ANZAC Day Celebrations Close to 400 people gathered in the Wheelton Amphitheater for the Dawn Service on ANZAC Day. The service was a moving tribute to our servicemen and women who had fought for Australia, and also a reflection on the price of war. Daniel Watson, Captain of Music, played the Last Post and Reveille beautifully and Mr Michael Koswig (wearing official Camberwell Grammar tartan) played the pipes as commemorative wreaths were placed before the names of the fallen. Past student, David Wegman (2003), who served as a Commando with The Australian Special Forces, spoke about his experiences in Afghanistan and afterwards, encouraging us all to find peace within ourselves. David had also addressed the Senior School during the ANZAC Day Assembly previously that week, speaking articulately and movingly about his experiences. David has kindly given us permission to share his words with the rest of the CGS community, and what follows below is the transcript from his speech at the Assembly. ‘Why am I here? Why should you listen to me? Well, I don’t entirely know, and judging by my looks, you probably shouldn’t. I’m about to share some deep, personal experiences and opinions. If anything I say resonates with you, I invite you to take it as a remembrance of your own truth that you knew all along and, if it doesn’t, to let it pass through. I promise I won’t take offence! I stand here nearly 20 years after leaving this very school; a CUO in the cadet unit, a prefect, a house co-captain (go Derham). My proudest achievement perhaps, a House Athletics record for discus which still stands. At this school I ran, threw, swam, paddled, played, sung, debated. I did it all, including plagiarism, sorry Dr K. On the whole I was a vibrant student, and I gave it a good go. However, most tragically, I also learned to fight. Not an outward battle, though sometimes there was the odd playground rough
8
and tumble, but an inner one – in my mind, a place separated from my heart. I chased success and involvement, praise and worthiness in the eyes of others. But inside, I struggled. As fathers tend to do, when my dad found out I was speaking today, he offered advice. He suggested I regale you with tales of my experience in Afghanistan: the mornings so cold my pants froze after wading through waist-deep irrigation canals before dawn, hunting down Taliban leaders who were, invariably, never there. Or the panic when the first burst of enemy machinegun fire lands upon you; the shock that in all the dust and noise that you weren’t hit, though it was close, real close. And contrary to your self-perception as a warrior, you, like your shoes, were frozen with fear. How about the thawing out of both boots and minds as our own gunfire was aimlessly directed into the desert, at an enemy that we were yet to see. These stories of war may give you a sense of the adventure that I was drawn to as an impressionable high school student, but they omit the scariest enemy that I have encountered thus far. This beast is the mind that was drawn to conflict in the first place. This foe is significantly more terrifying than the hardened insurgent, happy to blow himself up with you and a bunch of innocent civilians at the same time. Upon reflection, this other enemy was first encountered here, in this very school, in this very auditorium.
