The chill wind curled it self lazily around my neck finding its way into my chest. Jack my brothers youngest, held my hand and shivered. A group of men to one side stood motionless heads slightly bowed. They’re getting less now these men from the countless small villages scattered not only around New Zealand but all over the old empire who were willing to send their young men to lay down their lives for us, the future generation. Most lost in their thoughts, trying hard to remember those who never came home but lie near a cross on a map of a place with a funny sounding name. It will be a great adventure they thought, to late they must have realized their mistaken belief!
With the reefs laid and the prays done it was time to head for the nearest pub soon to be filled with laughter and of course war stories, as if it happened only yesterday. These old enemies now drinking with each other, showing of their medals and patches.
What can they teach us? This isn’t just a gathering of gun happy red necks, far from it. These men have see it and done it, they know war isn’t all drums pipebands and shinny boots.
I make my good buys and take the lad home. My brother will go with them himself a returned serviceman able to swap story for story !
At home I make a hot drink as jack asks to watch a cartoon. I think about my own family, we have all been in the armed forces and my uncles, granddads and great granddads have all done their bit as far back as the Boer war. Will jack one day be one of those old men in the chill New Zealand wind remembering his fallen mates, will the human race ever learn?