Tears in Tobruk: The tears flow on

Today I had a moment. No, not an Oprah light bulb moment, but an "OMGH how cool is that?!" moment. Quite by accident, I discovered that the Australian Government has quoted me on their official website. The quote they used is from an article I wrote last year about travelling to Tobruk in Libya to celebrate ANZAC Day. This was a very emotional and personal journey for me – my grandfather, Private John Joseph Alman, was a member of the 9th Battalion who, against all odds, held Tobruk for an astounding 240 days during WWII; unfortunately he died before I was able to make it home to tell him about my trip – and as such it was a hard article to write. So I have to admit that I'm kind of chuffed that they quoted me. For anyone who is interested, you can read the article here.

Picture: That's me (in green) delivering my grandfather's speech at a small impromtu service on ANZAC Day in Tobruk, Libya.

The things we leave behind

I recently stumbled across this article, What we leave behind, by Kelly Westhoff on the Wanderlust and Lipstick website. Not only did her article intrigue me because it was about an encounter she had in Cuba, but it got me thinking about the trail I've left behind in my many years on the road. While like Kelly, I'd like to believe that as a traveller I've "taken only photographs and left only footprints", as I'm usually limited by what I can carry and, of course, can't resist buying a few souvenirs along the way (not to mention all the PR paraphernalia I collect as part of my research) I inevitably leave things behind to "lighten my load".

On my recent round world trip alone, I left behind my jeans, a sweater and a pair of thick woollen socks (which I had worn every day in cold and chilly Cape Town) at a hotel in Dar es Salaam in Tanzania along with a note for the maid telling her to either donate them to charity or keep them for herself. Considering it was averaging around 38 degrees Celsius outside, I'm sure she had as much use for them as I did – none! In Nairobi, I left behind two of my three travel guides to Tanzania and a DVD I’d been given at a friend's place. Then in Cuba, I left behind my towel and some more clothes with the local family I was staying with, before finally dumping some of my souvenirs from Cuba, including Cuban cigars, in my hotel room in Jamaica because I was too afraid to enter the US carrying them!

The oddest thing I've ever left behind though was a drum in Libya last year. I'd spent a day shopping in the souks of Benghazi with my guide who rather charmingly, though disconcertingly, insisted on buying me every item I vaguely showed interest in, including a large terracotta drum which was covered with what looked like a very fresh goat's hide (I swear I could still see blood around the edges!). Knowing that there was no way that I would ever be able to get the drum through Australian customs I "accidently" [read: on purpose] left it behind in the lobby of the hotel I was staying at in Tripoli on the morning before I departed. (I had actually tried to leave it behind in my hotel room in Benghazi the previous day, but my guide spied it just as I was closing the door to my room!).

If this is what I left behind on only two trips, it truly frightens me to really think back and start listing the trail of belongings I've dumped in unsuspecting hotel rooms and backpacker hostels over the years!

Most travellers have been guilty of leaving behind books and clothing – they're the first things to be evicted from my bag when I start getting weighed down – but perhaps this says much about about the throw-away society we live. What have you left behind in your travels?

ANZAC Day: Tears in Tobruk

Tomorrow in Australia it is ANZAC Day. Without a doubt, it is Australia's defining national holiday. Marked by dawn services, parades and ceremonies held around the nation, it is a day of full of honour and respect that celebrates the true-blue Aussie spirit of our country's fallen heroes.

What is Anzac Day?
Held on April 25 each year, ANZAC Day marks the anniversary of the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand forces during World War I. It was on this day in 1915, when Australian and New Zealand troops faced the supreme test of courage landing in the dark under heavy fire in Gallipoli, Turkey. Through their bravery the legend of the ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps) was forged; the spirit of which endures to this day. Although ANZAC Day began as a commemoration of Gallipoli, with the coming of the Second World War it was broadened to honour the lives of Australians lost in this war too. Today, commemorative services are held at dawn – the time of the original landing – right around the nation.

The Rats of Tobruk
While many Australians make the pilgrimage to Gallipoli in Turkey to mark ANZAC Day, with my grandfather one of the last remaining Rats of Tobruk, last year I decided to travel to Colonel Gadaffi's Libya to pay my respects.

Like Gallipoli, Tobruk is a name that means much in the war annals of Australia's short history. Yet for many Australians it's a place we know exists but is so far from our shores that it's nigh impossible to imagine much less visit.

Some 1500km east of the Libyan capital of Tripoli, Tobruk was the scene of one of the most ferocious sieges of the 20th century when more than 24,000 Allied troops (including 14,270 Australian soldiers) were surrounded by German and Italian soldiers. The 9th Division, of which my grandfather belonged, was ordered to hold Tobruk for eight weeks to await supplies and reinforcements.

In what turned out to be the longest siege in Allied military history, the largely Australian force, dubbed the 'Rats of Tobruk' by a German radio announcer, held out from April 10 until December 10, 1941 – lasting an astounding 240 days. The cost to the Australian forces, however, was devastating with 650 dead, 1597 wounded, including my grandfather, and 917 captured.

As part of my ANZAC Day journey, I attended a small informal dawn service at Tobruk's Commonwealth War Cemetery and delivered a speech written by my grandfather who on that very same day presented it at a ceremony back home in Australia. You can read about my experiences in the article I wrote, Tears in Tobruk, for Ninemsn.

Sadly, my grandfather passed away before I was able to see him again and tell him about my trip. So in his honour and in honour of all those who have lost their lives in any war, no matter which side, I offer the words of Laurence Binyon from his poem For the Fallen:

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

In loving memory of my grandfather Private John Joseph Alman; may your spirit and that of the Anzacs live on.