Perspective. Clarity. A humbling sense of gratitude.
I was moved to tears.
The sun came out and the roses bloomed as we stood silently at the gravesite of Pheasant Wood.
We paid respects to 250 graves of soliders our age.
In one day, one day, nearly 6,000 young Australian soldiers lost their lives at The Battle of Fromelles. Gone.
The walls of the cemetery mark the names of the fallen men.
Unmarked graves. A narrative or courage with no name.
It’s cold, the mud is thick. So thick. Our toes are like little icicles and the wind is bitter…we can see out breath.
These young men lived here, fought here and died here. We get to go back to a hotel.
In the weeks to come, I’ll get to hug my family by a Christmas tree.
On July 16th 1916 men my age made the ultimate sacrifice.
A poppy on their resting place and a moment silence is the only way we can show our respect and love of Australian sons and brothers lost. Full of pride but lacking in experience these young men never returned home to their families tree.