When I was five years old, I ran into our house at Wirrey Terrace, Milicent, South Australia, and went into the kitchen – the place where it all happened in those days. I found my mother sitting at the kitchen table crying her eyes out.

Being a small boy and the apple of her eye, I cuddled up to her and asked why she was crying. Mum told me she was crying because she was very happy and she was crying tears of happiness, as she had just found out the war had ended. The Japanese had surrendered. This confused a small kid, for if I was crying I was either hurt, sad, in trouble of putting on an act. If I was happy I would laugh and smile, not cry. I thought that big people were odd.

Though I was confused about this, I knew it to be very important to everyone, as Mum said, “Now the boys will come home”.

As young kids, I am sure we did not understand what was going on, what war was, or why things like food, petrol and clothing were rationed. We didn’t understand why there were a lot of dads, brothers and uncles away fighting. We just knew that this was normal part of life in 1945.

The boys did come home, including my dad and cousin Richie, though he returned much later from being a prisoner of war at a place called Changi. As well, many other men in the town returned. Rationing stopped and we could get boots to wear to school. 

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As kids we all were going to join up when we got big. In those days we were going to be a soldier, sailor or airman and make Mum, Dad, the other kids and, more importantly, our school, proud of us. As well, we would get a big party before we went away and when we came home again. 

Time saw everything return to normal. I learned that a terrible thing called war was something that happens between countries for many reasons. War is declared by rulers and politicians, but young men, women and the innocent die and suffer because of these wars.

Fast forward in time, I and some of the kids from my childhood did become the soldier, sailor or airman and I did get a going away party. I also found mateship, strength and pride in serving. 

There is no pride in the other aspects of war such as death, injury, deprivation, destruction and hurt to families, which can never be justified. Throughout history the financial costs of many wars, conflicts, police/peace-keeping actions are counted by the bean-counters. But let us not forget the human costs. They are much bigger. 

I think I now understand my mum’s tears, because she had suffered along with those in uniform at the front. She served on her own on a different front, not in a uniform but here on the home front. Like many other heroes not in uniform, her happiness brought tears of pride and love of her family. They were the rules of engagement she fought under. I’m proud she was my mother, for along with those that fought at Gallipoli and France, before and since, these are the true heroes of this nation. 

My mum has now gone and one thing she passed to me was her sense of duty, which I share with many others I have been privileged to serve with and still serve with, from all walks of life as we walk the same trail: Gallipoli, France, Kokoda, South Vietnam.

We need to remember the courage of those like my mum as she battled on the home front, as well as those who paid the biggest price for the love of our country. As we consider the future, we would do well to take inspiration from those who sacrificed so much in the past.