying: "We forgot."

Yes, we've forgotten.

Thanks Craig, haven't seen that one. I think all of the lads have passed on by now except Peter Jenson, a lovely bloke.

I remember talking to him not so long ago; he said the old man was the best navigator in the squadron. Doesn't surprise me really, he could do infinitesimal calculus in his head just for fun.

My Dad had an unusual childhood actually; abandoned by his mum at the age of 3, and taken in by a loving old (unrelated) couple who he thought were his parents. Dad couldn't understand why he had a different surname to his "mum' & "dad".

At about 6 or 7 years of age he was playing in his front yard out in country NSW when two strangers pulled up in an old Model A Ford and kidnapped him.

He was terrified; hysterical in fact:

"Shut up kid, I'm your mother," one of kidnappers said.

That was the first memory of his mum.

The bloke driving was her boyfriend, a local con man and rogue. He never really knew his father who was found floating in Sydney Harbour in 1941 - death by misadventure was the verdict.

During his childhood Dad went to 12 different high schools and was palmed off from relative to relative during the depression; but in general was loved and cared for - by someone.

He always said he was very lucky to have people close who loved him. His cousins would give him books to read on all sorts of things, his aunties helped with his education, an a loving uncle discreetly left a sex education book where he would find it.

And his rogue stepfather stole all the money he had saved up to go to uni.

Dad duxed his high school at age 16, already a  Latin scholar and a mathematical wonder; no wonder he knew how to navigate.

He went to war and returned home to dedicate his life to Public Service.

Today thousands of human beings drive daily across the bridges he built or land safely on the aerodromes he designed and constructed.

He is living proof that although you can have shit parents a little bit of love can go a long way.

He helped support and loved his mum until she died.

He was a man and a gentleman in every sense of the word.

If only I was a small fraction of his measure ... if only ...

F Kendall, indeed, from what I can make out these guys did their job with honour and even risked their lives to help save their enemy. The Sunderland 461/U dropped its dinghies after it sunk the U boat 461, to help save the lives of the surviving Germans.

This was a big no no for they may have needed those dinghies to save their own lives.

Fancy that – flying back into fire to help rescue their foes from drowning.

They were / are a great bunch of blokes and yes, like you I had the pleasure of knowing some of them.

There is another picture (artist's impression) of the 461/U somewhere on the net (I have a copy with me now along with photographs of the entire squadron) which shows the Sunderland on its initial approach, the nose gunner blazing 303s splashing into the water leading up to the sub.

"Bubbles" Pierce, the nose gunner of 461/U, claimed the artist got it wrong. All his shots hit the target, he boasted, none went into the drink; they flew in that low it was almost impossible to miss. Bit of a character Bubbles was; sadly he departed to An Airman’s Paradise some years ago.

An Airman's Paradise
High above Betelgeuse, they say,
Beyond Orion's questing eyes,
Ten million star-strewn years away,
There hangs an airman's paradise.

Thither, when airmen's bodies fall,
Their spirits climb on eager wings,
To greet old comrades and recall,
Old days, of earthward sojourning,

They talk of flack, intruders, beams,
Of dummy runs and how to weave,
Sorties and strikes, and talks like dreams,
Which none but airmen would believe.

From aerodromes of ruffled green,
Mid cloudless skies forever blue,
They sport themselves; and each machine
Is every morning bright and new.

With strong young hand and keen young sights,
They climb to meet each glowing day,
And every kite when it alights,
Touches gently down in fine white spray.

What dawns are those, what noonday sun,
From which no enemies descent,
What flights when duty here is done,
To enter at your log book's end.

I found that in my Dad's things. I don't know who wrote it; but the following poem was written by my Dad on 15 April 2005, a year before he died. He wrote it in honour of the nine Aussie airmen/woman who died in Indonesia on a humanitarian mission. Their bodies were returned to lie in peace in their home soil; some may remember the tragedy.

"Not in the fields of Flanders
Not on some foreign shores
Not in the depths of the oceans
Because of other men's wars
Do they lay

But, because of their compassion
And their concern for the human race
Now, returned to their Australia
And here, in its warm embrace
Do they lay.

Sic Transit Gloria - 15 April 2005

Anyone in NSW listening to ABC 702 this a.m. may have heard Darren Coggan's new album, with its most interesting songs.

For example:  The story of Peter Handcock, written from the pov of his wife, when Kitchener came to unveil the memorial in Bathurst, and then refused to do so when he realised that Handcock's name was there.  'It's all about gold."  Yes, then as now.

Another, about the difficulties faced by aboriginal soldiers:  "Too dark for the Light Horse, Too white for the tribe."   Again, then as now.

Aside: Michael Bentine, one time Goon, and presenter of "Potty Time" in the 70s, has written of his difficulty in WW2 of seeing off some air crews on missions.

This was because of his supposedly inherited psychic abilities, which caused him to see some crews in front of him as skeletons, as he shook their hands, slapped their backs and wished them well.  And tried to keep up a positive front for them, knowing that they would not make it back.  As they didn't.

Justin Obodie, three close connections of mine were in 461. All were lovely, jovial, kindly men. And resilient, shrewd, forgiving. Great blokes.

Sadly, I know from those closer to them that at least one of those men (who as a farmer's son could have avoided service, but chose not to, and signed on as an 18 year old) had nightmares every night of his life until he died.

Alas. We miss them, have missed them and will continue to miss them. So be it.

My wife and I set the alarm for 4am, we showered and set off for the dawn service. It was a beautiful morning if a little chilly for Cairns. On the way we stopped to pickup a ex army friend in his early thirties. He was going to lead the Anzac day parade later on, he would be carrying the RSL banner. He has recently returned from East Timor. His wife had left him while he was overseas, taking his two children with her. He now receives a TPI pension for post traumatic stress disorder, he does volunteer work for RSL welfare, but may never hold another job. He looked really smart, it was the only time I had seen him wearing a tie, it was hard to see the pain he has suffered, his newly won medals glistened in the early morning glow.

The Cairns dawn service was emotional; the sun rose over the Coral Sea highlighting the lone soldier standing on the cenotaph. A sailor, a Vietnam veteran I had met about a month ago, came up to me with a smile on his face. He is also suffering from PTSD and on a TPI pension; he too had lost his family when his wife left him. We had been to court together over the last couple of weeks trying to get a drug addict out of a unit he owned in Cairns. The tenant had not paid rent since Christmas, the financial stress and several court appearances had almost destroyed him, but a last he had won a eviction notice and with help of the police had regained possession of his unit. You could see the relief in his face as he shook my hand giving me the news.

After the dawn service my wife and I drove to pick up another WWII veteran. He is 91year old and a "Rat of Tobruk", one of the last. He had not been to an ANZAC day parade before and was very emotional. I met him earlier this year when he joined the Cairns RSL day club. He is almost blind; he still lives with his lovely wife but they had become very socially isolated. He loves to talk and writes wonderful poetry. The RSL had had his medals mounted and this morning my wife pinned them to his chest, the first time he had worn them for over 60 years. We invited his wife to come but she thought it would be too much for her. She had lost her first husband when his ship was sunk during WWII.

We drove in the front of the parade in an WWII army jeep, waving at the crowd. Although he could not see he heard the cheering and was brought to tears. We sat on the VIP platform because he had been asked to pass the torch to the youngest member of 51FNQR PTE Jack Otis. The service service began with the hymn Abide with me. Tears streamed down the old veteran's cheeks. I began to wonder if we were pushing him too far, could he stand up to all this emotion? When the time came we helped him up to the microphone and he addressed the Cairns audience of 2 or 3 thousand people.

"With ageing hands, I pass this torch, protect it well...."

He stumbled with the words and said "sorry I have forgotten the rest, we are passing on the ideals of an older generation to the next."

That concluded the service, as we were climbing back into the jeep, people lined up to hug him, with tears running down their cheeks. He had been a teacher since the war - old students came up to shake his hand, the newly elected mayor of Cairns gave him a hug with tears running down her cheeks. On the way home he said he was sorry he hadn't been to an ANZAC day before. He had not understood what the RSL was all about.

Fiona: Thank you John - I'm all choked up too.

I wonder if their are any as yet unposted answers to you, Richard.

Having pondered it, as far as I can see you are going to have to start off with the concept of original sin.

For those who do have the time, "Regeneration" is a very worthwhile read.

Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen and Dr Rivers ( British Army psychiatrist), all fictionalised but historically accurate, are among the protagonists.   Not only is it a ripping yarn, but it explores the moral and ethical ambiguities.

Like the (perhaps better known) "Testament of Youth" by Vera Brittain, it also shows the sociology of the times.  For example, in that very physical war, the required height of some  regiments from impoverished areas of London was just 150 cm, 5 feet, tall.  How sad.

Jenny, I surfaced about half an hour ago, it was a glorious battle; my head is a little sore but I have survived. Sadly the bottle of Dewar's didn't make it - gone for a burton as they used to say.

"Sweet sadness" a lovely way to describe it. Heart felt thanks for your kind words and I trust that one day you will, in one way or another, be reunited with all of your loved ones.

"Eh?" My father half turned to the soldier who 'd spoken to him.

As a result, the bullet that would have gone through his chest just ploughed across it. Wounded, repatriated.

The fortunes of war.

I bring my old soldier out on Anzac Day, in his gilt and maple frame, to let him take a look around. He's a nice looking boy: Light Horse. His folded arms look resolute, and his calm expression always reminds me of W.B.Yeats' "An Irish Airman..."

"I know that I shall meet my fate..."

What's missing now is the $2 price tag that was on him when I bought him in the 70s. There were lots like him in the junk shops then, (along with their medals at 20c a pop), I expect that at that time their old mothers were dying, and the families just junked every old thing.

We used to buy them for the frames: but something stayed my hand with him, and I've been happy to honour him. He's part of my family now.

I'm sure that their families would covet these photos now. What an interesting and intriguing change in attitude there has been since then.

Richard: My grandfather was a Light Horse captain, and I've never seen what you're talking about F Kendall. Sadly.

Was I making a point?  Or just giving a comment from a different perspective? Hmmm.

No conlusion F Kendall. Just as there was no conclusion in 1918. This is just a brief historical record, nothing more, nothing less.

Cyrus' mother lived till 1949, only to see her younger sister's son, also called Cyrus die in the second War. Two sisters, two sons called Cyrus.

My mother grieved for her lost brother all her life. But many thousands of our generation grew up with the grief of our parents from the losses in two World Wars hanging like a dark curtain over family life, until one by one they passed away taking their pain to the grave. 

But the shadows will remain until we too are gone.

Frankly, the point you are trying to make is not clear.  And no, I have not read the Trilogy.

I lost my Dad just over two years ago; we cremated him on St Pat's day (he would have got a kick out of that); I still talk to him (in my mind) and miss him terribly.

My Dad was a navigator who flew 78 missions in Sunderlands during WW2. Having read his notes and log books I discovered he saved more human beings than he destroyed; both friend and foe alike.

I happened upon a (minor) correction he noted about one of the greatest air battles in history :

"Douglas was in the ante-room with a few of the boys. They had been drinking to the damnation of all JU-88’s. He got the phone." -

My dad was one of the boys in the ante-room on the 2nd June 1943; his correction to the following story is not important; but it encouraged me to find out a little more.

This is a story about one lone Sunderland; the N/461 and an epic air battle that has no equal in history.

For those who would appreciate a little more about the realities of war then the following is a story about a  strange coincidence. My Dad assisted in the rescue of the German sailors; one becoming (by coincidence) a life long friend.

Scroll down to The Bullet With Your Name On It. U-461 Sunk by 461/U!

Tomorrow is Anzac Day; a day that has been hijacked increasingly  by emotions misunderstood; you can make up your own minds about Anzac Day but to me The Ode says it all; and always will:

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.

Yes; we will remember them - that's all ; and that's they way they would want it.

Now I'm gunna get seriously drunk.

Fiona: Justin, thank you for both stories. Tears in my eyes...

And, your conclusion is?

Have you read "The Regeneration Trilogy", which won the Booker prize?

My father was in France as part of the first AIF.  So I feel that , while you speak for those who mourned Cyrie, I can speak for some of the Cyries who were there and survived.

What my father often spoke of was the inscription on the tomb of Amenemhet:

'In my reign men lived in peace and harmony.

Arrows and swords lay idle in my reign."

Or, he spoke "After Blenheim". (R Southey).