Melbourne, anzac day

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By Michael Quin

“You’ve got to have a sense of humour about life,” says Ray. “Without it you’re gone.”
Well, he should know because life is something he’s seen a lot of.

Like all our World War II veterans he’s now an older man. But when recounting war stories suddenly he’s a much younger man again – something I noticed in many of the old diggers drinking, laughing and bantering with impressive energy for their age.

The old-style Imperial Hotel, across from Parliament house, was hung with union jacks and old Australian naval flags. Standing by the window as I chatted to Ray, I heard a horse whinney.

Those gathered were all navy men, young and old. Ray described it as a “big family”, spanning wars and generations. The HMAS Sydney was honoured in the service, and was close in the memories of some.

Ray had mates on the Sydney. Unfortunately concussion during the war had erased their names from his memory. But he did remember sharing something with them.

Ray happily volunteered his war stories after knowing me less than one minute, and told them as a series of jokes.

“You know I spent four years on supply boats in the Mediterranean, right under the Germans’ noses and they couldn’t touch me,” he said. “It wasn’t until I returned to the safety of Australia that I almost got killed. Just as the ‘japs’ came in to dive bomb Darwin’s harbour there I was sitting on a ship laden with high-octane aeroplane fuel. I thought well this is it!”

Above all, Ray said, Australia was a free and lucky country. He told me more than once about the 35,000 strong crowd at the service, describing it as an ”extraordinary” thing.

To him, the day was as much about appreciating the freedom we have as remembering the past.

When I asked Ray about two-up his face changed,

“We could get a game going now,” he said.

I wanted to know if he was any good. He laughed again: “No, I always pick the wrong one, heads when it’s tails and tails when it’s heads, you know. But it’s still a fun game, gets the adrenalin going, you know!”

A 90-year-old explaining adrenalin to a man in his 20s confirmed my suspicion that something happens to these diggers on Anzac Day, something about memory taking on a life of its own.
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