Anzac – a day for everyone

But now that all the original Anzacs have passed into history and the hoopla of significant anniversaries has faded — does the day still have any real significance to the broad spectrum of Australians living in the third decade of the 21st century?

I think it does, and we need to preserve and bottle the emotions we see every year during the parades and the speeches in big cities and tiny towns around Australia on Anzac Day.

As the cultural battle over Australia Day continues to rage every year, along with the argument over just what Australian values actually are, Australians are in dire need of an idea, a day and a ceremony to draw us all together.

Anzac Day has the potential to do this, but it needs to be rescued from the exclusive flag-waving white nationalists, the nostalgia promoters and the glory seekers.

We are now a very different place than the Australia of 1916 when the first Anzac ceremonies were held under a plan devised by Anglican clergyman David John Garland.

He tried to make sure the day was about reflection and commemoration, which was open to anyone of any religious persuasion.

It was Garland’s idea to march, lay wreaths, and serve lunch for returned soldiers.

It was also his idea to hold two minutes of silence instead of specifically religious prayers, so Anzac Day services could be universally attended.

People could just hang their heads and make their own silent prayers of remembrance or hope or thanks.

Whatever the mysterious Anzac spirit is about, surely this egalitarian idea is at its centre and can be open to anyone who calls themselves Australian, regardless of where they were born or what creed they follow or what God they worship.

Whenever Anzac Day comes around, I always think of my Welsh Uncle Henry who was captured at Dunkirk in 1940.

Along with tens of thousands of British soldiers, he was transported to Italy, where he spent three years in POW camps with other allied soldiers, including Australians.

In 1943, as the Allied advance continued through Italy, the POWs were packed into trains bound for Germany.

Uncle Henry was one of nearly a hundred Allied prisoners, including Aussie Jack Kroger and other fellow diggers who jumped the train, and finally made it to neutral Switzerland, where they spent the final year of the war before returning home.

My last conversation with Uncle Henry was in 1993, about three years before he died in his early 90s.

As was common among men of his generation, Uncle Henry was reluctant to talk about his war experience.

But when I told him I now lived in Australia with my wife and young son, his face brightened.

“Ossies! I love the Ossies, they were magnificent!” he exclaimed in his sing-song Welsh accent.

I asked him what was so special about the “Ossies”.

He went on to tell me how they were always smiling and including other people in their card games, and how they didn’t care where you were from or what language you spoke — you always got a cuppa and a seat at their card table.

He told me to say hello to Jack Kroger.

Now, as we approach another Anzac Day, I think it’s worth remembering the reputation of Australians as an inclusive and tolerant people who live life with a smile and make the best of whatever hand they are dealt.

John Lewis is a former journalist at The News.