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This emotional event provides an opportunity for members of the community to come together to reflect on and remember all those who have passed away from HIV/AIDS.
It was a moving experience to be a part of this solemn moment where people together remember and mark the passing of friends, partners, family and colleagues, often from the ravages of the early years of the AIDS epidemic. It reminded me about the importance of such rituals in our fast-paced society, where we take a moment out of our busy lives to reflect on such matters
After people arrived at the Eternity Playhouse in Darlinghurst, everyone gathered in the main auditorium to hear speakers including Yvonne Weldon, Stephen Lunny and Lyle Chan. Community members read the names of people who had passed, from a long, sad list. The proceedings finished with a rousing song performed by Mary Kiani, before attendees reminisced with each other over refreshments at the front-of-house.
Over the next few blog entries I will post various segments from my recent overseas trip to Europe. Yes, I recently spent 3 wonderful weeks in sunny France and Italy. Now that I am back in the icy cold (I’m exaggerating), I’m lamenting the fact that it’s winter in Sydney, and why didn’t I stay away longer.
With this entry I am going to share the experience of traveling to the north of France to a place called Armentières.
View of the train station at Armentieres
The above image is the train station at Armentières. Some things in France are all shiny and new … this train station is not one of them. When I got off the train I was desperate to go to the toilet … no, this was a train station without a public toilet and so the attendant suggested I find one in a cafe in the centre of town. I laughed.
The purpose of this trip was to locate my great-uncle’s grave. The name of the war cemetery is “Cite Bonjean”. I had no idea where to go once I exited the train, so I headed to the nearest cafe. I found a coffee shop not too far away and as I was finishing, I noticed a conveniently located florist right next door. I had intended to buy some flowers to bring with me, so this was fortuitous
The story became magical once I entered the florist. A lovely man greeted me and helped me choose a floral tribute for my great-uncle’s grave. As we spoke I asked him if he could possibly give me directions to get to the cemetery, to which he replied, “No, hop in my car outside and I will drive you myself”. He called his wife to mind the shop and he took me to his florist van. I offered to pay extra for the service but he refused, saying if it hadn’t been for men like my great-uncle, they would all be speaking German today.
The florist next to the cafe, where I bought my flowers
Row after row of graves are laid out with 2 head stones backing each other and facing out.
He kindly dropped me at a small gate to the side of the cemetery and then departed. In this one section there were more than 1,500 grave sites. Each fallen soldier had a headstone and these were arranged in long rows of two headstones, backing each other and facing out. The cemetery is huge. I was alone in this memorial cemetery and had no idea of where I might find my great-uncle. So I just started to walk towards the centre. I thought I would look around before working out a strategy to locate the grave site. Less than minute had passed when I looked to my left and there I found the tombstone of Pvt Murdoch McRae. How wonderful was that! It was a moving moment.
My great uncle Murdoch’s grave in Cite Bonjean cemetery
I spent time reflecting on the sacrifice of not only my great-uncle but also all the other men (and women) who had died during the Great War. As I walked through the rows of well-tended graves and read the epitaphs, I was reminded of just how young these boys were at the time … 21, 23, 26, 24, 28, and on and on.
I spent a couple of hours at the cemetery. It was solemn and peaceful. There was absolutely no-one else around, so I could lay on the grass, still and meditative. I left the bunch of flowers by the headstone, and a print of an old portrait photograph of Private Murdoch McRae, who died on January 16, 1917, and whose christian name is my middle name.
Murdoch McRae, taken just before leaving for the war, 1916
