We woke long after those committed souls who made it to the dawn
services all around the country and probably even Australia, did. Later when I
rang my father, he told me how there was a turnout of between 8,000 and 9,000
at the Whangarei War memorial service, how the hill at Laurie Hall Park and the
car park below was packed with folk, many of whom had to make do with
strategically placed screens. I did not ask him, but hope that he was granted a
seat near the front; he is aging and no longer the strong man he was, he
deserves a seat in the front row, but then I am prejudiced; he is, after all,
my father.
Here at Mana, the skies were clear on rising, the reserve packed out
with motorhomes, a fact that surely must annoy the locals. We set off after
breakfast to the nearest public dump station, one at Plimmerton at a commercial
motorhome service centre, providing the very least of services, then found a
source of public water elsewhere which I shall not disclose, or the manner in
which we acquired it. Suffice to say, our water tanks are full and the black
waste legally disposed of although the grey still lies under the vehicle; the
contour of the site not suitable to any more than the immediate necessity.
We returned to the Domain, and could not believe our luck in securing a
site vacated by a car and caravan, a site large enough for three motorhomes
carefully parked. We quickly packed our lunch and made our way to the railway
station, catching the train within minutes, a more frequent service than would
normally be run but enhanced by the fact that it is Anzac Day and that this
country of patriotic souls were intent on gathering in the capital.
Our fellow passengers included many wearing impressive rows of medals
earned by their fathers or grandfathers, perhaps even their great grandfathers.
Arriving in Wellington we retreated to the local McDonalds which was packed out
with air cadets and AFL scholarship recipients, all of whom had been part of
the earlier ANZAC service, and all of whom exhibited the wonderful
characteristics of desirable future leaders and citizens.
From here we made our way along the waterfront to Te Papa, keen to see
the Peter Jackson sponsored ANZAC exhibition, “peopled” with larger than life
manikins which I imagine to be in the style of Patricia Puccini whose work I
have marvelled in the past, during our travels through Australia. Alas there we
found thousands of others doing the same and while there was free entry to the
exhibition, there was measured entry rather than open slather. This we
appreciated, but it meant we would have to make our way along a queue line of
perhaps one and a half hours. Yes I know we endured this or similar at the
Tower of London to see the Crown Jewels, but learning this was still open to the
public until 2018, we decided to abandon Plan A, and venture into the Museum to
explore “the rest” apart from the Art Galley section which we
have enjoyed in the past. “The rest” was dismissed by us many years ago, soon
after the opening of Te Papa; then we dismissed it as an interactive display
more suited to kindergarten children than discerning museum goers. It would
seem that the curators, who we understand to have changed in the intervening
years, have registered the error of
their ways, and today, that little we saw, pleased, educated, simulated, and
called for a return visit.
We caught the 3.16 pm train back to Mana, the weather having closed in
and promising the poorer weather forecasted for tomorrow, Chris hacked and
coughed his way back to our camp and for myself, I was glad to get out of the
cold wind. Back home I rang my father to check out their day and learned that
one of my nieces had secured her roots to her birthplace, purchasing a house
not too far from her grandparents and us, should we actually settled down again, and
that the piper scheduled to perform at my father’s funeral had inconveniently
got himself killed in a car accident, this latter proving that you cannot pre-plan
your funeral completely.
Tonight we shall watch the live service at Chunuck Bair in Turkey,
perhaps catching site of our son’s “mother-in-law, Lynne and my cousin, Wayne.
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