Once a year, on Anzac Day, April 25, hundreds of thousands of dedicated, patriotic Australians gather at solemn places of remembrance. Silence is observed, private thoughts are conducted, and The Last Post is played, eerily, by a lone bugler into the crisp morning air as the sun rises over what would otherwise be an innocuous Australian morning. Many of these noble souls are there to recognize the sacrifices of Australian service men and women over the years. Others are there to recognize the day we handed it to the Turks.
The battle of Gallipoli is celebrated by bogans across the land as one of, if not THE greatest military victory in our nation’s history. In one day – April 25 – Australian soldiers stormed the beaches at a heretofore little-known Turkish peninsula, and, without the assistance of any other soldiers from any other countries, proceeded to take significant chunks of enemy-held territory. Yes, there were significant casualties, but this merely enhances the ANZAC legend. Australians, and possibly some New Zealanders, fought hard, and proved to the rest of our WWII allies just how incredibly awesome we are at the business of making war.
However, these observances that take place on Anzac Day, recognizing such a stunning military victory, have bred an even greater act of memorialization. Today, bogans consider it something of a pilgrimage, a Hajj, if you will, to venture across the seas to these foreign shores, and to stand on the soil that their brethren fought, died, and kicked arse on. They awake, early on a Turkish spring morning, stand in silent recognition, as the Turks cede their own sacred land to the bogans’ desire for national pride, and listen to the Last Post. They then eat lunch, sink some piss, leave the rubbish, and go looking for some local tail. In pursuit of the new, 21st century, Australian military victory.