Why Gallipoli Means So Much To Me...

He was an old man before I was born.
He had been born in another century, another era. When the idea of Empire, and loyalty, held different meanings to what we know today.
I only knew him when his step was already a shuffle, and his back was bent.
He was deaf, very deaf, a daunting thing to a child, like me, who was not used to shouting at adults, and knew little of his background to begin with.
He was my Uncle Peter, a man of few words, whether because of his hearing, or a natural reticence, I'm not sure (although he had his opinions, as I found when I grew older).

He was a man set in his ways, as so many elders of my time were, and I find myself becoming. There is a comfort in the routine, and as long as the routine does not become obsession, there is no harm in that.
My earliest memory of Peter McLeod, is coming into the lean-to at the back of the house to "wash-up" before lunch. A tin pan was part-filled (never fully filled) with water from the rain water tank, and a sliver of soap (I never saw a full bar, so I wonder if it was a left-over from the bathroom), was used to wash our hands, face, and back of the neck. Adults first, children last. Then it was time for lunch.

 It was later that I learned that Uncle Peter had been at Gallipoli, but that was all I learned.
Uncle Peter didn't talk about Gallipoli to me. Ever. Except once.
A year before he died, I sat and watched the Anzac Parade on the television in his home, as it was broadcast from Brisbane. (I never saw Uncle Peter at an Anzac Service in our town, but perhaps he did attend before I can remember). Anyway, he was quietly watching the parade as the different units passed by, but when the Red Cross party came on screen, he suddenly cried out, with tears in his voice; "We would have been lost without the Red Cross at Gallipoli!", and he sobbed.
And that was it. Nothing else.

Peter MacLeod passed away a year or so later, and the local Returned Servicemens League turned out to honour his passing.
I was young, idealistic. The world was black or white for me then. I was angry that these people who had nothing to do with him in his lifetime, wanted to be there at his funeral.
I didn't understand that they understood him. Men from the First World War, the Second World War, the Malayan Conflict, the Korean War, and of course, Vietnam.
Many of them wanted nothing to do with other soldiers, they just wanted their lives back, as Uncle Peter did. So they didn't seek out the camaraderie of old soldiers, but got on with their lives.
Until one of them died.
Then they came together and honoured someone that they identified with. Someone that knew their pain, their fear, but moved on with life.

Of course there were many who found comfort in the comradeship. Who gained strength from the shared experience. They were there too... honouring a fellow fallen warrior, one who had lived through the horrors that only modern soldiers can know.
But I didn't understand. I was angry. I was angry that an old man who had given so much was now being honoured by people he had never known.
I knew so little. I have learned so much.
Thank you to all of you, the shuffling old men, who don't like to talk about it, and to the rest of you who need to talk, and should talk.
Because what you have done is more than anyone should ask.

Thank you all, the Uncle Peters, the George Moores, the Ken Petfields, the Peter Bennetts,Steve Newburns, Edward Dahleimers and all the other veterans I have met along the way. I have learned so much from you all, and I will be holding you in my heart on ANZAC Day.

Lest We Forget...

How do you sleep?

I have been away from this site too long... a statement proved by the fact that I had forgotten my password!!

But I am back, for better or for worse, and I have something to say.

I ran for election... I lost.

I can live with that. I know I can, because I just wrote over one hundred words about what happened, and then deleted them, so you will never know what really happened...because that is not important.

What is important is what comes next... what comes after..

Local Government, (or Local Council) elections do not loom large on the political radar. They are, by definition, local affairs about local issues.

They are also incredibly important. To You.

It is your local authority that decides whether High-Rise buildings, Night-Clubs, Brothels, Live-music, Public concerts, Street-parties, Road-maintenance, Disabled access, Parking fines, or even Public Libraries, are supported or opposed. It is Local Government that controls your garbage pick-up... but 90% of the public don't care.

And that led me to a very important discovery...

I ran for local council in Noosa Shire, where I have lived for over twenty years.
I knew I was an outside chance of winning, but I also knew that much of what I was saying was supported by decent working folks like me. I wanted to get out there and say the things that many people were thinking, but no-one was saying.

That was the first sign of my naivete'. Because if so many people thought it, then why wasn't there a representative on Council espousing these beliefs already??
Here is why...the decent working folks (like me), don't follow local politics. They are too busy making a living, and when work is over, they aren't going to political meetings at night. They are taking their kids to soccer/tennis/football/ ballet, and then they are asleep in front of the television because they are tired. They are too tired from making a living to care!

The second sign of my ignorance was the background of my fellow Candidates...everyone had a backer... either financial or ideological.... and those of us that didn't...well we can always write Blogs.

The bottom line is this... if you are on Council already, you will stay, because everyone knows your name. If you are running for a vacant seat, (and ten of us were chasing three vacant seats), then the prize goes to the biggest cheque-books in the race. If you can afford the money, and can take the time off work to simply campaign, then the seat is yours to grab.

So the winners didn't need to make a difference. They simply needed to reassure the right people that they would not rock the boat, and have enough money to ensure their face was well known, and tiredness, apathy, and a desire for the status-quo would ensure that the result would take care of itself.

I am not bitter, or resentful about this, (okay, maybe a little resentful..). but that is how the game is played, and has been for thousands of years...

Except...

Except... if A Candidate, An honest, fair-minded Candidate, sees things that are wrong, sees unfairness, and decides to speak up, then maybe something can be changed.

I was raised to be fair, and that the rules were there to make it so everyone had a chance to win, with the best person for the job becoming victor on the day.

I didn't see that, I saw unfairness, and I decided I would not let it pass. I do not think that the perpetrator intended to disadvantage a Candidate for Councillor, I just think they were so intent on winning the vote for Mayor, that they did not consider the repercussions of their actions. But I saw an injustice in what they did.

I know I will not be on Council, but I feel someone else may have (or may not have) missed their chance. So I spoke up on their behalf... and I pushed, and pushed some more, and I am still pushing now... but at least the State Electoral Commission has agreed to investigate my claims.

Nothing may come of it, I don't know. But I do know that at least I have not remained silent when I saw an injustice to another human being.

I can sleep easy...and I do...