My Grandfather, Mervyn Whitfield Ashworth, fought in WWII in Japan. My Great Uncle Fred, his older brother, fought in Korea. Both men lied about their ages so they could go. My mother’s father, Dennis George White, was conscripted into the British Airforce, and fought the war at home, we he saw the impact first hand, WWII had on his relatives, friends, and his country. 
Every year I attend a Dawn Service at a shrine where ever I am. I hate war, but I have so much respect for soldiers who are often forced to fight. 
Australian history dictates a tradition of fighting for a country, a cause that wasn’t our own.
I’m not sure if we should be grateful for that, or not.
There are heroes and villains on both sides of no man’s land. Just as there are innocent victims.
Men, women, children - especially beasts who have no say, yet loyally get dragged into hell wondering at the folly of man. 

I have another little tradition on Anzac day. Not big or anything, but important.
I bake Anzac biscuits.
It sounds strange, but the smell of the golden oats and coconut in the oven reminds me of the men and women who have missed out on such memories because of their commitment ( or reluctance) to service.  
So, I really cherish the small moments such as baking, with the radio on, my dog sitting by my heels while the rain beats down on my window, knowing that it’s a small token of my gratitude that I can do that, because of great sacrifice. On both sides.

Here is the recipe: