Armistice Day – 2018
Mark 12:38-44
Marian Free
In the name of God who sustains us in our darkest hours. Amen.
On the 24thof April 2015, Tony Abbot told the following story that was reported by The Herald Sun.
“It was on a still spring night a century ago that the ships carrying the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps stole in towards the high coastline of the Gallipoli peninsula.
The first boat landed at a small cove surrounded by steep slopes of thick scrub shortly after four in the morning. Two of the ANZACs who came ashore on April 25, 1915, were Privates Lance and Daryl Blannin-Ferguson. Hailing from Mt Martha, they were two of the first to enlist after the war broke out. They were assigned to the 7th Infantry Battalion, and left Melbourne on the transport ship Hororata on October 19, 1914. Lance was one of more than 750 Australians who were killed on the day of the landing. He was just 21 years old.
His younger brother, Daryl, was killed on May 8, 1915, during the Second Battle of Krithia, aged only 19.
By the time of the evacuation — the only successful part of the campaign — in December 1915, Lance and Daryl were just two of more than 8700 Australians who had died. Their older brother, Lieutenant Acland Blannin-Ferguson, also served on Gallipoli. He survived the campaign and transferred to the British Army in January 1916 before returning to Australia after the war. The Blannin-Ferguson family, like so many families across Australia during the Great War, paid a great price.”
I belong to a generation that has had a rather charmed existence. Both my grandfathers were too young to enlist in the first World War, my father too young for the second and my brother too young for Vietnam. During my lifetime our shores have not been threatened and civilians have not had to endure rationing or the other ordeals associated with a nation at war. I have not had to flee my home with only what I could carry because the enemy were advancing or the bombs raining down.
I have no idea what it is like to farewell a beloved father, brother or husband knowing that I might never see them again. I cannot imagine what it is like to open the door to the person delivering the feared telegram and to know that you will not see your husband, father or brother and that you will not even know where their bodies lie have no grave at which to grieve.
That said, the First World War did cast a shadow over our family life. Lance and Daryl were the older brothers of my paternal grandmother – great uncles whom I never knew, and whose stories were cut short.
The First World War, the Great War, the War to end all Wars was the costliest conflict the world has known. In total, the losses on both sides amounted to nearly 10 million soldiers and 7.7 million civilians – a total of over 17 million dead (some estimates make the number 19 million). Over 21 million soldiers on both sides were wounded. It was a huge price to pay for a conflict that was driven by nationalism rather than ideals, by greed rather than a deeply held cause. It is much easier to defend our engagement in the second World War than our participation in the first. Yet it is possible to argue that “out of the war came a lesson which transcended the horror and tragedy and the inexcusable folly. It was a lesson about ordinary people – and the lesson was that they were not ordinary. On all sides they were the heroes of that war; not the generals and the politicians but the soldiers and sailors and nurses – those who taught us to endure hardship, to show courage, to be bold as well as resilient, to believe in ourselves, to stick together”[1]. It was, as many have claimed, the time when we identified the characteristics that made/make us uniquely Australian – mateship, youthful confidence, a certain “devil may care” attitude to life (especially in the face of danger or difficulty).
It is common to speak of the sacrifice these young people made for us, but we must be careful not to use the word sacrifice too liberally. The idea of sacrifice is idealised and it allows us to dignify what became a shocking, even wasteful loss of life. The young men (and some young women) who boarded our troop ships had no idea what lay ahead, many were signing up for the adventure of a lifetime. Few, I imagine, enlisted with the goal or ideal of dying for king and country.
Sacrifice can be a dangerous notion as today’s gospel suggests. Too often it involves asking those who are the most vulnerable to give the most – the widow to give her last coins to the Temple treasury, the youth of this land to face a hail of bullets, mustard gas and muddy trenches for what, at times, were futile gains.
There were 61,000 Australian soldiers who never returned home, 152,000 who were wounded and another 119,000 who served overseas. Whether the cause was noble or not, whether they were asked to do the realistic or the impossible, whether the leadership was wise and strategic or unwise and haphazard, all those who served, served willingly and did what was required of them. They faced the horrors and the losses with fortitude, resilience and courage, not to mention a dose of good humour and a determination to stand by one’s mates.
It is true that this day 100 years ago did not provide the world with lasting peace. WWI was not the war to end all wars, but it does remain the most devastating and wide-reaching war with the worst loss of life. We remember today those who did not come home, those who came home maimed and scarred, and those at home whose lives were changed forever by loss or by the changes in those they loved. We do not remember war to glorify it. We remember to remind ourselves how great is the cost of conflict. We remind ourselves of the cost, so that we will think carefully before we enter any future engagements and so that we will do all that is humanly possible to promote reconciliation and to work for peace.
We remember all those who bear the cost on our behalf – soldiers, medics and nurses.
We will remember them.
[1]Paul Keating http://www.awm.gov.au/commemoration/speeches/keating-remembrance-day-1993Ar
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