Last year I had the pleasure of joining Dave and his family at a rather unique Anzac Day gathering in the middle of brigalow scrub on the banks of a billabong some 20 minutes from Dave’s farm.

To paint a picture: There were four of us, Dave, myself and two guys on tourist working visas whom ironically were (from vague memory) from Germany. After a morning of mustering and drafting we spruced up in an odd smelling shower of bore water. We then headed off through the scrub followed by a billowing cloud of dust from the unsealed road. Just on dusk we turn off the main road to enter the bush proper, following a winding track were trees had right of way. Just when all signs of civilisation seemed lost, we arrived at bustling car park newly created among the trees.

What we had arrived at was an annual gathering of the families from surrounding farms and stations, celebrating Anzac Day in a unique and very traditional country fashion. The women folk provided a delicious banquet of country fare while the men folk created a BBQ only beef producers can. During the course of the evening many groups formed and dissolved as farmers caught up with each other for the first time in weeks or maybe the previous year’s gathering. I remember hearing many tall tales and simple stories of the struggles of out back farm life, drought, floods and fires – all the more poignant by the matter of fact telling.

A hush fell as a single piper played as we remember those who fell or survived those horrific wars defending a way of life we enjoy today.

Lest we forget.