That night, as every other, the Last Post sounds and wreaths are laid at Ypres' towering memorial arch, the Menin Gate. I spot two Anzac re-enactors in the crowd, and assume they are the morning's performers. They are not: they're Queenslanders Ben Fenner and Darren Abbott, who arrived independently in Ypres as part of a 10-day tour of Western Front battlefields, and mainly wear their uniforms at night. "We were hoping it would add a bit of character to the evenings," says Abbott, a Toowoomba firearms and militaria dealer, "and give people a bit of an idea what it was like when the place was full of Diggers." Fenner and Abbott belonged to a re-enacting group which has since disbanded. Neither of them has served in the forces. Abbott tried to join the army twice but was turned down because of a back injury. The younger Fenner is only interested in the historical side. Back home, they staged the occasional mock battle scene, but not many people wanted to be the Germans. "In a typical re-enactment," says Fenner, "we'll probably have 10 to 20 Australians and maybe eight Germans." They sometimes set up camp at vintage-car days. I ask what kind of things people say to them. "In Australia," says Fenner, "they usually say, 'Aren't you hot in that?' " He thinks for a moment. "We had a campfire," he says, "and someone asked us if the fire was real." Loading The First World War uniforms worn by re-enactors are all reproductions and mostly made in India. It costs about $2000 to outfit yourself as an Anzac, from the slouch hat to the boots. Sales to fellow re-enactors make up a big slice of Abbott's militaria business.

The next day, I am walking through the war cemetery at Fromelles when I notice an Anzac re-enactor in an officer's uniform also strolling silently between the tombstones. This is quite a jarring dislocation. It is as if he has come back from the dead to visit his men. He looks as if he belongs. Back in Australia, I ask Peter Stanley, research professor in history at UNSW Canberra, what he thinks of Anzac re-enactors. Why is it that men like to dress up as soldiers rather than other, equally important historical figures such as, for example, journalists? As luck would have it, Stanley is probably the only journalist re-enactor in Australia. During his time as principal historian at the Australian War Memorial, the museum held an open day. "I went around dressed up as Charles Bean – God forgive me – in this war correspondent's uniform," says Stanley. "Because I wear glasses as well, it was very convincing. I don't think I actually did anything much. I just seemed to wander around." Stanley has also attended a re-enactment of the 1804 convict rebellion, the Battle of Vinegar Hill, in NSW in 2005, as a surgeon in a tableau. As well, he travelled to the US in 2013 to take part in a huge restaging of the 1863 Battle of Gettysburg, as a British Army captain. "I quite like dressing up – that's the fun bit," he says. "But I think you have to enquire what it actually means, and the more I enquired about it the less comfortable I was with it."

When they roll over and play dead, they pull out their phones and they film what's going on. At Gettysburg, Stanley took to the field with about 20,000 other re-enactors. He planned to write about it, but left before it was over. "They tell you re-enacting gives you great historical insight, that you can imagine what it was like to be there, but I had the opposite experience," he says. "I found the experience of watching overweight Americans fire their muskets – with blanks – at me just made me laugh. I thought it was pathetic. I couldn't take it seriously and I didn't enjoy it and didn't particularly enjoy their company, because a lot of American re-enactors are basically gun nuts, and generally I thought this was a waste of time. "They've got a roster of people who are supposed to roll over and play dead, and when they roll over and play dead, they pull out their phones and they film what's going on. They're not screaming in agony. It's not like war. It's a painless imagining of it." The largest Australian military re-enactment of last year was staged for the centenary of the October 1917 Australian Light Horse charge at Beersheba, Israel. One hundred members of the Australian Light Horse Association (ALHA) flew to the Middle East to re-enact – at a canter – the famous cavalry charge that led to the town's taking from the Turks.

There is no reliable figure for the number of Anzac re-enactors in Australia, but the ALHA claims 500 to 600 active members. On parade, many carry original .303 rifles. "There's huge interest in the Light Horse in rural areas," says Stanley. "There are people who believe in the old Anzac virtues: they idolise the Anzacs as representatives of the real Australia. That's where it's got political dimensions. I don't think they're really doing it because they want to understand mounted combat in the Great War: they're doing it because it's their way of sharing – of taking part in and embodying – the Anzac legend." Donna Wright became one of the first women to ride with the Sydney branch of the Australian Light Horse Association over a decade ago. Credit:Tim Bauer The ALHA was founded in 1986 by officers of the 2nd/14th Light Horse Regiment and other Queensland reservists. The Light Horse shed its horses during the Second World War – today, it mounts armoured cars – but its early ranks included a couple of cavalrymen who had ridden in the days of saddlery and steeds. The ALHA hoped to sustain the memory of the Anzac horsemen, and also supply re-enactors for ceremonial occasions, as the army itself had virtually no horses anymore. There are now more than 30 ALHA troops throughout Australia except the Northern Territory. In about the year 2000, the ALHA shocked elements of the re-enacting community by allowing both sexes to ride as light horsemen in its parades.

Barry Rodgers, organiser of the ALHA's re-enactment ride at Beersheba, says, "Some re-enactors won't let women take part because there were no women in the Light Horse, or in the infantry. The irony of it is, a lot of these re-enactors who don't want the women are in their 50s or 60s, and there were no bald-headed men in the infantry or Light Horse either. Without our female members we wouldn't have an association." ALHA national president Phil Chalker, a former police officer, estimates about one-quarter of members are women, although not all ride. Donna Wright, who has worked around racehorses her whole life, was one of the first women to ride with the Sydney ALHA, on a Reserve Forces Day parade in July 2007. "The women are very, very careful about how they present themselves," she says. "We don't wear make-up or jewellery, and our hair's tied back so we look like a male participant." Marielle Sweeting, 23, is the youngest female riding member of the Sydney Australian Light Horse Association. Credit:Tim Bauer Can spectators see that they're women? "I guess close up," says Wright, "because we don't wear sunglasses or anything like that. We wear the exact same uniform." She parades in original Light Horse gear. She says the jacket is a little big. "They only ever had two sizes," says Rodgers, "too big or too small."

Rodgers explains why last year's ride at Beersheba turned out to be more of a trot than a charge. "There were a number of issues. It was regarded as a ride for peace, so we made a conscious call not to take any weapons. We decided to go for a more respectful … walk over the hallowed ground, as it were, although we did get into a canter at one stage. It wasn't a mad charge. No galloping. The horse-handlers won't allow it. Insurance parameters were quite strict on how we performed." The youngest female riding member of the Sydney ALHA is equine surgical nurse Marielle Sweeting, 23. She first paraded with the ALHA on Reserve Forces Day aged 16. "They were maybe a little bit sceptical when I started doing it," she says, "being so young. But they've welcomed me and they've invited me back every year." Do many young men take part? "I've not met one yet, to be honest." While many re-enactors are concerned with honouring fallen soldiers, Sweeting's interest lies with the First World War horses, almost all of which were either transferred, onsold or destroyed at the end of the Sinai-Palestine campaign. "It's important to the people of the horse world," she says, "because so many horses were sent over and only one was able to return. They didn't really have an option to put their lives on the line, because their rider took them over, he was their friend and they trusted him. The soldier and his horse was a team effort. That's what we represent in my eyes." ANZAC re-enactors are in high demand throughout Australia on Reserve Forces Day, July 1, when the Reserve Forces Day Council – an organisation made up largely of retired military personnel – likes to use them in its public displays. Council chief executive, the retired Lieutenant Colonel John Moore says re-enactors have played their part since the first parade in 1998. I ask him why they don't use actual reservists instead. "Well, first of all, the uniforms cost about $1500 each," he says. "It's a very good reason." The re-enactors enjoy their roles, and spectators seem to appreciate them. "People are always saying the Light Horse look magnificent and they bring a touch of historical interest to the parade," says Moore. "If they don't have their harnesses on right and all the rest, there'll be people in the crowd who'll pick it up."

At an event to mark the launch of the preparations for Reserve Forces Day 2018, I meet a handful of men from the 18th Battalion Living History Group, an amiable band of largely working-class men based in outer Sydney suburbs. There's James Downey, who drives hi-rail trucks for a railway contractor; Daryl Bach, who drives a truck for The Smith Family; and Rod Harris, who gave up his job at a fire-sprinkler company to care for his elderly mother. "We often get picked on for our slouch hats," says James Downey. "'Your slouch hat's wrong' – that's the first thing they'll say. 'It's the wrong shape.' We have to explain that up until 1952, a soldier's slouch hat was any shape he wanted. It was as individual as the man wearing it." Rod Harris dresses up as his great-grandfather, a First World War corporal who survived the hostilities, though his brother perished. Credit:Tim Bauer Downey joined the Living History Group in 2001. "When you're in a uniform," he says, "as soon as they see you, people want to know what you're doing, and what's the uniform. I really enjoy teaching the history." Did he like history at school? "Nope," he replies, immediately. "I can remember the 11th of December 1993, when they did the reinternment of the Unknown Soldier; I was at school, up near Windsor, and they dragged us all out of class, and I remember having the shits because it was stinking hot, and I thought, 'This is a waste of time.' Looking back now, I kick myself. I wish I'd had more interest. There were a lot more Diggers around back then. I could've found out more firsthand."

What about Daryl Bach? "I did geography at school," he says, "but later on the history kind of sucks you in." And Rod Harris? Was he interested in history as a boy? "No, not really," he says. "I was more geography." Last year, the 18th Battalion Living History Group stood in silence in Pitt Street Mall, Sydney, representing the "Ghosts of Anzac". If they were approached by a passing shopper, they would not speak but give out a card with the name, rank, number and date of death of the real soldier they portrayed. "I only got one insult all day," says Downey. "The majority of people want to know." Harris dresses as his own great-grandfather, Corporal William Fletcher Davies, who returned from the First World War but left behind the remains of his brother, Private George Fletcher Davies, at Polygon Wood in 1917. George's name is listed among those of more than 54,000 missing Commonwealth servicemen on the Menin Gate. "They didn't find enough of him to bury," says Harris. He carries a clutch of photographs of his great-grandfather in the breast pocket of his uniform, although he never met his relative, who died before Harris was born. Bach, one of three original members of the group, is a serial re-enactor, with about 30 years' experience of dressing for different times and places, from bushranger-era Australia to the American Civil War. He had relatives on both sides in the First World War, and sometimes plays a "generic German" in reenactments. He has appeared with the group as an Anzac in a couple of movies, a documentary, and a TV commercial for Legacy. In the days of the Old Sydney Town theme park, he manned a small trench system. "We spent most of our time digging the hole," says Bach. "Then we'd put on displays as people went past." Photos and medals of Rod Harris’s great-grandfather, Corporal William Fletcher Davies. Credit:Tim Bauer

In recent years, Bach's wife has joined in with his hobby, and now she dresses as a First World War Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse. Many re-enactment groups include one or two "nurses". Faye Threlfall of Bacchus Marsh, Victoria, was going to join the local Creswick Light Horse Troop as a soldier in 2008. She had been immersed in research about her grandfather and the First World War. "And then I thought, 'What happened to the women?' " she says. " 'Were they left behind?' So I started looking it up and, sure enough, there's all these nurses who served. And I'd never heard of them." About 2500 Australian nurses served overseas, and a version of their story was turned into primetime TV in 2014 as Anzac Girls. The troop said they would be honoured to take Threlfall into their ranks as a nurse. Sydneysider Daryl Bach has been re-enacting military personnel for 30 years, occasionally playing a “generic German”. Credit:Tim Bauer Nurses' uniforms are not widely available through military surplus outlets, and Threlfall had to ask a girlfriend to make her first costume for her. The uniform she wears today was actually made for Anzac Girls. In parts of the re-enacting world outside of Creswick, women "used to be pushed aside", she says, "treated like lesser human beings who didn't know what they were talking about". She adds: "It used to be that you wouldn't comment. Now I'll only comment on things that I know about – and I'm usually right."

After four years of centenary events, people are "a lot more interested", she says. Daryl Bach agrees. "Australians now are far more aware of our role in the First World War than they were when I was at school," he says, "when all we knew about was Gallipoli." A number of academic historians are also enthusiastic re-enactors, including Brad Manera, historian at the Anzac Memorial in Sydney. "He's an absolute storehouse of knowledge," says UNSW's Peter Stanley, "and he's a great guy. He'll dress up for you if you ask him nicely. Actually, he'll dress up for you regardless." "There are lots of people who just live for re-enactment and call themselves re-enactors," says Manera. "I don't know that I've ever called myself a re-enactor, although everybody says, 'But hang on, you dress up and you come camping with us and you eat the food and you shoot the muskets. You are a re-enactor. Stop lying to yourself.' " He pauses. "I am," he admits, "lying to myself." Manera has a large private collection of uniforms and artefacts, and has re-enacted everything from the English Civil War to the American Civil War. "I've ridden down Anzac Parade in Canberra dressed as a Light Horseman from the Sinai-Palestine campaign, 1916-1918," he says. "I worked on a Turkish documentary providing advice on the re-enactment scenes dressed as a 1915 Anzac." Manera was at the Polygon Wood commemorations in Belgium, escorting a group of school students who had won scholarships to attend. The re-enactors in the forest had travelled at their own expense but were paid a daily stipend for their performance.

"I was curious to see the group of Australians who'd gone over to dress up," says Manera. "From my perspective, the ceremony could have done without it. Because I'm old enough to remember when those blokes were still alive. An old next-door neighbour of mine was with the 16th Battalion at Polygon Wood. So to see somebody dressed up, and not dressed up 100 per cent accurately – they had overseas service chevrons; they had Anzac 'A's on their colour patches; the uniforms weren't all that good for September 1917 – and calling each other 'Bluey' and saying 'strewth' … it just grated a little bit. Whereas the students thought it was terrific and the teachers were really delighted with it." Manera thought he might be able to use re-enactment to investigate the lived experience of the past, but does not believe it belongs in solemn occasions. At the Menin Gate, "I was disgusted at the number of Australian re-enactors who turned up dressed up in World War I uniforms," he says. "I thought, 'Mate, where do you think you are? There's 55,000 names of those who have no known grave in this place. It's not for dress-ups.'" Stanley remains sceptical that re-enactment has much historical value. "It is a way of understanding history," says Stanley, "but, to me, it's a very limited way of understanding history. War gamers say this as well: that recreating battlefield combat on the screen or on the board helps you understand the reality of warfare – and, of course, it doesn't. It helps you to understand the rules of the game you're playing." The ordinary re-enactors I meet make no great claims for their hobby. They seem to simply enjoy wearing uniforms, learning and – especially – teaching about the past. Most of them probably cherish a folkloric picture of the Anzacs and give unwarranted weight to the military experience in Australian history, which was made as much by women at home and workers in factories as men in uniform marching off to war. But there is something democratic in the re-enactors' approach, and there is a romance in their nostalgia for times they never knew. Bach says the best time of his re-enacting life was a 2005 encampment at the Anzac Rifle Range at Malabar, in Sydney's south-east, that was attended by re-enactors from all over Australia. "The highlight of that was having the whole camp set up – bell tents, cottage tents, vehicles – with everybody walking around in uniform, nothing modern to be seen. And to be able to stand back and look at it and think, 'It would've looked just like this.' "

Mark Dapin travelled to the Western Front battlefields as a guest of the Department of Veterans' Affairs.



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