There are a lot
of wars going on around the world at the moment and there seems to be a great
deal of political unrest as well. I am almost afraid sometimes to turn the news
on because of the violence and scenes of devastation and destruction. It seems
that blowing up things and shooting people is so common place that we take it all for
granted.
It is a dangerous
world that we live in.
These are
precarious and portentous times and it is scary.
I have many
Ukrainian friends here in Singapore and I am good friends too with some
Israeli, Palestinian and Lebanese people. I have met some Syrians and Iraqis as
well recently in my travels and I work closely with many Indian and Pakistan
colleagues. All of these people have in some way been touched by conflict in
their countries and they have stories to tell about how violence and wars have
impacted them directly. It is terribly sad and I have seen much despair and
dismay and fear in their eyes when I have asked them questions. I can't seem to stop asking questions.
Uncertainty and
combat are terrible things.
Conflict and
violence of any kind is horrendous. My Dad was a career soldier in the
Australian army for all of my childhood. He was an officer. We moved around a
lot when I was little – always to army bases where my Dad was in charge of
moving supplies and teaching other soldiers stuff. Army stuff.
Dad was a natural
teacher who loved history and he related to people very well. He still does. He
was sent to different countries all around the world to learn and teach military
matters for the army and we of course moved with him.
It was mostly fun
for we kids but it got a bit tougher as we got older. We never stayed anywhere
for very long and we had to change schools all of the time. We made a lot of
friends but we knew never to get too close because we would likely pack up and
move on with a moments notice.
My big sister
Jane and I would always be sent to our new schools with a big block of Cadbury
chocolate each and were told to share it with our new class mates. It was a
sound social tactic that worked well. As a new boy though I was often the
target of the class bully so I had to learn quickly how to talk fast and how to
fight.
I became pretty used
to being the centre of attention and fast-talking but I have never been much of
a fighter.
I had a lot of
black eyes growing up.
When I was about
eight or nine we moved back to Australia after a stint in the UK. Dad was first
was a student and then he began teaching in an army staff college. We had
caught a ship to London and then caught one back to Australia and I remember
well the fun months on board. We stopped in exotic places like Italy and
Gibraltar and Durban in Africa on the way - and as a family we explored a lot
of exciting places.
I remember
sailing back into Sydney harbour and standing up the front of the ship as the
sun came up. Mum and Jane were still asleep and this was a father and son
moment. Coming home was very heart stirring and dawn breaking over Sydney
harbour simply took my breath away. That memory is forever etched. I recollect
very clearly holding my Dad’s hand as we gazed at home and Dad telling me that
he was going to be going away on his own for awhile.
We had always travelled
before as a family so I remember asking Dad why we couldn’t come with him and
he told me that there was a war going on and it wasn’t safe to take us this
time. He then told me all about a place called Vietnam and how the country had
been split in half and people were fighting and dying. Not just soldiers but
women and children. He explained that the Australian Government had decided to
send their army to try and help out. Dad told me it was his duty to go and
protect the people whose land was being invaded.
I knew all about
duty. Dad taught we kids very early about responsibility and duty and how we
all had an obligation to help people less fortunate than ourselves. As a family
we did this all the time.
I remember asking
Dad if maybe just I could come with him to that place called Vietnam and him
telling me that I couldn’t. He told me that my Nanna and Grandpa were going to
be staying with us in an army house and he wanted me to make sure that I looked
after my Mum and my sister and my little baby brother who had just been born.
So I promised him
that I would.
It was a dizzy
times those few years and it was difficult and sad not having Dad around. After
a year or so we moved to an army house in Melbourne. When I went to my new
school with my block of chocolate and kids found out that my Dad was a soldier
in a city that used to be named Saigon a bully kid told me that he was going to get shot and
die. It terrified me as much as it infuriated me - and this time I think I gave
a black eye as well as receiving one.
I used to get very scared
watching the news on TV and seeing planes bomb and burn villages in faraway
lands where my Dad was. My Mum didn’t even like to say the word Vietnam. She
used tell people that Dad was ‘over there’. The US army incinerated whole
villages in Vietnam with a horror weapon that was called Napalm. It was a
weapon of mass destruction that set the air on fire and burnt everything.
When I was much littler and
before Dad went over there I used to like playing soldiers – like most little
boys – but I didn’t like it any more. I hated it in fact and when Dad was over
there I threw all my toy soldiers and guns away.
I recall with absolute
clarity a moment after school watching the news with my Mum and seeing film
footage of the napalming in Vietnam and the bombing that had started in countries called Cambodia and Laos. I remember asking my Mum in a shaky voice if my Dad
was going to be OK.
I remember this like
yesterday.
The memory of my Mum's
hesitation at answering my question is indelible and even now – so many years
later – I recall how it felt like my heart had stopped and it had somehow pushed
it’s way up into my mouth. I had never before seen my Mum so uncertain or
frightened. I remember that she seemed terrified by the question.
I recall feeling really petrified
at that moment and running into my bedroom and laying under the bed. It was the
first time in my young life that I actually tasted fear and terror. It was piquant in my mouth and my stomach.
It was like animus and bile
and rancor.
The acidity of it burned and it choked me.
It was a tough time then when
my Dad was away at war.
When he was over there.
We were full of fear a lot of
the time.
Dad came home from Vietnam
twice and I recall him staying only for a week or two. He wouldn’t really talk
much about what he did. Then he went back again and the dread started all over again.
He came home a third time and this time he stayed. Then the war ended and I
finally felt safe again.
Years later I tried to talk
to Dad about what he had seen over there. I wanted to know where he had been
and what he had done. He always just told me that wars are bad things and that conflict and death should not be talked about and should be avoided.
Movies came out about the Vietnam
War – films like Platoon and Apocalypse Now and the Deer Hunter - and there
were many others. I watched them all - but Dad didn’t.
He said he that he wouldn't and he couldn’t.
So I think now about places
like Syria and the Ukraine and Iraq and Afghanistan and I worry and wonder
about the little kids who were like me. Kids and mums whose Dads are over
there.
It is a terrible and
harrowing thing.
It really is.
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