Sunday walk

In the very centre of the town I live in there is an opencast gold mine, named Martha Mine

after the hill which used to be there. On Sunday, a misty, windless morning, I walked 

part of the walkway which goes right around the rim, about 4 kilometres in length. 

About a year ago there was a collapse on one side of the pit, as you can see below.

When we first moved here, in 1984, the intention was to fill the pit with water 

in the near future, and landscape around it, so that the town would have a 

 lake on which people could sail, row, and generally enjoy themselves.

At that stage, gold-bearing rock was still being taken from the bottom of the pit.

However, once the pit was more or less out of gold, the mine's owners turned to 

exploring underneath it, re-opening some of the old shafts which had been closed, and 

finding there remained good pickings to be had. 

We still don't have a lake...

This Saturday is Anzac Day, an important day in the lives of New Zealanders and 

Australians, as we remember the brave men who died fighting at Gallipoli in Turkey 

in 1915, and all of our soldiers who have died fighting in foreign wars, in foreign lands. 

Along part of the safety fence around the pit rim stretch a number of poppies, 

each bearing the name of a loved uncle, father, grandfather or friend.

We shall remember them.

Their Name Liveth...

I was very sad to read in this morning's paper that under the new regime in Turkey, these words, attributed to Ataturk, have been "roughly chiselled off" the memorial to New Zealand and Australian soldiers at Anzac Cove, at Gallipoli.

The words read:
'Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives ... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours ... You, the mothers who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.'

It doesn't matter whether Mustafa Kemal Ataturk actually said the words or not; what matters is that the Memorial paid official tribute to, and showed genuine appreciation of, the roughly 11,500 soldiers from our two countries who died there in that terrible campaign in 1915.

I was lucky enough to be there in April 2015, a few days before the annual Anzac Day Commemoration ceremonies. Every year, thousands of New Zealanders visit the area, and pay tribute to our fallen heroes, those young men who never returned home. I found it an incredibly moving experience to be in that peaceful, beautiful place.

Lest we forget