The 25th of April, Anzac Day The one day of the year that evokes universal emotions in so many people

The 25th of April, Anzac solar day The one day of the year that evokes universal emotions in so umpteen people. I am no different as I brook with assumption as an Air Force cadet in my perfectly pressed blue uniform, time reward slouch hat, high polished belt cockle and black patent shoes that glisten comparable ebony in the sun. With a steel hoary Styer rifle slung over my shoulder I stand guarding the Forest Lake War Memorial as agency of the catafalque party. I feel honored to give birth been chosen along with three other cadets from 224 Squadron at Amberley to mutely stand guard at this sacred story on Anzac daylight 2010.With the blazing mid-morning sun, searing down on the back of my neck I silently advance with God. Please dont let me faint in the heat, like so many have done on previous presents. All the cadets from 224 SQN have runn bets on who would be the first cadet to collapse in the harsh sun bets are on Brewell, who is virtu whollyy 15 kgs overweig ht and known to neer patch up it through a bivouac without having to report to the start Aid station at least one time. As I stand with my head solemnly bowed, my perspicacity wanders as I stand perfectly unperturbed.I rally of Granddad, who when he was non much former(a) than me was Chasing Japs around the bloody jungle. This is the barely sharpness I have of Granddad and the war as he seldom talks of it. I become a quick glimpse of Granddad from the street corner of eye as he stands in the massed congregation, at 85 years of age he free stands tall. It is nearly 65 long years afterwards Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed and the war declared over, yet Granddad has never missed an Anzac Day ceremony. However, he has never marched on this day of remembrance or ever cadaverous his medals, much preferring to blend in with the crowd and sojourn anonymous.Why he chooses to do this, I dont know. Although, I strongly suspect it has something to do with the fact that many of his childhood friends from the small country town in Victoria that he grew up in, never returned to Australia from the struggle in New Guinea. Or is it because he is a modest man? As he one time said You shouldnt have to be thanked or applauded for doing the slump thing. My sound judgment is brought back to the present, when the silence is pierced by the sounds of The Last Post from the lone bugle and the Wing Commander of the day barking out the argument for the flag to be lowered.As the sound of the bugle fades, my mind returns to Granddad. Like a time traveler, I am transported back to a nonher Anzac Day parade when I was about 10 years of age. I am marching with the Moggill Boy Scouts, at the Ken much parade, once again Granddad blending in with the crowd that throngs the emplacement of the road. After the ceremony, I am go back up the steep hill beside Granddad, having to take two steps to his one. I ask him wherefore he never marches on Anzac Day and lets me wear his many medals on my right breast.He simply mumbles, I have my reasons. As we shape up the bakery, where I know we exit stop and he will buy me an ice c rare degree Celsius and sticky finger bun with bright bump icing, he turns to me, ruffles my hair and quietly says But, you make it all worthwhile. Suddenly a thunderous bunce of an F1 11 resounds approaching from the east and interrupts the speech by Shane Neumann, the local sitting member for the Federal electorate of Blair. I suspect the crowd is rather pleased that this atomic number 47 winged albatross drowns his lengthy speech out.The F1 11 is now directly overhead and the crowd raises its look to see the belly of this colossal piece of speedy machinery. I wonder why this obsolete aircraft that near countries have phased out years ago still can bring a crowd to a standstill. Is it that, like Anzac Day, people like tradition and expect to have a connection with the past I start to gently sway from side to side to t ry and get a bit of circulation into my body. The temperature must be at least 30 degrees and I have been standing unmoved for nearly an hour.I start to plead with God again not to let me faint. Once again my mind wanders forward and I find myself thinking of not only Granddad but of Nana, who is also a returned help woman, and who like Granddad and so many more gave away their youth to serve their country. I think of Nana in the small kitchen of their modest home in Taringa, fussing around do me and all the other grandchildren making morning tea. I find it hard to swear that she could have ever been in the army. Why would psyche so quiet and caring like her trust to serve during a war?She must have felt it was her duty, for at the time five of her aged siblings were in the forces serving overseas. Her father, also being a returned veteran from World War 1, maybe this is why Nana also comes and watches me on Anzac Day. Once again my mind is brought back to the present when th e silence is broken by sounds of music that accompanies the coronal laying. As the young and old solemnly walk and place a wreath at the foot of cenotaph, I listen to the row of the chorus of the accompanying song, Lest we ForgetYes, as I stand with the Styer slung over my shoulder, I realise it is those three words Lest we Forget why I am here directly. I am here today to thank Nana, Granddad, and everybody else who served in the war, for making such huge sacrifices, to secure our nations freedom. I hope that their sacrifices will not be forgotten. As the flag is again raised and the lone bugler plays the Reveille, I look around at the huge crowd, and I know for sure they will all be remembered.