Today was ANZAC day, the Australian version of Memorial Day. It commemorates the losses the Australia-New Zealand Army Corps suffered in the Gallipoli campaign, and it serves as about the most solemn non-religious holiday they have. That’s not to say they won’t get stinking drunk by the end of it, but there are certain things one doesn’t do on ANZAC Day, such as play sports.
Veterans wear their old uniforms and start the day off with a “gunfire breakfast,” coffee spiked with rum. Later on they’ll go out in groups, tell stories in pubs, and celebrate just being Australian. It’s a simple holiday, but nonetheless a significant one.
For the deployed Australian (and New Zealand) soldiers here in Tarin Kowt, it’s also one of two occasions when they can drink alcohol (the other one being Christmas). They had the gunfire breakfast just before the memorial service, and after dinner they were allowed two beers.
Of course, through the ticket system some blokes were able to squeeze in a bit more than two, but I didn’t hear of any problems the day after. I would have liked to participate in some of the stuff that was going on, but with my battalion commander in town, my time was otherwise occupied.
If I ever visit Australia, I’d like to go during ANZAC Day. Now that I’m serving alongside them, I feel as though I wouldn’t just be a spectator -- it would be something I could be a part of.
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