There can be oases of quiet within a bustling metropolis. Such a cliche that: bustling metropolis. With its shades of Superman.
They were not supermen, these boys who went eagerly to fight on foreign shores, at the behest of foreign generals. They were boys. Inexperienced in the ways of the world. Fodder for the ambitions of other nation states. As are the boys of today.
But at least we keep their memory sacred. In a mausoleum, redolent of the times. A simple building, for a simple people, from simpler times. When lines in sands were more obvious.
Hyde Park South is a sobering part of a bustling metropolis. But, reflective of a national trait, we sit on its steps, eating white-bread cheese sandwiches unwrapped from grease-proof paper, our bicycle clips around the cuffs of our unpressed jeans. Eyes scanning the horizon for the approaching dark storm clouds from the sou-west.