This is the State War Memorial in Kings Park, overlooking the city of Perth and the Swan River. It really has a beautiful outlook over the city. This is where they hold the Perth Dawn Service on Anzac Day - the sun comes up behind the memorial. I took this photo when we were there last Sunday. You can walk under the memorial, where are the names of Western Australian's who lost their lives in war. My Great-Uncle who died at Gallipoli has his name on this wall.
In the front of this image you can see the eternal flame.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.
I read the poem below in a poetry book "A Show of Colours - Poems of the Yilgarn" by Glen Phillips (CREATEC, Edith Cowan University, Mount Lawley, WA)
I thought it fitted the theme for today and recalls the time when young men full of adventure left their families behind..............
Station 6 - Perth by Glen Phillips
Troop trains drew out of arched precincts
where the mightly clock ruled over parallel
platforms, where men with lamps and whilstles
waved flags and kept everything on time.
Mother shepherded our little flock
fortified with penny ice-creams
as bands played stirring wartime tunes,
while girl friends and younger brothers
enviously ran beside moving compartments
where khaki-clad soldier boys whistled and grinned
and stowed their kit bags and rifles clumsily
as their last train drew slowly out.
With surprise we saw real tears run
down our mum's face into her ice-cream cone.
Outside the station, horse-drawn wagons waited
and the street photographer in thin and shabby suit
flashed and handed us his ticket. Later
when we viewed the family snap it was sad
the only one missing the action was our dad.
I read the poem below in a poetry book "A Show of Colours - Poems of the Yilgarn" by Glen Phillips (CREATEC, Edith Cowan University, Mount Lawley, WA)
I thought it fitted the theme for today and recalls the time when young men full of adventure left their families behind..............
Station 6 - Perth by Glen Phillips
Troop trains drew out of arched precincts
where the mightly clock ruled over parallel
platforms, where men with lamps and whilstles
waved flags and kept everything on time.
Mother shepherded our little flock
fortified with penny ice-creams
as bands played stirring wartime tunes,
while girl friends and younger brothers
enviously ran beside moving compartments
where khaki-clad soldier boys whistled and grinned
and stowed their kit bags and rifles clumsily
as their last train drew slowly out.
With surprise we saw real tears run
down our mum's face into her ice-cream cone.
Outside the station, horse-drawn wagons waited
and the street photographer in thin and shabby suit
flashed and handed us his ticket. Later
when we viewed the family snap it was sad
the only one missing the action was our dad.
