Anzac Studies

The term ANZAC is an acronym for Australia and New Zealand Army Corps. It was created during WW1 when, on 25^th April 1915, soldiers of Australia and New Zealand landed on a tiny beach on the Gallipoli Peninsula of Turkey. The general aim was to get these troops to take control of this peninsula and therefore the Dardenelles Strait running alongside, allowing supply ships to sail up into the Black Sea to support Russia against Germany.

However the ANZAC’s landed 2 kilometres north of the proposed landing site, they were surrounded by rocky, steep hills and were easy targets for the Turks hiding higher up on the cliff tops.

After 8 long months of bitter trench warfare, with no side gaining any real advantage, it was decided to evacuate the ANZAC’s from this position. Over a period of ten days in December 1915, 42000 men, under cover of darkness, safely left what became known as ANZAC Cove.
This campaign was a disaster with many wasted lives and lost chances. Over 8,500 New Zealand soldiers landed at Gallipoli, 7,500 were casualties, and of these 2,515 were killed.
Many of the survivors went on to fight in the trenches in the battle fields of France and Belgium until the end of the war in 1918.

 I told the story, in preparation for our ANZAC study and services of Remembrance on 25 April, of travelling through some isolated villages south of Paris, France in 1985. My two companions were friends from England and we were searching for a restaurant for a lunch time meal. We walked into a café and were welcomed by a Frenchman. He immediately saw my kiwi insignia and New Zealand label on my jacket and with great enthusiasm provided a table and a wonderful meal of sea foods, breads, cheeses and wine.
I could not understand what he was specifically saying but the gist was that New Zealand soldiers at the end of World War 2 had entered his village to liberate it.
He refused any offers of payment for the meal.
The children in the class were amazed at this Frenchman’s generosity but my only comments were that as New Zealanders we must maintain a high standard of conduct that our forefathers had established while serving and travelling overseas. Stand tall, be proud and do good to others that you meet on your journey through life.

Again in 1995, when in Europe, my wife and children were travelling through the lush rolling green fields of Belgium. We stopped alongside a walled cemetery, and entered through the bricked gateway. Before us were rows upon rows of white crosses, all perfectly in line, and stretching into the far distance. There were countless floral tributes and the lawn was tended beautifully.
It was the resting place of countless soldiers who had served for their country and had lost their lives in battle. The locals must be very proud of these brave men and women who had fought for their liberation, repaying the service by nurturing this cemetery for all to remember.

One of the first tasks for the children in the class was to record the results of war. There was a hush over the room, even with an invitation to discuss their ideas, as they listed their thoughts. When it was a time to share their ideas the lists were endless; Loss of life, forced to fight, fear, a permanent injury, nightmares forever, property is destroyed……
Came one comment from one of the groups, “So why do we have war then?”
We will leave our future generation to provide a solution to this question, because as sure as heck, our current generation hasn’t provided the answer.

 We read a story called ‘The Donkey Man’, about a New Zealand soldier in Gallipoli who, as part of the Medical team, used a donkey to carry the wounded down to the beach. He survived his harrowing time on the peninsula and gave the donkey, before he evacuated, to a Greek family.
After the war he went back to the job he had in Auckland, New Zealand, before he had enlisted to serve overseas - a teacher.
“So he was just a normal man then?” was a response when discussing this story after reading it.

The class was learning about the ANZAC landing at Gallipoli by highlighting features from a reading provided for them. They found out about the incorrect landing site on Gallipoli, the life of a soldier, the bravery to assist one in distress and the disappointment of an evacuation.
A pupil was curious enough to ask, “So why is it celebrated when they lost?”
Suffice to say, and as also intimated in numerous books, it was the foundation of our nationhood, a sense of pride to serve as New Zealanders, an ability to nurture those in distress, to develop a unique sense of humour in difficult times, and to have a respect for our foe.

We did a study of some maps of the locality to gain a better understanding of the geography. On a political map there was confusion as to who was our ally and who was part of the Central Alliance. In 1914 – 1918 Serbia was an ally, Bulgaria was on Turkey's side, Albania was neutral and the Austro-Hungary coalition sided with Germany. We were fighting against the Turks and our allies relied on Russia for support.
There were too many countries for the children to understand and, if in High School, they could study events of the Second World War, being even more confused by changing truces and binding allegiances between countries.

We had a discussion of a well known poem called ‘In Flanders Fields’. This was written during the First World War by a Canadian doctor, John McCrae, inspired after the death of a friend and fellow soldier. The references to the red poppies that grew on the graves of fallen soldiers make this flower a well recognized memorial symbol for soldiers who have died in conflict.
Asked one little girl in the class, “Was Flanders Fields in Gallipoli?”

 In Flanders fields the poppies blow
      Between the crosses, row on row,
   That mark our place; and in the sky
   The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
   The torch; be yours to hold it high.
   If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
         In Flanders fields.

I will publish one poem by a pupil in our class, all we had time to write, before the end of term. Here is Lucy’s fine effort.

                                 War Poem
Exhausted, sweating soldiers digging in the hot sun
Deep, hiding trenches with sticky mud at the bottom
Wounded soldiers with blood and tears
Gentle donkeys with dripping blood on their backs
Sneaky snipers aiming and killing
Soldiers cooking their billy beef and eating stale biscuits.
                                     by Lucy

The last day of term we celebrated music in the Junior school, successes during the term and the coming of ANZAC Day. A teacher on our staff read a very special poem entitled, ‘Why wear a poppy?’ Just as she began the reading the skies opened up and the rain clattered on the school hall roof. When she was making her closing statement the rain eased, then stopped, to allow us to carry on our assembly undisturbed.
Here is the poem that opened up the skies.

PLEASE WEAR A POPPY

by Don Crawford

"Please wear a poppy," the lady said
  And held one forth, but I shook my head.
  Then I stopped and watched as she offered them there,
  And her face was old and lined with care;
  But beneath the scars the years had made
  There remained a smile that refused to fade.

  A boy came whistling down the street,
  Bouncing along on care-free feet.
  His smile was full of joy and fun,
  "Lady," said he, "may I have one?"
  When she'd pinned it on he turned to say,
  "Why do we wear a poppy today?"

  The lady smiled in her wistful way
  And answered, "This is Remembrance Day,
  And the poppy there is the symbol for
  The gallant men who died in war.
  And because they did, you and I are free -
  That's why we wear a poppy, you see."

  "I had a boy about your size,
  With golden hair and big blue eyes.
  He loved to play and jump and shout,
  Free as a bird he would race about.
  As the years went by he learned and grew
  and became a man - as you will, too."

  "He was fine and strong, with a boyish smile,
  But he'd seemed with us such a little while
  When war broke out and he went away.
  I still remember his face that day
  When he smiled at me and said, Goodbye,
  I'll be back soon, Mom, so please don't cry."

  "But the war went on and he had to stay,
  And all I could do was wait and pray.
  His letters told of the awful fight,
  (I can see it still in my dreams at night),
  With the tanks and guns and cruel barbed wire,
  And the mines and bullets, the bombs and fire."

  "Till at last, at last, the war was won -
  And that's why we wear a poppy son."
  The small boy turned as if to go,
  Then said, "Thanks, lady, I'm glad to know.
  That sure did sound like an awful fight,
  But your son - did he come back all right?"

  A tear rolled down each faded check;
  She shook her head, but didn't speak.
  I slunk away in a sort of shame,
  And if you were me you'd have done the same;
  For our thanks, in giving, if oft delayed,
  Thought our freedom was bought - and thousands paid!

  And so when we see a poppy worn,
  Let us reflect on the burden borne,
  By those who gave their very all
  When asked to answer their country's call
  That we at home in peace might live.
  Then wear a poppy! Remember - and give!