I don't go to dawn services... a long and avoided habit. I don't go to church; it takes a wedding, funeral and wild strong horses to get me there.
I don't March on ANZAC Day... I feel awkward, I don't feel "a part", I don't know anyone... I'm proud of what I did and what I put in, I don't want to march.
I've The Australian Flag tattooed on my chest. I am a patriot all year. I pull people up for comments contrary comments about this nation or The ADF.
I liked the Army more than it liked me.... Small cog, Big Machine... I got fucked-off, for smoking pot. I'm ashamed about that, but I believe that I was a better soldier than many, by hook or crook.
I was never the thugby team, the Rifle Team never seemed to take off, and being the Regt Photog was a cherished position, ...and a good lurk!
12-odd years [+plus some ARes time] Four 'gongs'... One, I have, two under application for replacement [my -ex, says 'she or the kids haven't seen them!' ...they're in that house, I know!] The other I had to buy a copy on EBay... as it's a foreign medal [UNTAET]
But , I said "other stuff on my mind" ...
Anzac Day is the remembrance of my eldest Brother, Senior Constable Bob [Don't call me Robert!] Lowery driving down a quiet road, and shooting himself in the head with a .410 shotgun.
He knew the local coppers travelled that road, from A-B, every morning... He'd arranged to be on Leave... Apparently, rent was paid and all that shit.
At this time of year... I'm sorry, but the events of '92 are uppermost in my heart; not 1915.
...I keep bursting into tears! ...and fuck! ...and now I've got a splitting head-ache.
It's only midday.... I think I'll have a little lay down [ an LLD ] and the day will be further on...
Sad, sorry...
Pete.
No comments:
Post a Comment