the darkest hour is just before dawn

I didn't think I'd make it.

I had a friend's engagement party to go to the night before, which I was running particularly late to. I considered having a nap after work so I could be rested enough to party, then maybe go clubbing for a few hours, and potter on down to the Shrine for the Dawn Service. I even told someone earlier in the week that I was going to try my best to get there, because I thought that it could be my last chance to do anything for ANZAC Day as a true civilian. I still didn't think my chances of keeping it together or getting it together before dawn were fantastic, though.

After partying without a nap and stopping for a couple of hours' sleep, I stepped back into my engagement/clubbing outfit of t-shirt, skirt, leather jacket and boots, and into the crisp hour of four o'clock. I put off getting out of bed for a few too many minutes, but figured I didn't have to battle traffic jams or anything, thinking that the only people around at that hour would be going to the Dawn anyway. It was strange cruising through the city at such a time of transition... there were still people in the street that were winding down from wherever they'd been dancing all night, as well as people just beginning their day by scurrying towards the Shrine, and then there was me (somewhere in between).

I'd lost all sense of what time it was by the time I'd parked and joined the throng that was progressing down St Kilda Road. I felt somewhat conspicuous tromping along in the dress boots I was wearing, as if I was just part of the clubbing crowd that had gone astray, rather than a conscious member of the Dawn audience. I was surprised at how many young people there seemed to be, and although there were people that weren't in obvious groups, I still had an inkling that people were looking at me as if I was in the wrong place. It was probably just sleep-deprivation induced paranoia, as it was pretty dark, but around me were couples, families, older groups, associations like Scouts, uniformed Cadets, and they all seemed to be Caucasian. I was not only alone amongst a mass of tens of thousands of people, I felt that even though I was an Australian, and about to join the Defence Force, I was Asian-looking and therefore just didn't belong.

I kept on closing and opening my eyes to see if the day was actually becoming lighter, or if it was just my brain tricking me. I tried not to keep looking around me to see how the other people around me were reacting. I did my best to not be distracted by the movements of latecomers, wondering why it seemed like people were only continuing to move around to try and get a 'better' spot. I listened to secondary school students talk about their sponsored and/or subsidised visits to various military memorials and sites of historical significance around the world, and realised that maybe I am getting cynical in my old age if I believe that they're actually too young and innocent to truly understand what a messed up thing war is.

For the first time I heard these stark words of John McCrae:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

I stood there in the darkness, blanketed by the ubiquitous sound of The Last Post, which seemed to come from all the trees around me. I'm not sure where else I've heard The Last Post before, considering I'm not a big fan of war movies, and have never been to ANZAC services before, but there's no mistaking it when you hear it. Somehow, whether it was the bugle or the blackness, or the sheer emotional turbulence of the situation, I marvelled at how something so simple (in C Major, no less) could completely shatter me. Each note resonated deep within me, echoing with the memory of so many that had fallen. Lest we forget? It threw me that I couldn't actually forget anything or anyone I didn't know in the first place. I felt haunted by ghosts of ghosts.

It bothered me somewhat, how easily people bandied about the phrase 'ANZAC Spirit' without really giving it a comprehensive definition. If that was really what all the fallen had fought for, surely it could be summed up in a couple of paragraphs? For the most part, the ANZACs would have been fighting just to stay alive, let alone to keep their families, neighbourhoods, extended communities and the country at large intact. I like to think that those soldiers didn't really know what the war was about (does anyone, really?), but they knew what they stood for. Our country. Our people. Our values. Our freedoms. So when push came to shove, and when it seemed that the core of 'Australia' could be damaged, lost or changed forever, they fought and died to protect it.

Not that I feel particularly patriotic, and I even worried at certain points of enlistment that I'd have to jump through sufficient hoops to prove that I do dig this country enough to defend it. However, when people have said things like, 'The Air Force? Aren't you worried about going to war?' or 'Oh, I could never do that, I'm such a pacifist.' or 'Do you think you could fight in a war that you didn't believe was right?' I have a relatively basic answer. For me, joining the Defence Force is not because I am pro-war or even believe that violence is a suitable way to solve problems. Unfortunately, other countries are inclined to believe otherwise, and that's why we need defence in the first place. I used to think I was quite a pacifist myself, but you know what? It's not really about that, it's moreso that if the shit really hits the fan, I believe Australia is a pretty amazing place to call home, and I would take pride in protecting it from being taken over by anyone or anything that would threaten to change the way I like it.

Before I knew it, the Dawn Service was over. As I tried getting closer to the centre of the Shrine, I passed a work colleague and said hello briefly, moving on because I was going against the current of the crowd, and I had nothing much else to say to him anyway. I was meant to try and meet up with a friend for breakfast afterwards, but I felt too raw and fragile to cope with even an ordinary conversation. I guess in a way, I was still too busy taking everything in. I didn't know it at the time, but I had been accepted into the RAAF, so it really was my first and last Dawn as a civilian. As I strolled back to my car, I wondered how many people felt obliged to take part in ANZAC Day for whatever reason, and how many simply respected the often anonymous and unknowing sacrifices that had been made for them.

I did think about my own name banged out of metal, or whittled into stone some day. It might not be at some war memorial, but even if I made it to a wall somewhere, there's something quite awesome about the idea of being honoured by people I don't even know. I don't intend to save the world, or defend the country from anything more spectacular than food poisoning, but I certainly don't want to leave it without making some kind of mark.