Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

As a young boy visiting my great-grandparents — yes, you read that right, I was lucky enough to have my great-grandparents for as long as I did — I would often sit with Papa Paynting while he told me stories about his time in the army. I always felt like I was intruding, like he didn’t really want to share, but he did, because he loved me.

As I got older, the stories changed with my age. When I was young, they were about how Papa was recruited into the army, right through to the last story he ever shared with me when I was a teenager. I asked him, “Papa, why don’t you march on ANZAC Day?”

Papa looked at me, and something changed in his eyes.
“Because,” he said, “that day isn’t about me — I got to come home.”
He smiled his soft smile and then added, “I did enough bloody marching in the army.” He was always a joker.

That moment still resonates with me today, as a 35-year-old.

My Papa came home. He got married, had children, and lived to the ripe old age of 96, surrounded by the love of his children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even a few great-great-grandchildren. To him, the heroes were his mates — fellow Australians who answered the call in our darkest hours, who went and never got to come home. They were the ones he remembered.

While I know you never really wore your medals, I am so bloody proud to don them on the right side of my uniform on ANZAC Day and march down to the Cenotaph. I share the funny stories you told from your days in the war with other vets over a beer at the RSL when all is said and done — because on that one wonderful day, we remember the great men and women who answered the call… to your disgust, mate, that includes you.

You are still are, my hero, Papa. Wherever you are, mate, I love you and still think about you!