As a surfer I included last years Anzac day in my remembrance. The pulsing and perfectly groomed four-metre swell was an unforgettable one.

Australian’s are still having a dig, Matt Grainger somewhere near Long Reef.

It wasn’t hard to feel for the young men who fought and died in places like Gallipoli while walking in the rain to my local RSL club for the dawn service this morning. Being tired and cold is one thing – having an enemy force trying to shoot you stone dead also is unimaginable.

Sheltered under a floral umbrella my four-week old son and I arrived at the memorial and were greeted by your typically good-natured old vet in a navy coloured suit jacket. He carried a few extra pounds but had a spring in his step that won’t be dampened by anything today (not even the persistent rain). It’s their big day – and ours too.

The service was moving and short. Before I knew it the last post was being played. I held tight to my little boy on is first Anzac day and meshed with him surrounded by what felt like thousands of swirling souls. Young men now memory, mere boys when they died. I reflected on how they were taken way too young. Denied the chance to experience any type of first with a son or daughter of their own. How lucky I am I thought.

Having celebrated the birth of my boy in a ‘wetting of the head’ ceremonial drink with my mates at this very RSL not four weeks prior I was feeling a little more sentimental about the place. Even though straight laced security had asked my friends and I to leave for being too loud and boisterous. “Huh?” Was my response at the time. But now I just laugh, especially today, as you can bet your bottom dollar (and with two-up on today you may get there) the diggers and those that followed loved a drink and a round of story as much as we do. Even though most RSL clubs are run to drain coin from our pockets via rows and rows of poker machines, the larrikin Aussie spirit will always live on.

As a surfer I included last years Anzac day in my remembrance. The pulsing and perfectly groomed four-metre swell was an unforgettable one. This year however the waves have eluded us – so what a perfect time to turn to our mates and raise a glass for the fallen. And hope that tomorrow brings a new swell. The lucky country indeed.

By Col B