Some Lines Discomposed on the 7.42

'The train sways and shunts
And long into the distance,
A city rises, all oblong steps,
As poor as any patch of weeds
Its saps the life on which it feeds
It must come down.'

Today is Anzac Day, a topic I annually write about though often as not, think about. I was lost in thought last week having read a story about the Covid restrictions for today's commemoration when I glanced out the window and there was the skyline. The lines above followed quickly thereafter and I meant to write a full poem but lost interest.

Sydney is a very different place to that which greeted the first Anzac marches after The Great War. Old photos show the care that went into planning for buildings and structures in what is now the CBD. Many of these are now lost, replaced by glass and concrete shards that are unrecommended by any single feature, except their uniform awfulness.

Still, this is a day to remember other kinds of losses. Don't get me wrong, I don't buy all the saccharine guff that comes wrapped up in flags and political must-speak. I have read too many soldiers diaries and accounts to realise that many young men were motivated by things other than honour and sacrifice.

But that is surely the point. Once you were in the thick of it, no matter why you enlisted, you had no choice but to step up and do the job. And what a terrible job it was. And what a bleeding loss for a young nation.

"at the going down of the sun and in the morning,

we will remember them."

Lest We Forget.