Let there be commemorations: we need them

Well that’s it. Another commemoration gone.

Did it mean anything? Don’t know — did to me.

Firstly, Saturday was the end of the second WORLD war, that’s the world at war. Hard for some of the kids to understand — it was not a Horn-tszyu blue, we were all involved.

The next was Tuesday — Vietnam Veterans Day. For them, the horror at war, and the horror at home, when they were shunned by the very people that sent them, amazing really.

And then there was the commemoration of the commemoration, remembering the great things this city did during the VP50 celebrations in 1995. Gone.

Some of the kids do the “why bother?’’ thing, and the “we have more things to think about than that stuff’’, and I guess that’s fair.

But I wonder if they knew of the Brisbane Line and how, when the bombs were falling here, the kids of the day didn’t know what the next day would bring. Could it have been a full-on invasion? Who knows — they certainly didn’t.

As for Vietnam, no one knew when or if it would end, and what it was actually for!

Now, as we battle a new foe, will there one day be a COVID commemoration? As long as it’s gone, who cares.

I wonder.

Let there be commemorations, I say, for a few reasons: to hope it won’t happen again, and to learn how not to let it happen again. To remember those who battled whatever it is, or was, to say thank you, grasp the moments and enjoy the memories, sad or otherwise.

For me, when I dropped down to the cenotaph alone, I thought of Dad and how he’d take me to the hallowed RSL, the true Returned Servicemen’s League in those days.

Full of old Diggers, all his mates, even some from the First World War, I was only a lad, and I loved it. The whole club was dedicated to the servicemen and women and their welfare. And then, at 6pm, the lights would go out, the silence would engulf you, everyone stopped and remembered — and these wonderful folk had much to remember.

So do we, even if we weren’t there. What we have today is because of the blokes that were there having a beer, all those years ago with Dad.

Years later, my brother-in-law came back from another war.

He came back with boots to give me, and ration packs with hexamine tablets to cook with. Mum was most concerned with me playing “Diggers’’ in the back yard with an open stove.

But I loved all the biccies and tinned stuff, ate it all! I didn’t understand Vietnam, I was too young, though given a few more years, I could have learned firsthand.

There was one other thing I remember: 6 o’clock every night, huddled around the TV with Mum, Dad and my sister, waiting for the names to come up of those lost.

We could commemorate many things, happy things especially, like the city’s birthday, Castle Hill’s birthday, Sunbird Sunday, Barra Monday, days to laugh, days to cry, days to hug when we can, and soon we’ll be celebrating springtime in paradise.

Maybe, in time, VP Day could also mean Vaccine Perfected Day.

Happy days. ‘Ooroo.