A Reconciliation of Sorts

Back in 1970, upon returning from Vietnam, I went into an RSL club in Brisbane for a beer. 

When I told an older digger that I was just back from Vietnam he told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn't welcome to join the RSL. He was of the opinion that I wasn't a soldier when I was in country, and that I was a policeman. 

He also described the conflict as a "tin-pot" political exercise. That was about the only belief he held that was correct.

I didn't join the RSL, and my father, who was a returned airman from his war in New Guinea resigned his membership in solidarity.

Thirteen years later, as principal of a special school at Petrie (North of Brisbane) I was phoned by the local RSL president just before ANZAC Day and asked if the school would accept a donation of $500 from the local RSL. 

During the conversation I let slip that I was a veteran, and he invited me to march at the local commemoration. I did so, and that was the first time I joined the parade.

Earlier this year, I was looking for a venue to interview ex-Nashos as part of my research into choices and attitudes of national servicemen who went to Vietnam, and someone suggested the Gaythorne RSL club. It had everything I needed, so I approached them and made arrangements. 

I was also asked to join the RSL, on the basis that they were happy to help. They were indeed helpful, so after years I did so. My shiny badge arrived in the post, and I wore it to this year's march.

I then stored it safely with my father's badge. Dad died many years ago, and I inherited his medals, and the RSL badge that he stopped wearing as a protest against both conscription, and the treatment we received on return.

So we are now reconciled - the RSL, my father, and myself.

It is a much changed organization since the influence of people like James Brown began to reform both its culture and role. Gone are the days when "my war was better than your war".

And that is a very good thing....