Anzac Day

You know how some years just feel different? This was one of those years for me. For as long as I can remember, Anzac Day has meant being part of the ceremony rather than watching it. I’d be there with my sticks in hand, keeping time with the community band or marching with one of the military bands.

But this year I made myself a promise. This year, I was going to step back and see what Anzac Day looked like through my camera instead. And I’d photograph in my favourite style, black & white.

Here’s the thing about putting down your drumsticks and picking up a camera – suddenly you’re seeing everything you’ve been missing while you were concentrating on your part.

I found myself watching the crowd instead of watching the street ahead or the conductor’s baton. And what I saw stopped me in my tracks. There was this elderly bloke adjusting his medals for the third time, getting them just right. A young mum hoisting her little one up so he could see over the crowd. Some teenager swimming in what had to be his great-grandfather’s uniform, trying his best to fill shoes that seemed way too big for him.

These were the moments happening in the gaps between the official program. The real stuff that makes it all matter.

Look, I’ve been taking photos for long enough to know that the camera sees things differently than we do. It catches stuff our eyes just skim over. But on Anzac Day, this felt bigger than usual.

Being the guy with the camera instead of the guy with the sticks felt like I was still serving, just differently. Instead of keeping the beat that carries everyone through the march, I was collecting these moments, just for me.

After years of being part of the musical fabric of Anzac Day, stepping back to document it gave me a fresh appreciation for why these ceremonies matter. It’s not just about the official moments – it’s about the way people show up, the way they bring their children, the way they stand a little straighter, the way they pause their busy lives to remember.

This year, I promised myself I would photograph Anzac Day for me. What I discovered is that in doing so, I was actually photographing it for all of us – capturing the faces and moments that remind us why we gather, why we remember, and why these stories still matter.

Next year, I might pick up my instrument again. But I’ll never forget how I felt this year.

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