In the footsteps of my hero THIS ANZAC DAY I WILL BE TAKING THE SAME TRIP TO GALLIPOLI THAT FREED MY GRANDAD OF HIS DEMONS, WRITES CAROLYNE JASINSKI “THERE is one thing you have to remember about Anzac Day,” my grandad always told me as a child. “It’s not about glorifying war. It’s about your mates. It’s about remembering what we went through and why we did it. It’s about sacrifice.” My grandad was Thomas William Epps. Gallipoli survivor. Western
Front survivor. A proud Anzac. And a hero in my eyes. Of course I didn’t understand what Grandad meant about Anzac Day. I was too young. To me it was glorious. It was exciting for us kids. To see the men dressed in their military finery was impressive and watching them march to the sound of the bands was almost as good as the Christmas Pageant. That was my Grandad marching in a parade. And to be part of something so special …. something that made everyone around me clap for him and cheer him and make them cry …. well, he must be a hero. Grandad served in the 27th Battalion. He wasn’t in the first landing at Anzac Cove but
22
wed
1su9n
what he did was just as brave. He was one of hundreds of other young boys who heard what was going on in Turkey and volunteered to go and “help the lads”. He lied about his age so they would let him enlist. The lure of travel and adventure, he admitted later, was almost as irresistible as the chance to “show the Germans and Johnny Turks what for”. He changed his mind when he landed at Gallipoli in September, 1915, five days short of his 18th birthday. By the time I knew what Anzac Day was all about, the thrill had disappeared but the sense of importance and respect had grown. The uniforms, dragged out once a year and dusted off,