A Day To Weep & Remember

It is many, many years since I last wept in bed and in truth I find it hard to remember any occasion when I did.

But this morning, ANZAC Day 2020 I was woken shortly before dawn by my bedside radio and the sound of a bagpipe lament.  My eyes were wet with tears - unsolicited, unstoppable.

For some reason this year's commemoration seemed particularly poignant; it could well have been that the ANZAC Day service was, for the first time, a virtual one.

My Mum and Dad on their wedding day

The ravages of the COVID-19 pandemic made it so. All Kiwis and no doubt our Aussie mates 'across the ditch', marked the solemn event at home, in our lounges, beds, or standing by our letterboxes in the brightening skies.

My first memories of ANZAC day were the gathering at the Waitara War Memorial where my father and other veterans of World War two stood shoulder to shoulder remembering comrades in arms who never returned.  We in our Scout uniforms also stood silently, shivering and respectful.

Dad never spoke much about the war, his capture on Crete and the long year as a POW in Poland and Germany.  The veterans of WWII seldom didn't speak about these shared privations, choosing instead to focus on the future.

But ANZAC Day was, and is, different.  It is the day New Zealand and Australian troops forged their respective nations internationally, fought side by side and for many paid the ultimate sacrifice.

So as the Last Post sounded this morning and the piper's lament lingered on the radio, I remembered my father, the few army mates of his that fleetingly shared their lives with mine over the years, and I shed a tear.

Dad died in 2003, just two years after he finally agreed to share his memories for the army record with Sgt Beech of the NZ Army Museum in Waiouru.

I have a copy of those tapes and today, ANZAC Day, I will share his youthful journey to the battle fields of Europe and his subsequent incarceration by listening to some of his recollections.

So tears are about the past, memories and sacrifice by others, for others.

We shall remember them.

A Meditation on COVID-19

I took up meditation many years ago and have practiced it on and off since the early seventies.  In a deepened state of meditation one's hearing become more acute, picking up sounds that are normally muffled by the day-to-day humdrum of everyday life.

My country is in its second week of compulsory lock-down thanks to the ravages of COVID-19.  While this is an inconvenient measure, most agree that it is for the better in defeating the coronavirus. And I should add, most are abiding by the rules set down by the government.

A real plus of the lockdown is that  the sounds of nature are once again to the fore; the call of magpies in a far away tree, the rustle of autumn leaves as I talk my morning constitutional.

It is not until comparative silence reigns that one fully realises what has been lost.

If you had an opportunity as a child to spend time in the country with friends, you realise how lucky those on farms, who are communing with nature on a daily basis, really are. They do not face a daily barrage of city noise pollution.

So, while this virus might keep us pinned to our homes and immediate surrounds, lets make the most of the quiet while it lasts.

COVID Capers

The couple doing their stretches in a garage
converted to a make-shift gym
dog walkers on a leash smile and wave
at me, or was it him?

The great silence.

Can you hear it? 

Still

Falling leaves cushion the tread
of the morning walk
A pile of books long stored
and seldom read

Buckle in for the long term
the world as we knew it is no more
its nature's way of settling the score.