Anzac Day; Lest we forget. Fathers, Uncles etc

[Gary Parata]

Here is the poem I posted last year after visiting Gallipoli for the first time on ANZAC Day. It is an original draft, but has undergone a couple of revisions since then. Standing on Chunuk Bair puts you "in the zone" and it is putting pen to paper and the words just fall out. I'll make two comments about it. Firstly, I am harsh on Churchill. The history books don't really say so, but Churchill carried Gallipoli with him until the day he died, so it is unfair to imply otherwise which is what I have done. But history is a harsh mistress, and in this case, so it should be. The British failed to learn the expensive lessons of the Crimean War, using similar tactics right throughout the entire Great War, both with and without horses. They didn't learn, and we paid for it. That leads me to my second comment. It wasn't just ANZAC and Turk that suffered terribly, but the British, French, and Indian armies suffered immeasurably, too. Notwithstanding the Indians, it was a British and French war, it was never ours, and that is why they don’t get a mention. Add to that the fact that while they lost more men in terms of sheer numbers, the disproportionate loss to Australia and especially New Zealand crippled whole communities in our countries.

Inasmuch as it could be possible, I hope you enjoy it.

Chunuk Bair



Light show cast surreal glow,
Sea front still, as warm tears flow,
Unchecked; I leave them be,
On Gallipoli I discover me.

Tears anoint the sacred ground,
Self-conscious now I look around,
Through misty eyes and haze I see,
That others cry, not just me.

From ANZAC Cove I start to walk,
Possessed of mind, bereft of talk,
Towards a hill of infamy
Of untold pain, of loss, I see.

But pause a moment at Lone Pine,
The Diggers there lie for all time,
Lost wave by wave; it was insane,
For what; some lame-brained plan, our bane.

Objective now hoves into sight,
With visions of that awful night,
Of boys, the best of ANZAC might,
With careless thought, thrown into fight.

Now atop the blood soaked fill,
Of Chunuk Bair; that bastard hill,
‘Twas briefly won, but at what cost?
I’ll tell you: a generation of Wellingtons lost.

In one mass grave the hundreds lie,
On August night they came to die,
No dreams to see the world fulfilled,
But oblivion; and families willed.

Was not just ANZAC suffered great,
For Turkish youth befell same fate,
Land and country, vow to protect,
And that they did, with no regret.

This land we came to habitate,
Was never ours to infiltrate,
Let order from afar decide,
The fate of all those that died.

First Sea Lord, with blank face,
Resigns in shame and stark disgrace
Then absolved of blame he quickens pace
To another war, and a greater race

For him no pain, no empty shell,
No memories of fiery hell,
Churchillian values? time will tell,
Whether all this was actually worth it.

The words of Ataturk ring true,
They comfort me, they should do you,
Boundless compassion, holding firm,
(I would have liked to have known him.)

Turk and ANZAC, hand in hand,
Together now, warm in this land,
For us no fear, no more regret,
Firm friends now, lest we forget.

Light show cast surreal glow,
Sea front still, as warm tears flow,
Unchecked; I leave them be,
On Chunuk Bair, I discover me.

Gary Parata (New Zealand)

Gallipoli, April 25, 2006