Marcel Proust, in Search of Lost Time (also known as Remembrance of Things Past) discussed involuntary memory by recounting the story of a madeleine (small sponge cake) invoking memories from decades past.
This morning I attended a dawn service commemorating ANZAC day. Over the last 55 years I've attended maybe 40 of these in either Auckland or Wellington. The first I remember was when I was about seven and was at Wellington's Cenotaph at the bottom of Lambton Quay. It was dark, cold and mysterious. I was with my dad and we stood solemnly during The Last Post, the prayers, the wreath laying and The Rouse.
At the end of The Rouse the artillerymen fired the howitzer. BOOM. It was the first time that I'd seen or heard one of these and it scared shit out of me. I jumped, much to Dad's amusement. The service was over and we shuffled/marched along to the railway station with the rest of the crowd for coffee, tea and scones.
This morning's service was held at The Canadian Forces College in Toronto which is a sprawling miltary college covering several acres at the north end of the city. Some nice speeches were made by the Australian, New Zealand and Turkish consul-generals. The Last Post and The Rouse were played (recorded unfortunately) but no howitzer blasting away which was a shame but I guess that given that ANZAC day is not a Canadian event, early morning cannon-fire might make the locals nervous.
We went into the reception rooms in the college's main building which were stately and had coffee and bakery goods including some cheese and vegemite pastries - very Ocker!
There were no madeleines but the coffee which some people laced with rum (Bundaberg) that someone dispensed took me back to that first ANZAC dawn ceremony I attended. At the railway station there were long trestle tables set up holding cups of steaming hot and dark coffee. The aroma was wonderful as the coffee (and tea) was laced with rum. Dad let me try some and I thought then what a perfect drink to warm the cockles. It wasn't strong but the rum flavours and aromas mixed with the coffee and milk imprinted on my memory.
Now, whenever I smell this combination I am in Wellington on April 25th 1963, my remembrance of things past.
See an older post by The Wine Guy here:
2 comments:
I used to go to the Dawn Parade with my Dad, too. Then it was coffee and rum, cheese and biscuits in the memorial hall. How did you track down the Canadian version, or was it well advertised? Nice to think these go on all over the world.
My partner works for an Australian company. The 'permanents' here have been going each year. It is by invitation only so we considered ourselves lucky.
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