We strolled from Kings Cross to Hyde Park. How English it all sounds. En route we saw the sleazier side of Kings Cross - a lot of scope for the descendents of Sz Man King (pay attention at the back, Sz Man King founded the temple in H-K).
Walking across a very green and pleasant Hyde Park, en route to a light lunch on the grass under the trees, we visited the ANZAC memorial. I'm told that ANZAC day is very important here, not least because the traumatic experience of WWI made the Aussies really question for the first time their relationship with 'the Motherland' and start to think about being Australians first with their own priorities. The memorial is a small building, approached via steps. The room you enter lists the battles Australian forces have been in, from the Somme, Ypres, Vimey Ridge and of course the bloodbaths of Gallipoli and the Dardenelles, through WWII where they also fought closer to home and could feel they were defending their own families and country, and to Vietnam where feelings are more ambivalent.
But the main feature is a low circular wall from which you look down into a crypt-like room below. This is dominated by a art deco influenced but generally classical style bronze. It shows, life size, a small group of figures carrying a dead soldier. From above you look straight down onto the young naked body. He is carried on a shield with his broken sword beneath him. There is no attempt to suggest a particularly Australian corpse. He could be an ancient Greek or a figure from any age. His body is twisted - no dignity or peace in his death.
The bearers are all women, mothers have lost sons, sisters of lost brothers, wives without husbands. The obviously masculine body also reminds you of the children that won't be conceived and the generation lost.
Finally, you are looking down. Most memorials you look up. Even with some of the most determinedly anti-heroic statues in London, you look up at figures who, in their resolution and grimmness, look noble and even heroic. This is just a dead boy whose life was wasted in a cause he probably never understood.
As you can tell, it moved me and I'm not generally a war memorial type.
No more seriousness, we'll go to the zoo. Sydney Zoo means another ferry ride, followed by a bete noir of Eleanor's, a cable car ride. She keeps her cool despite the two small girls we shared the car with discussing what might happen if the motor stuck or the cable broke. Little did they realise that they were in much greater danger of being thrown to the crocodiles or worse.
Actually it was a bad time for visiting the zoo as every sensible creature was hiding from the heat. But they had quokkas. Those of you who have been thinking of anti-defamation action ('a quokka is not a rat') are vindicated. And those who have removed quokka from your Xmas card list should reinstate them. They are wallabies (don't ask me the difference between wallabies and kangaroos) and as I watch one I realise they aren't at all ratty and have quite sweet (but thin) fur on their tails. How could that delicately moulded face have ever looked rodent like?
There was also the Koala Experience, which I resisted. Koalas always look sad and now I know why. People can't resist patting them. To such an extent that New S Wales has made patting them an offence except on properly licensed koala patting stations. That faraway look in their eyes says "If I was a grizzly I'd bite your head off, a polar bear and I'd crush you with one blow, a panda and I'd be cosseted and fed fine bamboo. But I'm just a pretty koala with an acceleration of 0 - 4km/hour in three hours and I can't even run away. If that snotty child touches me with those sticky fingers I'll snarl and .... oh what the hell, I'm already black and blue with bruises under my fur. Here we go again. Ow."
Only one other thought from the zoo. All the major animals are sponsored by local firms. McDonalds sponsored the gorillas.
Given the range of jobs of my relatives and their partners, to say nothing of friends I won't tell you who sponsored the reptiles. What do you think would be an appropiate profession to associate with foul smelling Komodo dragons, all things slimey and "11 of the 15 most venomous snakes in the world"? Did the reptiles have a right of veto? Even taipans have feelings you know (mostly about who they are going to bite next).
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