ANZAC day in Whangarei, 2006

The predawn sky was thick with clouds and, unsurprisingly, it started raining heavily.
Neil and I searched for Grandad and my cousin and uncle in the crowd congregated outside the Whangarei public library.
Hundreds of people had turned out for the ANZAC dawn service.
The old soldiers, heavy with medals and age, slowly formed lines.
The old soldiers were very dignified in the rain.
Neil and I found Grandad and my cousin and my uncle.
Soon, the old soldiers started marching, in time at first, then more and more out of step.
My cousin and I looped our arms through Grandad’s old, sun spotted arms.
Neil and my uncle walked behind us.
The streetlights bounced off raindrops caught in everyone’s hair.
The old soldiers looked like shuffling angels.
Grandad and I got separated from the others at the cenotaph, so we stood together as people gave speeches and laid wreathes.
Some of the speakers messed up their words and the trumpeter who played the last post squeaked a few times.
It was embarrassing and I was annoyed: war is hard but speeches and a trumpet solo shouldn’t be.
A few times Grandad seemed unsteady and I asked him if he wanted to sit down but he said no.
He was very strong in the rain with his medals and memories.
An old man in the row behind us collapsed partway through the service but he got helped up and said he was OK.
The strength we have and lose, it’s beyond our control.
Afterwards we all went to my uncle’s place for coffee.
We only stayed for a bit, because everyone needed a rest, especially Grandad.
Neil and I drove back to his house.
The day was flat and the whole of Whangarei was grey.
We didn’t have a war to fight and would never have our own one to remember.