ANZAC DAY - reflections on my herstory

I have this photo and frame hanging in my bedroom -as is, sitting slightly crooked within the gilt brass frame it originally came in.

My Mum and Dad on their wedding day, 1955 at age 18 and 19. It was 18months later they escaped Hungary, their home and family having experienced terrible times during the '56 Revolution and the loss of their baby boy, our elder brother.

Having endured the Soviet invasion of Budapest (and all the horrors that brings) for months, they opted to escape, with other young people, in the middle of the night, moving between guard points to find the right moment to get on a raft to cross the Danube into Austria.

30 years ago, living in Western Australia, I spent every Thursday night for 2 years taping my mother's stories of this experience and learned about my grandparents on both sides and what happened to them, my mother's older sisters and brother during the invasion. I have typed out what we talked about and it sits in a large pile of single sheets in a box waiting.

Today, Anzac Day, as the radio fills with stories and remembrance, I came to this remembrance of my own. My parents, so young, left their homeland, under horror circumstances, to find a better future for my sister and I.

I am filled with gratitude as I sit here in country Tasmania as I look to going to visit my Mum in the near future.

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