Lest we forget

Anzac day poppy

It’s time to remember their sacrifice and it’s something we shouldn’t take lightly. I have always had the heart that no shops should be open on Anzac day. As the world needs to remember the cost of war, especially with North Korea threatening everyone under the sun.

This year I want to challenge you, go to a dawn service if there is one near you. We have been going to the dawn service near us for the last 7 years and I think we will continue to go. It’s freezing and means you don’t get a sleep in, but if it is all we can do to say thank you to those young men and women who gave up their dreams so that we could live out ours, well then it’s worth the early morning.

To all the brave soliders, In Australia and New Zealand, those that have fought and for those whose wars are about to begin.

Thank you!Β 

Wilfred Owen – Dulce Et Decorum Est.

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!– An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.–
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

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