Not sure if you’ve heard much of Henry Tandey, VC, and the most decorated Brit of World War 1.

When Britain’s Neville Chamberlain met Hitler in Bavaria 1938, he saw a painting of Tandey lugging about a wounded man. Hitler claimed the soldier had later pointed a gun at him but spared him.

“Providence saved me from such devilish accurate fire as those English boys were aiming at us,” Hitler supposedly said.

The jury’s out. Historians say Hitler’s unit was 50 miles away, so the story is more Hitler trying to create a myth about divine intervention saving his sorry carcass.

Nothing new about enlisting divinity and religion to the cause of war, of course.

Alexander claimed he was divine, pharoahs were deemed divine, the Christian God has led crusades, inquisitions and conflicts up to her epiglottis. Allah too. Iran’s ayatolloh is considered divine.

Even Trump claims a bizarre papal/Jesus divinity, in memes.

The ravings, ectoplasm and necrotic fervour attached to wars inspired and bolstered by divine folly and retribution is enough to send you spare if you think too much.

Anzac Day’s in there too. WW1 split the country straight down the middle – on religious grounds.

The Australian catalogue of conflict is grim stuff, and it’s long split the country on political, racial and social grounds also.

Think Suvla Bay, Fromelles, Changi, Long Tan, mutilados, PTSD, conscription, conscientious objectors, post-WW1 riots, anti-Vietnam demos, Morant, BRS, the Middle East.

Now you have your booing at the Anzac dawn services over welcome to country speeches in Melbourne, Sydney and Perth.

I wonder what those critics would make of RAAF pilot Bob Howsan, whose dying effort was to steer his crippled plane away from the French village Marly Le Roi and civilian casualties.

Real name Moheddeen Abdul Ghias Howsan, one of our many Muslim defence force members.

You can’t tell me it’s not peculiar Australia marks its ‘coming of age’ on the date of its worst defeat, courtesy incompetence by a Great Britain to which it still tugs the forelock. Allies, pfff.

But maybe that actually makes April 25 the right day to mark all our wartime shortcomings, tensions and sacrifices.

Don’t get me wrong. I empathise with the anguish of The Great War’s Aussie players and their role in conflicts since.

I’ve walked The Somme’s warrior-fertilised fields, shivered in Verdun’s grim Souterraine, found memorials to my forebears in the Alsace, pored over reams of old family letters between Truganina and WW1 France.

Whispered with the ghosts at Villers-Bretonneux, too. Together with Monash, they pretty much won the war.

One thing, there wasn’t a man jack amongst them suggested they need an annual footy match to remember them, let alone a medal for exemplifying the Anzac spirit of skill, courage and teamwork.

Can someone drop a little of the divine warrior footballer overkill? Out of respect.

It’s a footy match, not the shrieking, blood-soaked terror of battle.

Fighter pilot cum cricketer Keith Miller knew the difference.

When asked about the pressure of playing Test cricket, he said: ” Pressure is a Messerschmitt up your arse. Playing cricket is not.”

Lest we forget.

This article appeared in the Geelong Advertiser 28 Aprtil 2026.