Perth Voice Interactive

HE mentioned to his friend Lisa that he would attend his local Anzac Day ceremony, held under a pine tree grown from a Gallipoli Peninsula seed, as he had for many years. 

He liked to be among his local community in sharing a simple ceremony. 

Pre-Covid, tea and Anzac biscuits were served in the adjacent Historical Society building, earlier the Police Station. 

He could find no notice of the event on the internet but was told by a locally based City employee that it should be held as usual, starting time 8.30am.

Lisa said that she would attend and bring her friend Di.

Running a few minutes late, he neared the park. 

It was apparent to him, because of the few cars parked in the street and the absence of a crowd, that there would be no ceremony. 

In this he was mistaken.

As he entered the park he could see 15 or 20 people standing in an arc around the cenotaph.

Something was happening.

Lisa and Di, having realised that there would be no ceremony, and that others had turned up in expectation, conducted one of their own making. 

Those leaving disappointed returned. 

The internet provided material. 

An unadorned dedication to service and sacrifice was read. 

There was a minute of silence. 

The Last Post and Reveille was heard. 

Those there listened soberly, reminded of the horror and the human cost of war. 

He can recall no more moving ceremony. 

There are countless lonely war memorials across the nation. 

Could this initiative of two women in a Perth suburb bring about a movement of small, informal, Anzac Day ceremonies, independent of the institutions on which we now rely?

by PETER BYRNE