History becomes myth, myth becomes legend...
Identity is transformation… shedding the old for the new, like clothes that don’t fit us anymore so we discard them to cut our own cloth to fit our new selves…
So,
From New Zealand, son of a Dutch father (Tasman) and English mother (Cook), dutiful offshore farm that gave up its sons in exchange for an easy life trading off the sheep’s back with Britain.
To Aotearoa, Maori brother, Polynesian sister, Child of the Pacific. Cut from its mother’s aprons strings, it sets a new course with a tapestry of many colours.
For a young country like New Zealand, that has not yet evolved a fully developed identity, which is geographically challenged with one of its key cultural reference points 12,000 km away, still prone to suffer episodes of cultural cringe, symbolism is crucial. And one of the most important symbols in New Zealand's identity is the ANZAC soldiers that fought at Gallipoli in World War 1. Gallipoli is important because it is the reference point at which the "old New Zealand", British, imperial, settler, primarily monocultural, was exposed as a deeply inadequate ideal, and the "new New Zealand" began (which is still evolving but has as it traits a sense of being independent, Pacific and multi-cultural.) Gallipoli is a classic example of a history that became myth, that then became legend, and it is important that stories about it continue to be told and the truths that became legend are held up brightly, especially in the face of the lies that informed the myth that preceded it. On that note I have been developing a screenplay on Gallipoli for some period of time now, and to aid my research on the subject I recently went to Northern France to observe the WW1 battlefields that the survivors of Gallipoli fought and died on, after Gallipoli. Seeing the memorials and cemeteries up close reminded me of how badly served New Zealanders have been with our remembrances of such an important time in our history, both at home and abroad, and how urgently we need to address the situation so that our observance of their sacrifices and the nation building debt we owe them is more closely aligned to the importance that we attach to it.
For instance, the Somme memorial for the New Zealand soldiers situated close to Arras is a simple obelisk in a small oval enclosure in the middle of some fields. So typical of the era, it is a small, dour, unimaginative, insignificant testimony to the sacrifice and achievements of those soldiers, managing, in it’s overall effect, to be even less than the sum of its parts. A carbon copy of the similarly dreary, unloved monuments that blight many provincial New Zealand townships.
By contrast, the more modern New Zealand memorial at the nearby Caterpillar cemetery, is a much more appropriate monument to the testimony of these soldiers. An impressive tableau at the end of the cemetery names each of the 1205 kiwi soldiers (by regiment) lost at the Somme after returning mainly from the Otago, Auckland, Maori regiments. A nice touch is the register of the Kiwi dead in an alcove where I checked for family names such as Goldsmith, Tooley and Armon. Also included was a visitor guest book where movingly, a family from Auckland found a long lost relative, assumed killed at Gallipoli, but obviously survived that slaughter, only to catch it at the Somme. I wrote an off the cuff poem that was no great shakes, but was hopefully adequate:
A nation is born…
Mud on its face…
Blood in its shoes…
Guts hanging out…
A nation is born…
Paid for in bayonet, bullet and blood…
And a currency of young men…
In exchange for self-identity...
A nation is born…
Kia kaha…
The commonwealth cemeteries dotted around Northern France, and maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, are generally very impressive. It was genuinely moving to visit the Commonwealth cemetery outside Arras, and see the row upon row upon row of white marble gravestones amidst immaculately maintained lawn. It was a far more impressive, fitting monument to the Commonwealth soldiers that I had assumed would be the case, based on the examples of the ANZAC memorials I have seen in New Zealand and Australia. It reminded me, in visual presentation and layout, of Arlington, the American memorial to its war dead. Seeing the jumble of gravestones from every corner of the empire – Indian, next to Canadian, next to Australian, next to Scottish, next to South African… brought home how diverse, and how scattered, the loose conglomeration of nations that made up the empire in 1914. It was sobering (yet pleasing) thought to think how many of the nations returned from the slaughter with the seed of their own destiny and identity germinated in their hearts. Canada was born at Vimy Ridge, winning themselves a separate signature on the treaty of Versailles, Australia and New Zealand were born at Gallipoli and so on and so on. Some of the Commonwealth nations threw off the shackles of Empire quickly, while the anger and sorrow burned brightly, others, such as New Zealand, had their new found disillusionment buried by myth making abroad, and opportunism at home, until decades later, the truth was revealed, and deferred anger and grief was finally fully expressed. In Australia and New Zealand, ANZAC day has become an increasingly potent symbol of national identity. It is interesting for me at this point to note, that while war and battle and sacrifice are common metaphors for the creation of national identity, some countries choose to make their greatest victories the symbol of their identity, while others, their greatest losses. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that those nations that choose to remember their greatest victories do not choose to treat war and conflict with the same level of aversion and disquiet as those who remember their greatest losses. Generally speaking, (and it’s a broad extrapolation I know) the former have less patience for international diplomacy and exhausting all peaceful avenues first before engaging in war, than the latter.
So having seen all the different memorials in Northern France brings me back to the desperate state of what passes for the “celebration” of ANZAC day. It is a real shame that the shared, collective history and legacy of Gallipoli cannot be entrusted to the soldiers own Returned Services Associations. In the annual dawn parades, The RSA’s continue to peddle out the same combination of hoary platitudes of a glorious defeat, book ended by creaky Protestant war hymns and (insufferably) they continue to insist on playing the English national anthem alongside the New Zealand national anthem.
It is a shame that at a time when younger people turn out in ever-increasing numbers to observe the dawn parades on ANZAC day commemorating Gallipoli and other conflicts, that they, and the servicemen they stand next to, are let down by such uninspiring, and misleading fare. The only moving, meaningful part of the whole service are the playing of the Last Post and the sight of the ranked masses of families and young people that turn in increasing numbers to pay respect to the decreasing ranks of old soldiers. It is therefore an even greater disservice to all concerned when the reason why ANZAC day has witnessed such a revival is due to a greater awareness over the last twenty years, of the true story of Gallipoli. A set of truths that though unpalatable, have proven to be even more inspiring and poignant to New Zealanders than the comfortable myth before it. To have them turn up, bright and eager, and armed with the truth, to then have to listen to the myth, laced with all of its British imperialism and overtly religious platitudes, is a slap in the face. The worthies in charge of the RSA defend the ANZAC day programme with mutterances of “tradition” and providing “comfort to their members”. Something I am very sceptical about, especially now that the last soldier in any way associated with Gallipoli has passed away, with the oldest surviving soldiers now associated with WW2. It would certainly be a very controversial move in New Zealand, but I think it is time that the responsibility for ANZAC be wrested away from the RSA, and given back to the communities as a whole, because ANZAC is too important a symbol for this nation, and the sacrifices made too high, to allow the Legend of Gallipoli to continue to be treated this way.
As an example of how WW1 should be remembered, look no further than the Canadian memorial at Vimy Ridge.
Vimy Ridge was easily the most impressive WW1 I have ever been too (though I have not yet been to either Gallipoli or the Menin Gate), and to my mind it serves as the template for how WW1 memorials should be constructed. Acres of now wooded battlefield have been preserved by Canadian, British and French Associations. Run by the Canadians, it offers an extraordinary testimony to the loss of thousands of Canadian lives in just one three day offensive, successful as that offensive was (There were 3,598 dead out of 10,602 Canadian casualties.) Vimy Ridge was the first time that the four Canadian divisions fought together as one singular entity, and Canadians consider it a seminal moment in their nation-making history. What makes Vimy ridge stand out amongst the rest of the WW1 monuments is a collection of impressions that together provide an overwhelming whole. Firstly there is the beautiful 30ft monument overlooking Hill 145, the highest point of the ridge, and the area that witnessed the fiercest fighting of the three-day conflict. Then there is the fenced off “no mans land” preserved from the original offensives, where the earth remains a crazy jigsaw of upturned mounds and valleys, now grown over, of two years of artillery shelling. Signs warn against entering these areas as a high number of unexploded shells are still buried amongst the fenced off land. Surrounding no mans land is a series of recreated trenches that you are free to crawl around and haul yourself up to peer through the barbed wire at the top, giving an excellent idea of what the soldiers might have been facing when peering on from the front. However, the best part of the whole experience was the forty-five minute tour of the underground tunnels and supply passages burrowed 14km long underneath the Allied side of the front. The tour is led by a young Canadian guide who gave us the opportunity to go underground through the tunnels and supply passages that the British miners built when they relieved the French troops who first engaged the Germans along Vimy Ridge, before they in turn were relieved by the Canadian troops for the rest of the war. It’s amazing to think that the British sappers dug the entire 14km network by hand in only three months. Most of the site is still maintained in original condition including the cots the runners and officers used, and remains of rifles, shovels, picks and other assorted equipment lying about the place. In one passage there is still an unexploded German shell sticking it’s stub nose through the roof of the tunnel, where that tunnel passed under no mans land, a vivid illustration of the sheer rain of metal that fell from the sky through the 1916 offensives. Most troops and runners stayed underground for no longer than 5-6 days at most, though officers could and did stay longer with permanent cots and mess rooms made up. I discussed the Kiwi’s with the guide at one pause in the tour, who told me about the Kiwi sappers who earned a reputation for proficiency for their underground tunnels they built around Arras which were so sound, that they eventually housed whole communities for months underground, including underground hospitals, chapels, bunk rooms etc. They were so proficient that they successfully managed to dig their way behind German lines and cut off their supply lines by placing mines down their tunnels. What the guide didn’t know was that the reason why the Kiwi sappers got so good was through sheer necessity at Gallipoli where they had to dig for their lives in order just to survive after being landed on the wrong beach by the British navy. The Kiwi’s had to build and maintain “Malone’s corner” for most of the conflict, which considering it was placed at the narrowest point between the opposing armies in the entire conflict, a matter of few yards, meant that developing exceptional skill with a spade was paramount and served the survivors well for the rest of WW1.
My lasting impression of the whole tour, and complex, was imagining what it must have been like for those young Canadians. Months and months of mind-numbing boredom being shipped, in, around, and through the tunnels, the boredom finally punctured by sheer terror on the morning of the August 9th offensive, as they rose through the tunnels, out over the trenches, and over the top into the maelstrom. A vast number of those soldiers not returning to fight another day. And this surely is what a good, suitable memorial does, it can inspire awe, or move you with it’s beauty, it can allow you to get a handle on the enormity of the casualties - as the sheer number of dead can be desensitising, it can give you an insight into the character and background of these casualties, or, in the case of Vimy Ridge, it can give you an insight into what it would have been like to have been there, which is a particularly valuable and impressive feat.
So, inspired by Vimy Ridge, I would like to see New Zealand create a national memorium, preferably in the capital of Wellington, especially since Auckland already has the excellent Auckland war museum. I think the design of the memorial should be contemporary but include elements evocative of the period. The design would preferably be publicly tendered with public feedback on the competition included in the selection process, so that there is a sense of immediate public ownership over the winning design. It should be a place that tells the Gallipoli story as part of the New Zealand story so that it serves both as fitting memorial to the fallen, and as a wider symbol of a catalyst of a transformation in identity. The ANZAC day ceremonies should also be revamped to also reflect both these elements as well, and would do well to take Australia as an example, where they have already successfully evolved their celebrations to reflect both these elements, as befitting a young country moving away from it’s colonial, settler roots.
So,
From New Zealand, son of a Dutch father (Tasman) and English mother (Cook), dutiful offshore farm that gave up its sons in exchange for an easy life trading off the sheep’s back with Britain.
To Aotearoa, Maori brother, Polynesian sister, Child of the Pacific. Cut from its mother’s aprons strings, it sets a new course with a tapestry of many colours.
For a young country like New Zealand, that has not yet evolved a fully developed identity, which is geographically challenged with one of its key cultural reference points 12,000 km away, still prone to suffer episodes of cultural cringe, symbolism is crucial. And one of the most important symbols in New Zealand's identity is the ANZAC soldiers that fought at Gallipoli in World War 1. Gallipoli is important because it is the reference point at which the "old New Zealand", British, imperial, settler, primarily monocultural, was exposed as a deeply inadequate ideal, and the "new New Zealand" began (which is still evolving but has as it traits a sense of being independent, Pacific and multi-cultural.) Gallipoli is a classic example of a history that became myth, that then became legend, and it is important that stories about it continue to be told and the truths that became legend are held up brightly, especially in the face of the lies that informed the myth that preceded it. On that note I have been developing a screenplay on Gallipoli for some period of time now, and to aid my research on the subject I recently went to Northern France to observe the WW1 battlefields that the survivors of Gallipoli fought and died on, after Gallipoli. Seeing the memorials and cemeteries up close reminded me of how badly served New Zealanders have been with our remembrances of such an important time in our history, both at home and abroad, and how urgently we need to address the situation so that our observance of their sacrifices and the nation building debt we owe them is more closely aligned to the importance that we attach to it.
For instance, the Somme memorial for the New Zealand soldiers situated close to Arras is a simple obelisk in a small oval enclosure in the middle of some fields. So typical of the era, it is a small, dour, unimaginative, insignificant testimony to the sacrifice and achievements of those soldiers, managing, in it’s overall effect, to be even less than the sum of its parts. A carbon copy of the similarly dreary, unloved monuments that blight many provincial New Zealand townships.
By contrast, the more modern New Zealand memorial at the nearby Caterpillar cemetery, is a much more appropriate monument to the testimony of these soldiers. An impressive tableau at the end of the cemetery names each of the 1205 kiwi soldiers (by regiment) lost at the Somme after returning mainly from the Otago, Auckland, Maori regiments. A nice touch is the register of the Kiwi dead in an alcove where I checked for family names such as Goldsmith, Tooley and Armon. Also included was a visitor guest book where movingly, a family from Auckland found a long lost relative, assumed killed at Gallipoli, but obviously survived that slaughter, only to catch it at the Somme. I wrote an off the cuff poem that was no great shakes, but was hopefully adequate:
A nation is born…
Mud on its face…
Blood in its shoes…
Guts hanging out…
A nation is born…
Paid for in bayonet, bullet and blood…
And a currency of young men…
In exchange for self-identity...
A nation is born…
Kia kaha…
The commonwealth cemeteries dotted around Northern France, and maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, are generally very impressive. It was genuinely moving to visit the Commonwealth cemetery outside Arras, and see the row upon row upon row of white marble gravestones amidst immaculately maintained lawn. It was a far more impressive, fitting monument to the Commonwealth soldiers that I had assumed would be the case, based on the examples of the ANZAC memorials I have seen in New Zealand and Australia. It reminded me, in visual presentation and layout, of Arlington, the American memorial to its war dead. Seeing the jumble of gravestones from every corner of the empire – Indian, next to Canadian, next to Australian, next to Scottish, next to South African… brought home how diverse, and how scattered, the loose conglomeration of nations that made up the empire in 1914. It was sobering (yet pleasing) thought to think how many of the nations returned from the slaughter with the seed of their own destiny and identity germinated in their hearts. Canada was born at Vimy Ridge, winning themselves a separate signature on the treaty of Versailles, Australia and New Zealand were born at Gallipoli and so on and so on. Some of the Commonwealth nations threw off the shackles of Empire quickly, while the anger and sorrow burned brightly, others, such as New Zealand, had their new found disillusionment buried by myth making abroad, and opportunism at home, until decades later, the truth was revealed, and deferred anger and grief was finally fully expressed. In Australia and New Zealand, ANZAC day has become an increasingly potent symbol of national identity. It is interesting for me at this point to note, that while war and battle and sacrifice are common metaphors for the creation of national identity, some countries choose to make their greatest victories the symbol of their identity, while others, their greatest losses. Perhaps it is not a coincidence that those nations that choose to remember their greatest victories do not choose to treat war and conflict with the same level of aversion and disquiet as those who remember their greatest losses. Generally speaking, (and it’s a broad extrapolation I know) the former have less patience for international diplomacy and exhausting all peaceful avenues first before engaging in war, than the latter.
So having seen all the different memorials in Northern France brings me back to the desperate state of what passes for the “celebration” of ANZAC day. It is a real shame that the shared, collective history and legacy of Gallipoli cannot be entrusted to the soldiers own Returned Services Associations. In the annual dawn parades, The RSA’s continue to peddle out the same combination of hoary platitudes of a glorious defeat, book ended by creaky Protestant war hymns and (insufferably) they continue to insist on playing the English national anthem alongside the New Zealand national anthem.
It is a shame that at a time when younger people turn out in ever-increasing numbers to observe the dawn parades on ANZAC day commemorating Gallipoli and other conflicts, that they, and the servicemen they stand next to, are let down by such uninspiring, and misleading fare. The only moving, meaningful part of the whole service are the playing of the Last Post and the sight of the ranked masses of families and young people that turn in increasing numbers to pay respect to the decreasing ranks of old soldiers. It is therefore an even greater disservice to all concerned when the reason why ANZAC day has witnessed such a revival is due to a greater awareness over the last twenty years, of the true story of Gallipoli. A set of truths that though unpalatable, have proven to be even more inspiring and poignant to New Zealanders than the comfortable myth before it. To have them turn up, bright and eager, and armed with the truth, to then have to listen to the myth, laced with all of its British imperialism and overtly religious platitudes, is a slap in the face. The worthies in charge of the RSA defend the ANZAC day programme with mutterances of “tradition” and providing “comfort to their members”. Something I am very sceptical about, especially now that the last soldier in any way associated with Gallipoli has passed away, with the oldest surviving soldiers now associated with WW2. It would certainly be a very controversial move in New Zealand, but I think it is time that the responsibility for ANZAC be wrested away from the RSA, and given back to the communities as a whole, because ANZAC is too important a symbol for this nation, and the sacrifices made too high, to allow the Legend of Gallipoli to continue to be treated this way.
As an example of how WW1 should be remembered, look no further than the Canadian memorial at Vimy Ridge.
Vimy Ridge was easily the most impressive WW1 I have ever been too (though I have not yet been to either Gallipoli or the Menin Gate), and to my mind it serves as the template for how WW1 memorials should be constructed. Acres of now wooded battlefield have been preserved by Canadian, British and French Associations. Run by the Canadians, it offers an extraordinary testimony to the loss of thousands of Canadian lives in just one three day offensive, successful as that offensive was (There were 3,598 dead out of 10,602 Canadian casualties.) Vimy Ridge was the first time that the four Canadian divisions fought together as one singular entity, and Canadians consider it a seminal moment in their nation-making history. What makes Vimy ridge stand out amongst the rest of the WW1 monuments is a collection of impressions that together provide an overwhelming whole. Firstly there is the beautiful 30ft monument overlooking Hill 145, the highest point of the ridge, and the area that witnessed the fiercest fighting of the three-day conflict. Then there is the fenced off “no mans land” preserved from the original offensives, where the earth remains a crazy jigsaw of upturned mounds and valleys, now grown over, of two years of artillery shelling. Signs warn against entering these areas as a high number of unexploded shells are still buried amongst the fenced off land. Surrounding no mans land is a series of recreated trenches that you are free to crawl around and haul yourself up to peer through the barbed wire at the top, giving an excellent idea of what the soldiers might have been facing when peering on from the front. However, the best part of the whole experience was the forty-five minute tour of the underground tunnels and supply passages burrowed 14km long underneath the Allied side of the front. The tour is led by a young Canadian guide who gave us the opportunity to go underground through the tunnels and supply passages that the British miners built when they relieved the French troops who first engaged the Germans along Vimy Ridge, before they in turn were relieved by the Canadian troops for the rest of the war. It’s amazing to think that the British sappers dug the entire 14km network by hand in only three months. Most of the site is still maintained in original condition including the cots the runners and officers used, and remains of rifles, shovels, picks and other assorted equipment lying about the place. In one passage there is still an unexploded German shell sticking it’s stub nose through the roof of the tunnel, where that tunnel passed under no mans land, a vivid illustration of the sheer rain of metal that fell from the sky through the 1916 offensives. Most troops and runners stayed underground for no longer than 5-6 days at most, though officers could and did stay longer with permanent cots and mess rooms made up. I discussed the Kiwi’s with the guide at one pause in the tour, who told me about the Kiwi sappers who earned a reputation for proficiency for their underground tunnels they built around Arras which were so sound, that they eventually housed whole communities for months underground, including underground hospitals, chapels, bunk rooms etc. They were so proficient that they successfully managed to dig their way behind German lines and cut off their supply lines by placing mines down their tunnels. What the guide didn’t know was that the reason why the Kiwi sappers got so good was through sheer necessity at Gallipoli where they had to dig for their lives in order just to survive after being landed on the wrong beach by the British navy. The Kiwi’s had to build and maintain “Malone’s corner” for most of the conflict, which considering it was placed at the narrowest point between the opposing armies in the entire conflict, a matter of few yards, meant that developing exceptional skill with a spade was paramount and served the survivors well for the rest of WW1.
My lasting impression of the whole tour, and complex, was imagining what it must have been like for those young Canadians. Months and months of mind-numbing boredom being shipped, in, around, and through the tunnels, the boredom finally punctured by sheer terror on the morning of the August 9th offensive, as they rose through the tunnels, out over the trenches, and over the top into the maelstrom. A vast number of those soldiers not returning to fight another day. And this surely is what a good, suitable memorial does, it can inspire awe, or move you with it’s beauty, it can allow you to get a handle on the enormity of the casualties - as the sheer number of dead can be desensitising, it can give you an insight into the character and background of these casualties, or, in the case of Vimy Ridge, it can give you an insight into what it would have been like to have been there, which is a particularly valuable and impressive feat.
So, inspired by Vimy Ridge, I would like to see New Zealand create a national memorium, preferably in the capital of Wellington, especially since Auckland already has the excellent Auckland war museum. I think the design of the memorial should be contemporary but include elements evocative of the period. The design would preferably be publicly tendered with public feedback on the competition included in the selection process, so that there is a sense of immediate public ownership over the winning design. It should be a place that tells the Gallipoli story as part of the New Zealand story so that it serves both as fitting memorial to the fallen, and as a wider symbol of a catalyst of a transformation in identity. The ANZAC day ceremonies should also be revamped to also reflect both these elements as well, and would do well to take Australia as an example, where they have already successfully evolved their celebrations to reflect both these elements, as befitting a young country moving away from it’s colonial, settler roots.
posted by Anthony Burn at 1:31 pm
