Up and dress in the dark. A quick cuppa, straiten hubby's collar and lament we didn't polish his grandad's medals.
Down to the Services Club to join hundreds, maybe thousands of others, shuffling quietly about. Many dressed in Sunday Best, others in thongs, shorts and hoodies. Medals pinned on the left and right. Kids milling about, most quietly, sensing the sombre mood.
Old friends greeting each other, diggers exchanging news.
The ceremony begins and we hear speeches. Prayers. Bagpipes. Wreaths are laid, heads respectfully bent. School kids in uniform, community organisations and service leagues all bring forth flowers.
Then The Ode, the Last Post and some silence to remember those who have fought and those serving. Reveille. Tears are wiped from eyes.
Everyone adjourns to the RSL for a Gunfire breakfast and a few beers.
Lest We Forget.
Hi, I'm Sarah! I'm 33 and searching for my passion.
Until then, I slog away in a cubicle working full-time and focus on enjoying my downtime with things like TV (my old friend), movies, twitter, (trying to) cook, reading and hanging out with my hubby. My head is turned by things like vintage homewares, stationery, chocolate and scrapbooking. I blog about whatever takes my fancy.
I missed the dawn service this year, but I attended an Anzac Day service at my son's school yesterday and didn't stop crying the whole way through.
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I hadn't been for YEARS - it was well worth getting up so early. I think everyone has a little cry, how could you fail to be moved?
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