One of the things that becomes more and more apparent each year is that the number of "old soldiers" who attend/march/are driven at ANZAC Day celebrations becomes fewer and fewer each year. All our WWI veterans are gone and even the "youngies" of WW2 are now in their 80's. A lot of them are still marching, some are driven by cabs and the cabs lead the Parade each year, and others use walking frames, or motorised wheelchair/scooters to keep up with their mates. They're all truly amazing, as are those who followed, in the Army, Navy and Air Force, serving in Korea, Malaya, Vietnam, East Timor, Afghanistan, Iraq, East Timor, and the peacekeeping forces; men and women.
I was thinking about that today, after I received a text from my brother to say that my Uncle, Dad's brother, had passed away on Friday, at the age of 84. That's a pretty good innings. He served in New Guinea in World War 2, then was a manager at a concrete/cement truck plant (don't start me on the difference between concrete trucks and cement trucks) then retired about 25 years ago, and moved to the South Coast, about 3 hours drive from Sydney. He leaves a loving wife, four sons, I'm unsure how many grandchildren, and probably a couple of great grand children, and his passing will be felt dearly by those people, and my brothers and I.
Its been a few years since I've seen him. I'm not one who likes "visiting" people, even relatives and friends. That doesn't mean to say I don't care for them, or think about them. I just don't visit.
The funeral is on Friday. My brother and I will drive down, and return home later that afternoon. That's the plan.
Rest In Peace Old Soldier. Your duty done, your time has come. Farewell.
