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LEST WE FORGET © ANZAC 2019 ™ ®

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Of course I fought at Gallipoli. I was only a fetus, so I had to lie about my age. And my height. I had to lie about a lot of things. I hated the taste of beer and I didn't know the words to Waltzing Matilda, but I was buggered if I was going to let that stand in the way of dying for my country. Or someone else's country. War isn't supposed to make sense. They say the first casualty of war is truth. In my case the first casualty of war was a Louis Vuitton trunk containing my best dinner suit, three ounces of Turkish opium, and a particularly fine collection of Persian erotica. Sunk without trace after a luggage tender capsized at Alexandria. A tragedy. I was on my way to Paris to cover the war as a freelance correspondent and I had no idea of the horrors I was to face. Without a decent dinner jacket. You people have no idea. Gallipoli. It was hell. When I say I fought at Gallipoli, I really mean I saw action at Gallipoli. Well, I mean I saw some photos of the plac

AWOL

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