The 23rd Battalion Website.

Newsletter 1 - July 1995.

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23rd Battalion Association Newsletter excerpts:

Reunion
There can be no doubt that the so-called final reunion wasa truly remarkable gathering. No one will regret shedding the odd tear and holding an extra handshake with Battalion members who may not be able to attend another reunion.
There was a wonderful expression of camaraderie involving hundreds of former servicemen and their partners. Younger members of the executive still doubt that the Christchurch gathering will be last occasion on which there will be organised get-togethers, but the atmosphere created by the Christchurch reunion sends signals to all 23rd Battalion members.
This battalion reunion has left memories which will endure. What a weekend it was! Under Norman Reed's leadership,the full Canterbury committee of 20 were heavily involved, plus the ladies under Trix Baird who attended to the floral, motel and table arrangements. We are indebted to Leo Clark for the many hours he spent assisting in many ways. We also acknowledge the co-operation of the Army contingent and the staff at all places associated with the reunion.
From letters, phone messages and conversations we have receivedit was obvious the weekend was the success we had planned, and of course all who attended just added the icing to the cake.
We were delighted to see Dick (sorry, Sir Richard) Harrison and his wife present for the reunion. After an exceedingly busy 50 years, part of which as pseakerofthe house, it was good to see him relaxing as a bloke from the 23rd. But as our grapevine - sorry pearvine whispers that not only is Dick relaxing at reunions but isan expert at this new venture of pear and grape wine. As you know, you have to trial the brew often to get the result required. According to the Wellington papers Dick has been practising since 1985 and last year produced between 1000 and 1200 bottles ofthe good stuff. Wouldn't be hard to beat the vino of Italy days. Best wishes for the 1995 vintage Dick.

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V.E. Day 1995

An address given in Christchurch Cathedral on V.E. Day 1995 by Mr Richard Connolly, Principal of Queenspark School and son of our much respected Lt. Col. J.R.J. Connolly, one of the Battalion's longest serving officers.

For me to stand before you this morning at the time of the 50th anniversary of the Victory in Europe, is a rare privilige and a moving experience for me. I was not born when war broke out; I never became a soldier and I did not fight in any war. Yet, as a young boy, I was an integral part of the war and it is this generation I want to share with you today.
Recently I addressed the reunion of the 23rd NZInfantry Battalion - a battalion my late father commanded with pride and a devotion that helped shape my life. Prior to this very memorable evening, I was often engrossed in deep thought as I dwelt on the memories of my own childhood - a childhood spent as one of those left behind.
Some of those memories I would like to relate to you again this morning. But before I do - two weeks ago on ANZAC day, I was attending the annual conference of Australian Primary Principals in Melbourne. As dawn came up on the morning of 25 April, I looked out of the sixteenth floor of our hotel and knew immediately that I had something to do - something my heart told me I wanted to do.
So it was, as if by some giant magnet, I was drawn on to the street to join the multitude of people heading towards the centre of the city. I somehow, as a New Zealander, fitted freely amongst the young and the old, firm and infirm, uniformed and in muft, there was indeed a sense of celebration in the air and people were moving with a sense of purpose; perhaps in muchthe same way many of you did, as you went to war over fifty years ago.
And, as I passed the old dogs, men and women sharing a story, sharing a dram, wearing their shining campaign medals with pride, I was reminded of my youth in Ashburton where, on ANZAC Day, the crowd was much smaller, but where the atmosphere and happenings were much the same, and the bond just as strong. And, as I stood in the crowd and watched the parade representing all of you, at least in my thoughts, I remembered, and I also wondered.
Wondered wether the young boys about ten years old, wearing rather tatty and mismatched World War 2 uniforms and medals from both world wars, had the right to wear either, was this a fancy dress?
In discussion with a friend later, I raised this point. His reply I remember well:
"Neither uniforms nor medals are on parade today, but rather their owners who, through their sacrifice, are remembered in this way. For most, their own blood flows in these young people who are later generations of the family they were perhaps never to see. Who better, therefore, to carry their memory on this day?"
And you know, I think that somehow made it right.

This was not an occasion for sadness but rather one of memory and an expression of National pride. I left the parade some two and a half hours later with strong emotions - these emotions centered on pride and feeling for my country; and a question, have we lost just a little of this with our young people.

As an educator I have thought much about my responsibility in building national pride and I believe we all have work to do. And what sort of place was our new Zealand between the depression and the beginning of World War 2? I wasn't there! but I am told and I have read that:
Nothing could hinder our march forward, yet few had heard of us, we were still a colony. We had fought in the First World War, but many still believed overseas that we were just a colonial arm of the British Army. We were ready now for recognition other than that gained from being a land of butter or lamb.

And so, by the time I was born into the world of 1940, the troop ship 'Andes' had sailed in MAy and our young men and women were facing facing recognition of a far different kind.

My mother, however, was to face what must have been an almost insurmountable challenge, for one of the young lieutenants on that troop ship was her young husband and the father I had never seen, and that she might never see again. And so, like many of my generation, my earliest memories are ones where I was surrounded by my mother, aunts and grandparents. There were no young men to relate to, and few luxeries, just the neighbours kids next door with whom I shared common ground. but my mother's undying love and attention was in abundance and I lacked little.

I ask many of you who were mothers at this time to think back as I say to you that you were the ones who:
And the war was the greatest mystery of all - for as was often explained in my earliest memory:
Where was this place - where were these men?! What was this war?!

And so my youthful lack of understanding heightened its importance and established a picture in my mind. And what could be explained or understood, I guess satisfactorily resolved in playing with the children in the family next door. Their father was away too and in our combined thoughts often came up with a solution that suited us.

And so:
And it was this absolute certainty about when, not if, he would be coming homethat helped build an image in my mind - an image of somebody who had left an unfillable gap in our household and who we would see soon.

When he was invalided home for about 12 weeks in 1943, I remember little, and he had gone back by the time I realised he was there - I was too young.

And for you who were soldiers and had families and you who were away, you can be sure your country's youth thought of you often. New Zealand was devastated by the absence of its young men and women, and yet we remained in an atmosphere of strength and hope in spite of experiencing our form of blitz.

Do you remember as I remember:
And I can still see my mother delicately sew a biscuit tin into calico. Inside would be a letter with a huge number of pages, maybe a photograph, a pair of socks, a fruit cake and many of the other things our soldiers did not see. This parcel posting seemed to happen every week.

But like my mother and father, the parcel had an uncertain future also. I remember my father telling me he received a rich fruit cake over a year after it was sent - mouldy, grease running out of it - carved up with a bayonet between the men - great!

And so we waited together, my mother and I, for the big ship that would bring my father home for good. And while you fought on the sands of the desert and the other theatres of war, I grew up with a bucket and spade on the sands of Sumner Beach. And while you learned on the battlefield to fight for the New Zealand way of life, we also learned about life with only a part of our family around.

I vividly remember filling that bucket thirty or forty times to make a sandcastle and then defending it against attacks by dogs and other kids. I learned that life was a "do it yourself deal" and that looking after the security of what I had built was my responsibility and hard work too. But somehow I could never control the incoming tide, the unexpected often won through.

You, however, were equipped to guard against the unexpected and, as soldiers, it was your mission to keep the tide from your families/homes.

You did it well and your castle has not fallen down or been washed away, it stands still, in my mind and in the minds of thousands of children of my generation who truly have much to be thankful for.

And so we went on waiting for that big ship to come in and I remember well the night when it did! When that train arrived from Lyttleton, I had been well prepared as to what I should say and what I should do when I saw him.

Well! Maybe it was the enormity of the situation causing confusion in a little boy's mind, but I really messed it up! As the troops detrained, my mother suddenly called out excitedly "There he is!" and pointed in the direction of two soldiers walking towards us. I ran forward at great speed, grabbed my father's friend around the legs, jumped up and down and yelled for all the world to hear "Gidday, Dad!" Wrong man - bad start!

Maybe I had seen too many photographs of them together - at least that's what the family put it down to in later years. Anyway, I am sure that he forgave me, although I did hear the phrase "Try and get it right" once or twice in my formative years.

So a soldier's return began a new era in my life. The real person was here! It was August 1944 and I need now no longer threaten my enemies with him - I could show him to them!
And I learned that some things are applicable at times and not at others - the day I cracked an egg on the mudguard of my fathers new car, I learned to discriminate. When asked to explain my actions, I reminded him that he had told me that the mudguard of his truck was so hot in the desert that he could cook an egg on it. He then explained the inappropriateness of my action. I also wondered later where he got the egg!

And so the end of the war in Europe meant that many of you came home, many also remained forever in distant lands. Yet V.E. Day was a victory for all, those who died and those who lived on to mould the future of the country. Rightly or wrongly, you gave an identity to the New Zealand fighting soldier, and gained a recognition for the tenacity of our people that will last for a thousand years.

And the young people of my generation learned much from you. We learned about determination and fortitude, loyalty and friendship, hope and support, love and understanding, and above all, respect - self respect and respect for others.

We can show you the depth of our gratitude by passing on the legacy you left for us. One which I passed on to many thousands of young people in my schools over the last thirty-four years. If I had to pick the most important aspects of this legacy, I would choose:
And these are the attributes I saw on the faces and in the actions of those old comrades in the V.I.P. tent at that very memorable air show at Wigram on Sunday.

And so V.E. Day brought unprecedented celebration to the allied world, but amidst those joyous times, was the greatest joy of all. You were coming home to begin again what you had left and to remember those whom you had left behind.

As a small boy, I climbed the stone steps to the high balcony of this Cathedral and I remember thinking this must surely be the highest place on earth. I now know that it wasn't for those of you who served your country so well and gave us a tomorrow, have reached a higher place.



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Other newsletters:

No. 1 Jul 1995       No. 3 Mar 1996       No. 5 Nov 1996       No. 7 Jun 1997       No. 8 Oct 1997       No. 9 Mar 1998       No. 10 Jul1998       No. 11 Nov 1998       No. 12 Mar 1999       No. 13 Jul 1999       No. 14 Nov 1999       No. 15 Mar 2000       No. 16 Jul 2000       No. 17 Nov 2000

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