I woke up at 5am. I usually go to the dawn service with my dad, but as he is unwell my mum took his place. Watched the old and young solders lined up, and the drum beating as they made there way to the war memorial in the park. As someone read out 'Flanders Field' and other poems (which I must get the name of) two old vintage airplanes made two flybys over the crowd.
As we pasted the cemetery there was a lingering mist surrounding the old gravestones of the departed solders... might sound over dramatic, but it is always that way each Anzac Day. I have relatives who lost limbs and their lives in the war, my grandad was in the army during WW1. Even more distant I had relatives who were in the battle of Trafalgar (Captain), another who died during the Indian mutiny of 1857 in which I have copies of his letters to home. It is a day of mourning, the least I could do is get up early.
" It appears that the website has become alive. This happens to computers and robots sometimes. Am I scared of a stupid computer? Please. The computer should be scared of me."
Bookmarks