Another chapter of the ‘Reciprocity of the father’. This is rougher than a transvestites chin at 4 in the morning.
As always, click the picture for tunes and clip, if reading is too hard for a Monday. A tale they won’t believe – Weddings, Parties, Anything.
The entire pub was packed to the rafters. Ex-serviceman doing the filling due it being that day of days, the 25th of April, ANZAC Day. It was a day that serving and ex-serving members marched where possible. Afterward, to then get together and remember those that allowed Australia to be the country it is today. Plus, it is a good chance to catch up with mates and let nostalgia take the floor.
A small party of Vietnam veterans where gathered at a table close to the bar, with easy access to the toilets. Beer glasses covered the table, and the last wife had finally got the hint and was heading home, doing her best to suppress a smile as she did.
Each man at the table had served in Vietnam. Two of the chap’s had been 7RAR, one 6RAR, and three SASR. Some had l been National Servicemen, conscripted to become infantrymen with the task of serving abroad; others had been regular soldiers.
All, in their own way, changed men on their return and eventual discharge.
All had been exposed to a multitude of chemicals, including the defoliant Agent Orange.
All had come under, and traded fire. One had been a machine gunner, another an antitank gunner, the other’s holding equally important positions utilised as they stalked the jungle in that foreign land.
They were all Western Australian’s; they had all retired, and all now lived in Perth. All had the obligatory children and grandchildren, and all had survived life from the hell’s of the Viet jungle to now. Outside of ANZAC Day, they had absolutely nothing to do with each other.
All of them had at least one daughter.
Conversation went around in circles from laughter to seriousness. The seriousness being those chaps not with them today, both either through loss of life in Vietnam, or at home. They talked of men they knew and served with that had taken their own lives, or those with “Jack the dancer”, meaning cancer, or other mystery illnesses that all point to a place they had all been to 40 odd years before. They didn’t talk of the nightmares and the sweats. No one talked about the silent hatred of helicopters and palm trees. Some things just weren’t spoken of.
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