Spirit of Anzac Prize  

Throughout my 22 years of teaching, I have  had the privilege of experiencing many standout moments. However, 2024 has added a particularly memorable chapter to this journey. This year, I had the opportunity to collaborate with Ruby Pearce (year 10) and Freshta Watanyar (year 12) in planning, writing, and submitting their entries for the Spirit of Anzac Prize Competition. Over four months, our team meticulously analyzed every word and historical fact, working tirelessly up to the very last moment for submission.

After the entries were uploaded, there was a period of anxious silence. Months later, we were thrilled to receive emails from the Victorian Government's Department of Veteran Affairs, confirming that Ruby and Freshta were successful recipients of the prize. Their entries were among over one hundred entrants from students throughout the state. I am fortunate to be a recipient of the teacher division of the competition and I will accompany the students as a chaperone to Turkey on a 10 day cultural immersion trip. 

Two weeks ago, Ruby, Freshta, and I joined the 10 other student recipients at the awards ceremony at Parliament House, where they were recognised for their achievements. 

Among the many highlights planned for our time in Turkey includes attending morning prayer at The Blue Mosque with Freshta and flying an Aboriginal Flag over Anzac Cove to honour the service and sacrifices of First Nations soldiers at Gallipoli. 1915. The itinerary is filled with life-changing activities and visits to several historic sites.

I want to express my deep gratitude to Ruby and Freshta for dedicating countless hours of their time to this journey. Acknowledgment also to the teachers and leaders for supporting this initiative. 

Below is Ruby’s entry: 

For King, for Country, but not for race

Prologue: 

This story takes place somewhere between 1914-1918 and it is based on Alfred Lovett. There were three brothers from the Lovett Family who were First Nations People and served Australia during the Great War. They returned home to be denied any recognition for their service. 

To my dear Sarah, and my wonderful boys,

I write this letter bearing news. I was wounded at a muddy hell called the Somme. The AIF is sending me home to you and my beloved sons. Yes! My war is over!  I have longed for nothing more than to see you all again. 

Your loving Alfred.

Sarah smiled, tears pooling in her eyes as she read her husband’s words. It over-joyed her to learn that Alfred would be returning home to her and their two sons. 

Sarah sat the letter on the table as their sons Alfred Junior and Leo played outside. Things had never been particularly easy for the Lovett family as the community ridiculed Sarah for marrying a proud indigenous man. 

When Alfred finally came home, Sarah was overwhelmed with raw emotion. Yet, she could hear whispers in the wind, sneers calling her husband ‘feeble, a coward, a deserter.’ The remarks became louder amongst the narrow minded locals about Alfred unexpectedly returning home. 

“Home! While the rest of our boys are away dying for freedom!” 

“He should have a white feather in his slouch hat instead of an emu plume.” 

When Alfred experienced disturbing flashbacks of life in the trenches, nobody in the town was willing to help him except for Sarah and his children. 

Sarah noticed something different about her beloved Alfred, she could see the pain in his eyes and hear him whimpering at night. In the early hours of the morning, she would roll over to find Alfred’s side of the bed empty, he would be sitting in a daze in the dark living room.  

The letters that Sarah received from Alfred over the years from exotic places including Egypt, the battlefields of Gallipoli, France and Belgium, were occasionally accompanied by a photo showing a glowing smile and Alfred’s genuine love for his country. However, in his letters to Sarah, Alfred did not mention the terror and horror of his experiences in the trenches, or witnessing his fellow soldiers cut down by senseless gun fire. Their lifeless bodies lay in open spaces on foreign soil. 

The man that returned home was not the patriotic soldier that left Sarah. Instead, it pained Sarah when she found Alfred huddled and stunned, as fireworks boomed nearby. Sarah mentally cursed the insensitive fool who would set off the fireworks knowing there were many shell shocked veterans living nearby. 

There was a place called an RSL (Returned Servicemens’ League) , which was recently established in the town by veterans to help servicemen and their families. Sarah knocked on the door to seek support for Alfred, only to be turned away when the gentleman remarked to her: 

“Alfred Lovett…soldier…aboriginal…I am sorry we can’t help.”

Sarah chose to hold her head high, and pretended the rumours and gossip did not bother her. For Alfred, and their two sweet boys, Sarah pretended that life was normal. However, their sons knew they were treated differently by the locals. They also wanted to get to know their father again, who they saw as a patriot and a hero.

Alfred rarely went out to town, he spent his time trying to forget the horrors of his service and reading the letters that he sent to Sarah. At home, he would quietly reminisce about his childhood on the mission and how much he longed to see his two younger brothers. Alfred wanted nothing more than to wander through the bush barefooted with his siblings and sons hunting goanna. 

Yet, Alfred heard the news about a major push on the Western Front by the AIF to force the Hun to retreat all the way back to the Kaiser.  Reluctantly, Alfred also knew that his two brothers were in the thick of this unforgiving leap into action. It could be months until he received news about their fate. 

It was a cold dewy morning when Sarah heard that R.S.L was beginning to construct a war memorial in the local town. Somehow, it felt colder, because she knew her husband’s name would not be on it. Not because he was alive, that he was returned home after being wounded in action, it was because he was an aboriginal.  

When the memorial was over, the Lovett Family visited the beautiful sculpture. They approached the statue of the rigid soldier resting on arms, Sarah tightly holding the hands of her children, as Alfred walked a few steps in front of them. She stood there looking for Alfred’s name on the memorial, it was nowhere on the cold granite. 

For Alfred there was no pride, only bitter resentment clawing its way into his soul like a disease. He dropped his head and put his arm around his sons, trying not to weep with mixed and confused emotions. He turned his back on the memorial and quietly walked away. 

 “Why couldn’t they put him there too?” Sarah would think to herself, as she gazed aggrieved at the dark polished stone, with hundreds of names carved into it and embossed in gold writing. 

“What twisted cruelty brings about the idea that Alfred is not as important as his fellow soldiers, simply because he’s an aboriginal?”

Sarah hoped one day she’d have the answer. But for now, she’d continue to live with her head held high, refusing to accept that her family were outsiders, because of their aboriginality. 

Sarah lived for her family, not for the opinions of those who would shun them. She longed that one day Alfred would get the recognition he dearly deserved. But for now, his survival was enough. 

Spirit of Anzac Prize Recipients: Freshta Watanyar and Ruby Pearce.