My Father Arthur William White

Back between the 1930's and 1960's people accepted their lot in life and got on with making the best of what they had. Excuses weren't made nor complaint's voiced. My father emigrated alone from England when he was twenty. He met my mother who lived at home with her parents in Leeton, and they married. The years were lean and hard yet people were resilient and pulled together. Food was carefully prepared and all was eaten, not wasted or thrown away. Clothes got handed down and reshaped or cut to fit the next wearer. I once had a dress made out of an old curtain. All was mended, cared for and cherished. The Second World War began so my father volunteered and went off to help fight for his country. Mother was left behind as were many others to keep the home and care for the children. She had my three elder brother and sisters. Pop went first to the Middle East and on his return he was sent to the Kakoda Trail in P.N.G. to prevent the Japanese from penetrating Australia. Conditons were harsh with a lack of food, wet cold weather, the enemy and malaria carrying mosquito's. None of this was spoken about on his return home. He passed away in 1981 taking his memories with him. My younger brother Ralph, now retired, set about trekking the Kakoka trail to hopefully experience and understand what our father had been through. This firsthand reality imprinted a different understanding upon my brothers mind. Through my brother, we the rest of my fathers children have come to understand much of our father's personal suffering and torment. I feel so very proud to be his child. Now I see him as an unspoken hero. I love the Ode of Rememberance spoken every day at six in the evening in every Return Soldiers Club in Australia. When the lights are dimmed. The Tapps soulfully play. Then the ODE is recited.
*They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weiry them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning. We will remember them.
Lest we forget. *All present repeat... "Lest we forget." (Laurence Bunyon 1914)