Sydney stops to remember at Anzac Day dawn service – By Tim Barlass
Source : smh
The serious stuff of the dawn Service is done with (it’s actually still dark when the service wraps up at 5.30am).
ANZAC dawn service in Martin Place Cenotaph.CREDIT:NICK MOIR
The police motorcycle riders and marshals are having their caffeine fix. There’s a bit of time to get ready for the pipe bands to warm up before the marching begins. All medals and regimental banners lead to Elizabeth Street. There’s something of a carnival atmosphere here.
ANZAC Day march on Elizabeth Street.CREDIT:NICK MOIR
First on the scene is the Australia Post mobile corps, attired in hi-vis “tennis ball yellow” astride their EDVs (electric delivery vehicles). They are armed with hundreds of Aussie flags to give to the expected crowds. The flags are Australian-made from 100 per cent plant material and are biodegradable.
Bernadette and Jacqueline have got the prime pitch for their Legacy rosemary stand just next to the marching start epicentre. The sprigs, donated by Harris Farm Markets, are going upwards from $5. Their best so far is $50.
Jacqueline says: “I was up at 1.30am, in the office at 2am handing out the rosemary to our girl guides and scouts who were on the streets at 3.30am.”
Punters play Two Up at the Australian Hotel at The Rocks.
The Coogee Anzac Day dawn service.
Anzac dawn service at Martin Place Cenotaph.
NSW Governor Margaret Beazley attends the Anzac dawn service at the Martin Place Cenotaph.
NSW Premier Chris Minns arrives at the Anzac Day dawn service in Martin Place.
Further up Martin Place, there is a memorial to the commandos and a service scheduled to start at 8.15am. In the front row with his green beret is Allan Russell, 99, from Rose Bay.
He is one of two surviving members from the Z Special Unit formed during World War II to operate behind Japanese lines in South-East Asia. That’s the hush-hush stuff, but he is about to reveal all.
Can you tell us about your service? “No. I’ve never talked about it. There’s no one to verify what I tell you. The only person I need to satisfy is me and I’m very dissatisfied.”
Commando Allan Russell (centre) at the Anzac Day march in Sydney.
With what? “There’s many things in life I could have done better. You know the expression, the good die young. So what am I?”
Asked about the strategic defence review in Prime Minister Anthony Albanese’s words being “the most significant thing since the Second World War” he was more forthcoming.
“I think it’s a tremendous problem for them and one of the basic problems is the money,” he says. “Anything to do with defence is expensive, isn’t it? I don’t know enough about submarines and what they can do for you.”
Back to his service now and he’s warmed up. Can I ask you where you were posted? “No. When people have written books I have never contributed because it looks like you are trying to make yourself out a hero.”
He’s marching today? “Yes. Well, no. I’m staggering along.”
Veterans march down Elizabeth street.
We know it’s all about to start when three police motorcycle riders arrive on their 1250RT BMWs, registrations VIP53, VIP60 and VIP69. There’s silver braid over their navy jackets. Their handguns are in a holster on the right legs of their very white jodphurs.
They are the escort for NSW Governor Margaret Beazley who will head the march and who’s just getting her rosemary fixed up. She presses the flesh of the public now five deep behind the barricades along Elizabeth Street.
The governor chats to six-year-old Arielle Ryan, whose dad Dane is marching for HMAS Melbourne. Did she know who that lady was? “The president?” She knows now.
100-year-old war veteran Len Sicard in the Anzac Day march in Sydney.
Len Sicard, 100, of Greenacre, was a Halifax rear gunner based in Stornaway in the Outer Hebrides during the Second World War. He’s getting a lift along the route in a camouflaged Land Rover.
“We did our best. We got trained to do a job,” he says. “We always made it home, but we ran out of petrol once and had to stop in Inverness. We copped a bit of flak and that sort of thing but not too bad.”
Sat next to him, his daughter Lorraine Dowse added: “Dad hasn’t been to the last three marches because they told him last year he had to be in a wheelchair. We thought that was all too hard, so this has only been arranged in the last couple of days. It’s a wonderful way to be in the march.”
Not long to go now. What’s it like to carry a 12-kilo tuba the 2.8-kilometre distance of the march? Luke Bartley of the Corrective Services NSW band knows the answer: “It isn’t too bad. I do a lot of parades so you get used to it.”
At 9am on the military dot they are off. The 14 NSW mounted police at the front, New Zealand Returned Service and then NIUE RSA (it’s equidistant from Samoa, Tonga and the Cook Islands).
The vintage cars come next and taxis. Waltzing Matilda is getting nearer. Len stands up in the Land Rover and is greeted by clapping.
Young and old were in attendance on Elizabeth Street and right across Sydney.
At 9.30am sharp a jet roars overhead, but the tower blocks mean that most of us don’t see it. For the record it was a F-35A Lightning II.
More than 10,000 serving and ex-servicemen are out on Elizabeth Street and it will take about three hours to complete the march.
That’s a lot of Waltzing Matildas. And that’s also a lot of clapping.
It shows we don’t forget.
