On at least two mornings of the week, I drag myself out of bed at sunrise and spend the next fifteen minutes running as fast as my legs will carry me for a lap of ANZAC Parade. Each morning, there’s an old timer there, pushing his walking frame out in front of him. I suspect he’s probably well into his eighties, and although his body has obviously begun to fail him to some degree, his mind is sharp and he greets me each day when I shoot past him.okay, wheeze past him. One day, I intend to stop and talk to him, and find out whether or not he’s actually a veteran from the Second World War.
Perhaps it’s part of the lead up to ANZAC Day, as since my arrival I’ve not heard it before, but this morning whilst on my run, I watched as the sun coloured the dawn sky, and the sound of a lone bugle belting out “Revelie” floated across the hills from RMC Duntroon. It was an odd tune to be hearing, as the “Last Post” is usually the bugle tune of reverence at this time of year.