The image of a veteran, to me, has always been my grandfathers. Both served in World War II, one Army and the other Air Force. Their tales from Papua New Guinea, Britain and Burma were lost with their passing some years ago as neither shared their war stories when alive. As they reached the end of their lives their decrepit features mirrored those often flashed up on screens during Anzac Day — that of aged men with worn medals clanking across their now deflated chests. This vision of veteran is often shown with the dichotomy of youth; an iconic visual of the veteran’s actions and sacrifice as legacy to future generations. Their youthful faces passed onto the next generation but without the toughened glare of war.
I only had one fleeting moment of conversation with each of my grandfathers about their roles in World War II. War was rarely discussed. The first was with my grandfather who served in Papua New Guinea. I was 20 years old and had just completed Exercise Shaggy Ridge[2] (a sleep and food deprivation training exercise) as a cadet at the Royal Military College Duntroon. I was proud I had completed the arduous activity when others hadn’t. My grandfather paused in his response to my story, “Shaggy Ridge, yes, I patrolled in that area. I was so bloody scared of heights that I was more afraid to look down than I was of the Japs”. This ephemeral exchange of stories with a World War II veteran forever put my Army warries back in the box.
The second exchange was with my grandfather who served in the Air Force. I was about to deploy on my second tour of Afghanistan and was visiting him during pre-deployment leave. I chatted about my first deployment to Afghanistan and explained how my second deployment would be similar. During the conversation my grandfather disappeared. A couple of hours later he re-emerged holding two photographs. The first was a photograph of him in Afghanistan, taken while he was transitioning from Britain, where he had been a Night Intruder, to the campaign in Burma. “Afghanistan’s pretty rough, don’t trust the locals in a card game, they slit a chap’s throat when he didn’t pay his debt”. Handy advice. The second was a photograph of his Flight taken in Britain. For all bar two, the word ‘dead’ or ‘maimed’ was bluntly stated as he pointed at their youthful faces. I’m grateful one of the two was a younger image of my grandfather. With the words “war’s not the same anymore”, he disappeared again. This grandfather never attended Anzac Day.
I will never know the rest of my grandfathers’ stories but they will always be my image of a veteran and what I personally remember each Anzac Day. I cannot change my own stereotype image of Anzac and veteran. The textbook definition of a veteran may be simple but having a sense of being a modern veteran is a little more complicated when analysed against the past and ingrained stereotypes. The word veteran may never sit comfortably with me when pointed in my direction.
Who we are and who we are not
This morning the song ‘And the band played Waltzing Matilda’ rang out at my Regiment’s Dawn Service. Images of frail aged men once again flashed up on an overhead screen as the song struck the words:
“But the band plays Waltzing Matilda, and the old men still answer the call. But as year follows year, more old men disappear. Someday no one will march there at all.”[3]
But there will be someone. They are the contemporary veterans.
My thoughts coincide with reading James Brown’s book Anzac’s Long Shadow. Brown, a contemporary veteran himself, has eloquently captured the thoughts of many of us who are struggling to define ourselves against the Anzac stereotype.
Against another era of veteran, contemporary veterans do not face the Vietnam veteran’s adversity of returning to a nation that scorned their deeds. Our return has the support of the broader Australian community. We also have a blank canvas for our image. Brown points out that little is known in the general Australian community about the role of Australian Defence Force personnel in recent conflicts including East Timor, Iraq, Afghanistan and Solomon Islands.
Indeed serving personnel sometimes have misconceptions of veterans. During Anzac Day in 2011 I overheard an Australian Army soldier question why a member of the Royal Australian Navy was wearing an Afghanistan Campaign Medal. The tone suggested unworthiness of the honour; Afghanistan after all is a land-locked country. I was affronted by this comment as I had deployed to Afghanistan with Navy personnel who were Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technicians and Airforce personnel who were Joint Terminal Attack Controllers. If you know what these roles are, you will know how much admiration I have for their courageous service and contribution to the survivability of our team. As I explained to the soldier — even though medals look the same, each medal comes with its own story. Every contemporary veteran’s contribution should be valued without judgement.
