My dad served in World War II, taken from his home, his girlfriend (Mum) and sent into the Pacific as a boy of 17 or 18. 

He worked as a cook; not exactly front line but he talked of Japanese soldiers coming out of the jungle early some mornings and killing the cooks making breakfast at other camps not far from his, so mortal danger was ever present. 

I can’t even start to imagine what it must have been like for him, and I consider myself extremely fortunate that I have lived my life without having to experience anything like that.

My 57 years without some sort of military conflict directly impacting on it seems normal today but is, when you think about it, an absolute fluke of timing in human history. 

Very few generations in the history of humanity have had the clear run that my generation, in New Zealand at least, has been blessed to have.

Dad never went to an ANZAC day service as far as I am aware; I certainly never went to one with him, only attending my first one well into my forties with my children. 

When I was growing up, it just wasn’t really something people did as far as I know. 

And yet come Monday morning, even under the change of circumstances that covid-19 has caused to many parades, I am sure many, young and old alike, will gather to give thanks and to contemplate on the lives of those who came before us and the effect of war on them.

This year, more than ever, I’ll be thinking about how fortunate I have been never to have to go to war or even go in to some form of military training. 

With Putin’s madness in Ukraine getting more desperate and dangerous by the day, if ever there was a time to get together and give thanks for what we have and our thoughts and prayers for peace into the future, this is it.