“The battle of Fromelles on 19 July 1916 was a bloody initiation for Australian soldiers to warfare on the Western Front. Soldiers of the newly arrived 5th Australian Division, together with the British 61st Division, were ordered to attack strongly fortified German front line positions near the Aubers Ridge in French Flanders. The attack was intended as a feint to hold German reserves from moving south to the Somme where a large Allied offensive had begun on 1 July. The feint was a disastrous failure. Australian and British soldiers assaulted over open ground in broad daylight and under direct observation and heavy fire from the German lines. Over 5,500 Australians became casualties. Almost 2,000 of them were killed in action or died of wounds and some 400 were captured. This is believed to be the greatest loss by a single division in 24 hours during the entire First World War. Some consider Fromelles the most tragic event in Australia’s history.”

This is an extract from an article on the battle of Fromelles that I found at the Australian War Memorial Museum (internet site) in Canberra. Because today is Anzac Day, and because Anzac Day is most famously associated with Gallipoli, I thought it worthwhile to highlight one of the many other battles that the AIF fought in in WW1.

In fact the AIF fought widely across the Western Front and in the Middle East, but it is the Gallipoli landings and the subsequent defeat that lives most vividly in the imagination. It is not hard to understand why. A dramatic landing under heavy fire in the wrong place, a terrible slog to get a purchase on the cliffs and slopes. A long period of attrition in trenches, with the Turks having the home advantage all the while. Finally, the cleverly thought deceits that allowed for a safe mass evacuation. Some of the elements of the campaign look forward to another war – D-Day and Dunkirk.

Today we remember those servicemen and women who fought and died for Australia. One can hate war and still be grateful for their sacrifice.

‘At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.’

Lest We Forget

Yesterday I had surgery on a BCC on the bridge of my nose, a procedure that necessitated general anaesthetic. It's been worrying me for weeks now, but I was surprised at how calm I was on the morning and calmer still before being wheeled into the theatre.

It need not have worried or surprised me really, because I had prayed quite earnestly about it and knew with certainty that whatever the outcome, God was beside me. A greater peace than that is hard to imagine.

My wife drove home since I was not allowed to and sleep was restless, probably due to the anaesthetic. I also had to try to lie in a position that would leave my nose unencumbered, which is not my usual way of lying. Still, very much a first world problem. How grateful I am for good medical care and the means to pay for it I cannot account for, it being greater than the sum of my words.

Sunday last Ann and I did the Grand Canyon bushwalk at Blackheath. It surprised me that I have never done this walk before because when I first moved up here, I regularly did weekend walks. Perhaps it was the drive to Blackheath that put me off - I can't remember.

Grand Canyon is a name that might be hard to live up to, but grand it is, not in terms of size, but the sheer beauty of the steep gorge, with creeks and waterfalls abounding. Part-way down we encountered some canyoners geared up to explore the recesses and caves. The water is very cold and I'm sure they were repayed with a fine experience.

For the last few days my calf muscles have been aching, for while I was certainly fit enough for the 7 km track, I was not used to climbing up and down so many stairs. But a great walk it was and much to be recommended.

 Good Friday

Am I a stone and not a sheep
 That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy Cross,
 To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss,
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
 Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
 Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon
 Which hid their faces in a starless sky,
 A horror of great darkness at broad noon—
I, only I.

Yet give not o'er,
 But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
 Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
And smite a rock.

Christina Rossetti

After a couple of wisely considered delays in launch, Artemis 2 has finally set off on its mission to orbit the moon and return. I watched the launch and subsequent NASA press conference this morning.

It's exciting that a manned crew are returning to our only lunar friend after a 50 year hiatus. The Apollo missions of that time were extraordinary, full of risk and courage and achievement. Technology has moved on but the rocket itself seems eerily similar in many respects to the Saturn 5 - humans perched atop a massive load of burning fuel.

The orbital path of Artemis is also very interesting and I republish a NASA diagram below. I look forward to reading articles about the mission on 'What's in Space 'in coming broadcasts. May God keep them safe, both outbound and inbound.

When people pass away they (or their earthly remains) go to cemeteries for burial or interment, for the most part. The condition of their memorials, whatever form they take, is largely in the remit of their families. 

Yesterday I went to the Eastern Suburbs Memorial Garden at Matraville (which is a long hike from Hazelbrook) to visit my mum. Her garden bed, which is a rose garden, hosts the memorial tablets of four family members and one family friend. There are long stories to tell about all of them, though this is not the time.

A few years ago we had the tablets of two grandparents remade as they had crumbled. My mum's, being only 15 months old, is shiny and new and made of far sturdier materials than the older versions, though what they will all look like in 60 years remains to be seen. For as long as I have breath I will visit regularly to polish and clean the plinths and weed the general area. The staff there seem to do a pretty good job too.

It is sad to see tablets that are uncared for, some now impossible to read, or having missing or lose plaques. I have a mind to take some super glue next time and repair a few of them, for surely they are worthy of more respect than this. I wonder if the neglect they now experience was once also the way they left the world - lonely, largely unknown.

I miss my mum, our daily phone conversations, her sharp memories of the past. I have a place to go to chat and pray - that at least, is a blessing. The gardens themselves are not far from the sea - Botany Bay on one side, and the Tasman on the other. Hence this small poem.

One Sea-Side Grave

Unmindful of the roses,
Unmindful of the thorn,
A reaper tired reposes
Among his gathered corn:
So might I, till the morn!


Cold as the cold Decembers,
Past as the days that set,
While only one remembers
And all the rest forget, -
But one remembers yet.

Christina Rossetti

Before I began 'Writer's from the Vault' (or 'What's in Space', for that matter), I had a short stint reading articles from 'The New Statesman' for 2rph. There was no time for anything but newsworthy items of one sort or another - many, in fact, could not be read - and there was certainly no space at all for the lifestyle feature writers who inhabited the last few pages of every edition.

It seemed a shame because these lighter pieces were often very well written and might have complemented the more serious front-end articles in a balanced program, has it not been impossible due to time constraints. Thirty minutes a week can be a tyranny.

So when I began Writers I thought it might be prudent to include one or two of these pieces, now and then. This decision was not taken lightly because the program was aimed at more historical literature, principally though not exclusively from the old Western Canon. The New Statesman writers were very contemporary indeed, though there subjects (based on personal experience) were often universal.

For the most part, it has worked out well. There is no problem bumping up a Shakespearean sonnet with Jane Austin, with Dorothy Parker with, with, say Pippa Bailey. None at all.