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Hi Dad,

Today is Remembrance Day, and you’re on my mind.

You went, even though you didn’t choose it, even though the war was so far from home.

You came back with no parade, no celebration, just silence. But I know you carried it all—the sound of helicopters, the roar of lions on jungle raids, and the constant unknowns that came with each day.

You never told me much about those parts. You were just being my dad, not letting me see those moments – You were the funny, positive guy everyone knew as “Irish”.

I wonder about the things you didn’t say, the simple details—what the food was like, if you ever felt a breeze in that heavy heat, or if you and your mates found a moment to enjoy a smoke and forget about the war for just a while.

You kept those memories to yourself and only ever talked about the friends you made, the laughs you shared with the ones beside you

Even from when I little, I have always known what these mates meant to you – even if I didn’t understand why at the start. I now know they got you through - they gave you the strength to keep going.

It’s those same friends who still remember you today, the same scruffy lot who were with you back then. I think about how they turned to say goodbye to you, not in suits or pressed shirts, but exactly as they were—a little rough around the edges, a little untidy. They knew you didn’t need them to be anything other than themselves.

 They still come together every Anzac Day, and they leave a beer on the bar at the British for each one in your troop who’s no longer here.

One of those beers stands for you now. It sits there, untouched, all day. At the end of the night, they leave it there, a symbol that you’re still with them, even as they say goodbye for another year.

I know that row of beers is growing, that each year more of them will be joining you rather than staying behind. But the pride, the laughter, the stories—they’re still there. They talk about you, “Irish”, and your mates as if you’re still right there with them.

I often wonder if you can see us, too. Are you proud of us? Can you see the boys and how they’re growing up? Jasper, he’s so much like you. He’s got that quiet courage, that strength that you carried, even when you were just being my dad and keeping the darker parts  to yourself.

Then there’s Alfie—he’s got that cheeky side of yours, the same grin that’s half trouble, half charm. He would have been the one who slept through raids after a late night like you. Just like you, he can be a handful, and I think you’d get a kick out of it.

Remembrance Day is a chance to honour what you gave and what you held close. I don’t need to walk in your shoes; you did that for me and for all of us.

Thank you for every part of it, Irish — for your strength, for the friendships, and for everything you chose to share.

I’ll stop. I'll pause. And I’ll remember.

And I always will.