ANZAC day, gardens and txt-ing long lost buddies.
ANZAC day, always heartfelt for me and never ceases to bring me to tears. Which says something as I am not a cry-er.
I still have a big box full of letters written home from my grandfather, Douglas Shannon, who was posted in Singapore in WWII. He lost his leg in the fall of Singapore (my understanding is that he had only been there a number of days) and spent the rest of his time injured in Changi Prisoner of War Camp until the end of the war. We are lucky enough to possess a photo taken of him in Changi. He is skin and bone, the look in his eyes is steely anger and he is standing, his leg (amputated) is hidden. As a family we choose to believe his is doing this to protect his family back at home, not wanting to worry them with the loss of his leg. Can you imagine? All of it, can you imagine any of it? A pause for thought, or even better, a shared meal full of family conversation about the sacrifices of those before us, I hope becomes a family tradition for all of us for generations to come.
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