By Tim Barlass
Sunshine, marching bands, flags to wave, a military flypast and a good dose of patriotism. What’s not to like?
After the atrocities of Bondi and Wakeley, it seems Anzac Day was just the therapy that Sydney needed.
On a mild April morning, Martin Place was full by 4am for the start of the dawn service.
The 520 seats at the George Street approach were quietly taken, 8380 attendees making the crowd one of the largest in recent years.
All lights were turned off and the two bronze statues of a soldier and sailor on the cenotaph were floodlit. New RSL NSW president Mick Bainbridge, the youngest veteran to hold that position, is a former special forces commando.
“It’s a great turnout. Sydney has had a broken heart for a few weeks. It is really good to see the community come together for Anzac Day,” he said after the service.
Among those attending included NSW Governor Margaret Beazley, NSW Premier Chris Minns and NSW Police Commissioner Karen Webb.
ANZAC day dawn service in Martin Place, Sydney. NSW. April 25, 2024. Photo: Credit: Kate Geraghty
It is not unusual at the dawn service to see a veteran wearing a couple of medals on their right breast opposite their own on the left. The right side is reserved for those of a relative.
Bob Dean, 77, from the Gold Coast takes it to another level. The decorations he was wearing goes back to the Boer War.
He is wearing three generations of medals. On his left, he wears his own four medals for Vietnam. On his right are six for his dad and above them are 10 for his grandfather.
Vietnam veteran Bob Dean, wearing his service medals and his father and grandfather’s medals, at the Anzac Day dawn service in Martin Place.Credit: Kate Geraghty
His grandfather was George Robert Dobson, who served in Sudan in 1896, the Boer War and World War I, and was mentioned in dispatches signed by Winston Churchill. He was heavily decorated but exactly for what remains unclear.
“I’m not 100 per cent sure [exactly what he did] because during the Second World War Kew [the public records office in west London] was bombed and a lot of records were lost. You get bits and pieces but we think he won the Distinguished Conduct Medal in the Boer War. We think he may have swum across – under fire – a river to deliver a message. He won the Military Cross as a warrant officer first class, which was unusual, [as] they are usually only for officers.
“He was badly gassed during World War I and I can still to this day hear him coughing his heart out in the laundry as his lungs really were pretty bad.”
His father was Roly Dean, who served in World War II and was taken as a prisoner of war after being captured in Singapore. He was operated on by a Japanese doctor, one of seven men to be operated on that particular day. Only two survived.
“He walked into the theatre naked. There was blood all over the operating table. The doctor was in a blood-covered apron. He was supposed to have what they these days call an epidural, but they just stuffed a big piece of cloth in his mouth, then operated on him. Out of those seven, there were only two survivors. He suffered when he came back too.”
Dean said: “I was in Vietnam at the age of 19 in the Sixth Batallion Royal Australian Regiment. I was a mortar man – putting mortars in tubes. I was there the morning after [The Battle of] Long Tan, which was not nice.
“ I got accidently wounded. I had a round come out of a tube and blow up about a foot out of the tube. I used to be a good-looking bloke.”
Did he walk away with physical and mental scars? “Yes. A bit of both. You can’t help that. You never know that you have got it until much later sometimes,” said Dean.
And how does he feel standing with all the family medals? “That’s a hard one really. You are marching for them. You are marching for yourself.”
Wreaths lay at the cenotaph in Martin Place on Anzac Day.Credit: Kate Geraghty
There’s a pause in the dawn service. We can hear the bagpipes playing in the distance. Bob is overtaken by emotion. “Sorry,” he says.
Says RSL NSW president Bainbridge: “Families are immensely impacted by their loved one’s service and haven’t always been given the help they need.”
Dean and his still raw emotion is a testament to just that, and the impact felt by many others.
The sun tries to penetrate around the towers of the CBD to warm us up. Police commissioner Karen Webb inspects the immaculate mounted police and the bands warm up.
Ninety-nine-year-old Valerie Blackett Ireland, who uses a wheelchair, is ready. “I was a gunner in the anti-aircraft based in Newcastle,” she said. She’s been on 25 marches before. Did she think about giving it a miss this year? “No. I’m here for my mates. I’m the only one left,” she says without hesitation.
Some bands you can hear from more than a block away - the Scots College pipe and drums band is one of them. Everyone recognises Waltzing Matilda. But they are drowned out by an F-35 fighter jet roaring overhead at 9.30 on the dot. At the same time the clock on the old post office at 1 Martin Place chimed the half hour. Punctual again.
There are stories of heroism and stories of loss. Next to the cenotaph are seven photos in pictures frames placed under the Australian flag at half-mast. Julie-Ann Finney has travelled from Adelaide to place them. They have one thing in common. All seven, including her son David, took their own lives. She is trying to raise awareness about the treatment of service men and women and mental health.
At midday the marching continues. Helen Milne is watching the bands near St James Park. She’s from Adelaide. “I’m actually here to see Alice Cooper and Blondie out at the Olympic today,” she admits. “But it’s fantastic. I lived here for eight years and used to come. My dad was in the navy, and my brother.”
Is this good for Sydney? “Oh definitely. You betcha. For any city, but especially Sydney after what you’ve just been through. It’s a real boost for everyone. It’s cheered everyone up. It’s good to celebrate something. We are all in it together.”