Anzac Address
Kanchanaburi War Cemetery 2012
I want to start, and I know you will want me to start, by acknowledging the former Prisoners of War who have joined us today: Mr Neil MacPherson and Mr Milton (‘Snow’) Fairclough.
Let me acknowledge, too, other veterans in our midst, veterans of other campaigns.
And the family and friends who are representing veterans who cannot be with us.
I acknowledge also those amongst us for whom this Anzac Day has a very special significance.
Today, we remember and we reflect.
We remember those who served, those who suffered and those who died at Gallipoli 97 years ago, or here in Thailand, or at other places where Australians, New Zealanders and their friends have served, suffered and died.
Or at places where they are now serving, now suffering and now dying.
We remember them. And we pay them homage.
But let us remember, and reflect on, something else too. For a moment, let us remember and reflect on how young most of these people were. And, in the case of our troops on operations now, how young they are.
On many occasions I have visited this cemetery. And I have visited war cemeteries in other places – in Papua New Guinea, in Malaysia, in Libya. On each occasion, so many thoughts and emotions are stirred.
On each occasion, though, as I walk past grave after grave after grave, and as I read headstone after headstone after headstone, I can’t help thinking, above all else, how young they were. How very, very young.
How many dreams they must have had. Dreams of home, and what they had left behind. Dreams of what they would do once the war was over.
As I look at their headstones, I think of the dreams I had when I was 30 years old, or 26, or 23, or 21, or even 19.
And I think of the thirty to forty years I have lived since I was their age. Of the thirty to forty bonus years I have lived with my family, my wife, my children, my friends – thirty to forty years that they never had.
And I think of how I have lived all my life with security and with freedom. I have lived securely and freely because others, like those whose graves surround us, have sacrificed their dreams.
Let us remember, too, the hundreds of thousands of Asian labourers who were also forced to work here. No-one cared for them. No-one kept records of them. Very few of them returned home.
They too had dreams of families, of wives, of children and friends. Dreams of home, and what they had left behind. Dreams of what they would do once the war was over.
Their dreams were also cruelly killed.
And let us remember the way Thai people in this region supported the POWs, sometimes at great personal risk. War ruined their dreams too.
How do we best honour so many people who endured so much?
By remembering them.
And by remembering them not just on Anzac Day, but on other days too. Days when there are no medals, no bugles, no wreaths, no speeches.
We honour them by drawing inspiration from their courage, by drawing inspiration from their steadfastness and by drawing inspiration from their compassion.
And we honour them by listening to the birds, by waiting for the breeze to cool us and by sensing the breath in our nostrils.
We honour them by treasuring the gift of life.
Lest we forget.
James Wise
Australian Ambassador to the Kingdom of Thailand
25 April 2012