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 The 25th of April is a very important day for Australians and New Zealanders. It is called ANZAC Day and stands for the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps.  It is the day that we stand still for a minute's silence at dawn and remember our fallen in times of war. 

Throughout our two countries, millions of people will stand in quiet contemplation remembering those in our past who we knew or never got to know.  It is about Courage and Patriotism and Unity. Many will march in solidarity for those who are worthy of honour to this day. 

It is a day of giving thanks and showing respect for our forbears. It is one of the most important days on our calendar. 

 
I know that a lot of people think that I make too much of ANZAC Day. Should people be offended because I dare to feel pride in my Nation of birth and adoption? And, even if they do, should I give a hoot what they think? 
 
I am proud of my heritage and if the world can give a month to Gay Pride, I figure 3 weeks is OK for me to dedicate to our soldiers. 
 
If our governments can give 3 years to a virus, then 3 weeks seems a small enough thing for a patriot to give back in return. After all, my 3 weeks is about sacrifice , just like the government asked us to sacrifice. The difference is that, just like in times of war, the ruling class don't sacrifice anything. It is the foot soldier who bears the burden. 
 
During the Covid years of lockdowns, ANZAC Day was cancelled. Ramadan was OK but not ANZAC Day. When we were " allowed " to march, we could only do so if we were vaccinated.  So much for fighting for freedom. 
 
 
 
The division in our countries is becoming alarming. 
It is no longer acceptable if you are white or come from the migrant populations of Britain, Wales, Scotland, Ireland or any of the Scandy countries like Denmark, Sweden or any other place from Western Europe. The Eastern Europeans from  Poland, Hungary or elsewhere are now not the flavor of the month. As for Russians? Hell, the leftists say " send them to the gulag. " 
In fact, the only migrants welcome are from places like China, the Middle East, Africa, and pretty different views to us.  
 
To become New Australians and new New Zealanders they must fulfill different criteria these days. Seemingly, they must NOT speak English. They must not be white. They must not be hard working. 
Most importantly, they MUST NOT be Christian. 

They must not - under any circumstances, like or be prepared to like or love Australia or New Zealand. The white South African farmers? Forget them! They are too much like us. No, new citizens must demand that we change in order to accommodate their culture, their ideals and their way of life BY LOSING OURS. 

We patriotic old fashioned traditional citizens will be up at dawn to salute our dead and fallen, our past and  departed loved ones.  Our military heroes and those who served to defend us from the crap that is going on right now. 
It will be a fine day indeed when " offensive " things like Australia Day, Waitangi Day, and ANZAC Day are all gone. When we can celebrate World Bullshit Day and we are asked to acknowledge Climate Change.. oh hell, we already have it.
This climate change, gender rubbish is doing my head in.
 
As we commemorate the loss of so many, I wonder how few have the brains to realise what is happening. 
I really appreciate the saying of  " Lest We Forget " , but, the bottom line is did we Forget and are we buggered?
Make ANZAC Day 2023 matter. Make it a turning point. 
Our governments seem to want us to peacefully pass into the long goodnight - is it because we are descendants of those people called ANZACs?
If there are enough newcomers who have no blood line or emotional attachment to ANZAC Day - or Australia Day or the pioneers who forged our Nation and crafted the Nation's heart and soul;  then what will be left of OUR Australia or New Zealand? Who will be left to carry on the traditions? 

My very first Dawn Service was at St Faith’s Church in Rotorua, New Zealand. The steam was rising out of the tombs at the lakeside cemetery as the sun rose over Lake Rotorua. In the Church, the glass window showed Christ walking on water. He is portrayed wearing a traditional Maori   Cloak and it was as if he was walking from the island in the middle of the lake to the shore of the lakefront.

It was bitterly cold; the air was still and the mist just starting to lift off the lake. As the bugler sounded out the Last Post, I felt chills throughout my body – not from the cold, but from the intense emotional atmosphere that surrounded me. Tears welled up from within me and I felt an overwhelming sense of Pride, Loss, Grief, Patriotism and genuine Humility.

I was 15 years old.

 

Later, on my way back to Ngongotaha, I could not speak. I did not wish to speak. I needed to be silent and contemplative. That day, all those years ago, I changed forever. I became an adult. The sheer enormity of what had led me to stand in the frigid Rotorua Dawn air was too huge for me to come to grips with. It was as if I had been confronted with Reality and the true essence of Courage, Fortitude, Honour and Sacrifice.

I ate some freshly baked ANZAC biscuits. Crunchy, Snappy and very nice. Back when they first surfaced, the humble Anzac biscuit reflected the time in which they were created. No eggs. Because many poultry farmers had risen to the call to head off to fight and eggs were very scarce.

There are so many stories about our humble bikkie. No one really knows whether they were sent to our troops, or merely baked as fundraisers. My limited research tells me that they had little sugar, no eggs, golden syrup and heaps of rolled oats.

They were humble. Honest Decent. Like Us.

Have we become Nations of Cowards? Are we becoming a soggy, limp, chewy excuse for a People? Or do we still have the crunch, the bite and the resilience of a true Anzac biscuit? It was a good recipe and one that has served us well since its birth, in a time of War and a time of great need.

Let us return to the old Recipes and save our traditions.

If we do not, then the Last Post may be more prophetic than we realise. Lest We Forget. Or will it be a matter of WE FORGOT.

 

 
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