The Park Dedication

I’m trying to remember. It was only the Monday before last. I took the day off work. There was something to do in the morning. Yeah get a haircut and from there home to change into a suit and then catch the bus to Beersheba.
I had to choose a tie, which is a hard choice considering reigning ties etiquette in Israel. It bothered me all the way home from the barbers. Like I’m way out of touch with tie fashion. I do have a couple of woollen ties, a paisley tie and even an old silk tie of my father’s from the 50’s. I mean what do you have to go by in this neck of the woods in this field of sartorial specialisation? The only people who wear ties in Israel are lawyers and politicians appearing on TV and you wouldn’t want to trust their fashion sense any more than you’d ask them for ethical advice.
This was an Australian function, the dedication of a park in Beersheba in the name of The Australian Soldier. The invitations were personal, with a specified a dress code and invitees were asked to arrive early out of security considerations. The formal invitation certainly gave you the feeling that Jewish Mean Time was not the appropriate standard of conduct for this type of function.
Once I got home I tried ironing the silk tie but once I put my glasses on to tie the knot I noticed that it had worn right through in certain spots, so I had to pass that one up.
I felt slightly ridiculous riding Israeli public transport in a suit, though I still hadn’t put my tie on. I considered pretending to be Mormon, but I don’t have enough hair left to fake a blond fringe so I gave that idea up too. And then you got to be real choosy about who you sit next to on a bus in these set of circumstances. You wouldn’t want to find yourself introduced to the governor general’s wife with someone else’s bloody great techina and schoog stain on the sleeve of your jacket, would you? (Oh my god! Am I starting to sound like some sort of throwback colonial refugee from Summerset Mangham’s Singapore? Hail Mary forgive me.)
With more luck than good sense I got to the park ahead of time.
Outside the stadium like park perimeter I spied a blond soldier in a WWI uniform sitting on a horse. I wasn’t totally sure if he was the real thing or a fair-haired native. Remembering how approachable the Australian soldiers had proved to be last October I went up and started chatting with him. He was the real McCoy, over all the way from Australia just for the ceremony. He serves in a Lancer unit, what you might call the direct descendant of the light horse regiment, which charged, in the famous battle of Beersheba 90years ago. He was a nice bloke from Queensland. When I asked him how his stay in Jerusalem had been, he seemed happy enough with the situation, but the Passover kushrut restrictions had apparently affected the taste of the food. He said the eggs had come out blackish. Well I admit I didn’t get the connection if he wasn’t talking about toast. But I didn’t want to disappoint him any further. Anyway pessach was over by now, so the food ought to be more normal, and I moved on.
Once I got through the security check and donned my tag I had a chance to wander around the park. It’s very impressive, dominated by the green grass and white stone outdoor architecture and a blue tent like awning over the special playground catering to children with physical disabilities. Right away the scale of the park and the arrangements for the dedication impressed me immensely.
A few hundred chairs were set out under an immense white awning, and on each chair was a handout shoulder bag laden with goodies, souvenirs of the dedication and a book of photos from the WWI Palestine campaign. There were hats and lapel badges too.
With time on my hands I wandered around the park, white bars and counters peppered along the paths and the lawns with matching sofas. Personnel manned every counter with a marked air of competence or calmly set about guiding guests around the park. It felt more OS than Eilat. Everything about the event oozed sumptuous lifestyle and comfort befitting the occasion in the presence of the Australian vice royal, if not the president of the State of Israel. A great credit to the organisers and sponsors of the park, in particular the Pratt Foundation.
Once we were called to the ceremonial assembly area the dedication began with a clear emphasis on protocol and detail. It seemed the right time to don my tie as specified in the dress code. The contingent of Australian soldiers from the 12th/16th Hunter River Lancers and the 4th/19th Prince of Wales light horse regiment who’d arrived for the dedication provided the soldiers for the guidon party and the catafalque party setting the ceremony in motion. Besides the ceremonial arrival, we sat through hymns and official addresses of the guests of honour, wreathlaying, Last Post and Rouse, the centrepiece of the dedication ceremony being the unveiling of the memorial, a bronze statue by sculptor Peter Corlett of a light horseman on his mount charging over fortifications. The statue’s innate drama drew a palpable collective sigh from the audience.
Besides the opportunity to mingle with friends who I don’t get to meet too often, I immensely enjoyed meeting the Australian guests who arrived especially for the dedication. If it had always been so easy to meet people maybe I never would have left the place in the first place. Maybe it was the presumption of playing host, which negated my usual shyness, and had me donning the mantle of hospitable padrone, like some one man Bananas in Pyjamas.
“After you B1.”
“No after you B2.”
Who cares? I revelled in the situation. And in the meantime I'd removed my tie 'cause at least half the other male guests hadn't bothered with them at all, though I'm not sure whether to credit this to Australian larrikinism or to chutzpah. But maybe the personal highlight of the afternoon for me was unexpectedly meeting a number of youngsters (compared to me), either living here or visiting, who are the kids of old school buddies from GK Korsunski Carmel.
Then I took to rubbing shoulders with the local kids trying out the instillations in the new park, talking with them or was it more like interrogating them, keeping up the pace of my overall buzz. I was feeling magnanimous riding on the coat tails of others and I guess that with my suit and accent they weren’t too sure whether I was some rich benefactor from overseas or just some sort of northern white bread patronising do gooder passing through. But more to the point, what I learned from them was, that they loved the park. We all waltzed around from game to game.
Oh well like Cinderella I learned that the giddy dazzling event had to eventually fade into the night. The real guests of honour had left for their lodgings or hotels and the catering staff were clearing up. The desert air was getting chilly and my ride northwards was ready to go. At least I didn’t find myself sitting on a pumpkin.