Coming back to school, and hitting the ground running in the lead-up to exams has made the two weeks since I last said ‘merhaba’ (discounting when I said it accidentally to a puzzled shopkeeper in Geelong) disappear quickly, however putting my fez back on, eating some of my last Turkish Delight, and looking at my photos has brought back memories filled with laughter, songs, and extremely moving experiences.

It is hard to describe the Simpson Prize in words. When I’m asked, the words ‘amazing, fantastic’ spring to mind, but never quite describes what I felt during the time. Perhaps there is no way that the Simpson Prize can be summed up in words.

I similarly face difficulty in deciding on the highlight of the trip. Possibly our songs, such as singing ‘Staying Alive’ in falsetto at night in Istanbul, or ‘Istanbul (not Constantinople)’ in Changi airport. Maybe our visits to the huge Hagia Sophia and the monstrous Blue Mosque, ‘toasting’ to our trip with Turkish Delight’, or haggling at the Grand Bazzar. ‘Hey you, aussie, you from Canberra?’ ‘No, Melbourne’ ‘Ohh I love Lelbdone, I have family in Lelbdone!’

Of course, I couldn’t forget Gallipoli; the real reason we were there. Anzac was entirely different to my expectations; the beaches shorter, the cliffs bigger, and the cove smaller. Seeing the beaches, where those magnificent men landed 95 years ago, giving their lives so that we could live ours, was an incredibly moving experience, and this pilgrimage is surely one that all Australians should endeavour to complete. Possibly my most moving experience was the presentation of the two soldiers from my local area – Stuart Anderson and Leo Dwyer. They were both just boys, not much older than I, and both never to return home from those cliffs. Being able to find their graves for my local RSL is something that I can give back to my community from the amazing opportunity that I have been given.

Anzac Day also definitely deserves a mention. This special day was one of the biggest days of my life. Rugging up and eating kebaps at 4am marked the start of the day, before finding our ‘VIP’ seats in the commemorative area for the Dawn Service. Draped in Australian flags, and embracing our bogan Australian culture (or as the others pointed out, Victorian culture), we heard the last post as we saw the sun rose over the Sphinx, just as the Anzacs would have done nearly a century earlier. Meeting the Governor General at Lone Pine was also thrill, as well as other teenagers from Australia and New Zealand alike.

But no, the highlight of the trip was not the trip itself, but the amazing people I shared it with. So, to the speech-reading Alex, Yoda-speaking Sarah, mystery-woman Sophie, Disney-singing Maisie, mythology-knowing Alice, ‘Kimber the lion’ Kimberly, and room-mate with the dazzling blue eyes Dale, I thank you for making the experience so much more memorable, and for the amazing friendships we shared.

And of course, not to forget our teacher-chaperones Sharee and Jacqui who did everything to make our lives that much safer and more comfortable, as well as our ‘sister’ Eser, who offered to adopt us into her Turkish household, and our driver Ondur, who taught me how to win at backgammon and cheat at Pishti. And last, but not least, Andrew, Mr. G. What could such a group be without such an amazing leader, making jumping noises in safety videos, groaning with hot face washers, teaching us so much of the Anzac legend, and being such a great father for the trip.

And so, as I finish my final blog post, I feel like am somehow concluding what has been an amazing and memorable experience. But I will not say goodbye, as I promise to one day return to the magnificent place called Turkey, and see the amazing people that I met over there again. So I simply say Tesekkür ederim, thank you, to all the people who gave me such as amazing opportunity. And to the Simpsonites, I look forward to our inevitable reunion.

It was generally accepted by all that the worst part of the Simpson Prize is the return. Not just because we are all leaving a world of new memories and experiences but also that upon our arrival back in Australia we would all separate and travel individually to our isolated homes spread across our huge country where we would be unable to reminiscence all those fabulous events together except through the use of facebook; which just isn’t quite the same.

It was exceptional meeting everybody. The menagerie of different personalities that makes up the Simpson Prize Group certainly made the trip what it was. It will be hard to forget Andrew, his childlike persona burnt into our memories forever. Not that that is a bad thing though, as everybody has said, without him the tour would be not nearly half as much fun. It will also be impossible to ever forget the other winners of the prize. I honestly believe it was a privilege to travel with each and every one of you (even you Sophie). I know that this was a once in a life time experience and am slightly disappointed I will never be able to witness it again, the goods and bads of it. One thing for sure is that after Sarah’s, “A whole new scalp,” Aladdin will never be the same!

And now comes the very best bit of this trip. Two weeks of school to catch up on!

Once again, it was a pleasure to meet all of you and I hope to meet you all again one day.

As a teacher chaperone, the Simpson Prize trip provided an incredibly rich and intense form of professional development.  It was an absolute privilege to travel and learn with such a gifted and curious team of like-minded Australians, and I am so very proud of each and every one of them. 

Each day provided memorable moments – social, cultural, spiritual and historical.  Changes and continuities through time were evident every day and all around us.  Weathered shepherds still muster their sheep through ancient fields, now shadowed by enormous wind turbines.  We were humoured by the haggling efforts of “Mr.Kisses” in the Egyptian Spice Bazaar, yet awe struck by the sacred relics such as the arm of Prophet John at the Topkapi Palace.  Equally sacred were the intimate commemorations we held for ANZAC soldiers at each memorial we visited, including the recitation of a poem penned by Irene Lawrie at Quinn’s Post – “Lest We Forget”.  As the sun set across the mighty Aegean Sea, I gazed from under the mighty Sphinx, silent witness to the human triumphs and tragedies of 1915, and I envisioned the Allied fleet and soldiers approaching the shore for the prized Gallipoli peninsula.  One cannot discount the uncanny similarity to the 1000 Greek ships launched in 1200BC by that most famous of prizes – Helen.  In Troy, we take an express ride through history at a site that was first settled at the time the Great Pyramid was constructed in Egypt, and that witnessed the feats of Achilles, the might of the Persian Empire, the dreams of Alexander the Great, the desires of the Crusaders and the power of the Ottomans.  

Also powerful was the national pride experienced, whether for an indigenous serviceman at Lone Pine who was spiritually recognised and reconnected with his land at last, the camaraderie between Australians calling and waving to each other from ship to shore on a guided cruise along ANZAC beaches, the faultless work of the Simpson Prize students at the Lone Pine ceremony, or meeting with the Governor-General. 

This trip was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for which I will always be so very grateful, and I am thankful I experienced it with such an awesome team.

- Sharee Verdon, Moreton Bay College

Historically, of course, I learnt so much. I greatly expanded my knowledge about the Gallipoli campaign (and wider Turkish history) during the Simpson Prize trip. There’s something truly special about walking in the very same trenches as Australians before us, and it really gives you a greater sense of just how crazy the campaign was – there was literally just meters between some of the Turkish and Australian trenches. Also, walking among the many gravestones really gave me a better understanding of the level of sacrifice involved. We saw graves for young men only a few years older than ourselves, which really did make me think. Would we really consider enlisting for war in just one or two years time? I remember in Shell Green Cemetery seeing a grave for an “A. Biggs”, which really did, for lack of better words, touch me. I’ve since looked at the service records of this A. Biggs – Archibald Biggs, K.I.A. 20/05/1915.

Visiting Turkey has left me with many unanswered questions. Why is it that we, as young Australians, gravitate towards a conflict ninety-five years ago that was clearly a failure for the allies?  The representation of Australians at the Dawn and Lone Pine Services was predominantly young, and of course, highly enthusiastic. We were part of this young and enthusiastic crowd – exemplified by when I nearly fell of the stand at the Lone Pine in excitement when I found out we’d be meeting the Governor General!

But asides from the serious aspects, we did of course have lots of fun. From our epic haggling skills in the Grand Bazaar to swimming in the Agean, there were many memorable moments. The Grand Bazaar was all of our greatest shopping fantasies under one roof – our empty wallets on the return trip were testament to that! From shopkeepers singing Justin Bieber to lure us in, Dale being accused of being a sultan with us girls as his harem to a spice seller who told me of his grandfather who fought at Gallipoli, it was certainly the site of many great moments.

At Gallipoli, there was our iconic staging of the famous Shell Green cricket match, charging through the surf of the Agean sea, picking up pebbles on Anzac Cove, and clambering up Artillery Road. Despite our ardent quest to find remnants of the conflict, the best we could do was finding what was (according to all-knowing Andrew) part of a ceramic jug for food storage used by the Allies. To most of us it just looked like a chunk of smooth stone, but there you go! We instead had to satisfy our desires at the Kum Hotel, where they had a huge collection of bullets and the like. Another thing we found in Gallipoli was that it was almost too beautiful. With flowers blossoming next to every gravestone, the Judas Tree in Shrapnel Valley Cemetery in full bloom and the sound of the waves gently lapping the shoreline, it seemed too peaceful a place to be the sight of horrific battles. It took large stretches of the imagination to picture the scene ninety-five years back.

It’s funny the moments about Anzac Day that stick in your memory. For me, it is the day before, at the Kum Hotel, watching Peter Weir’s Gallipoli with the War Widows Guild tour group. Many of the women, who’d had fathers serving at Gallipoli, found it too much and had to leave. I spoke to one, Beryl, whose father had been a member of the 10^th Light Horse, but had not been a part of the bloody battle of the Nek as he’d been on a hospital ship sick. These women are some of the last direct links we have to the Anzacs, and I found it so special to be able to talk to them. As each generation gets more and more distant from the men who went out to Gallipoli ninety five years ago, I think it is increasingly important to hear these stories before they are lost. On Anzac Day itself, it was at the end of the Lone Pine service, when the band struck up ‘I am Australian’. Normally not such a fan of this song, even I joined in as the thousands of Australians in the stands united to sing. On reflection, it seemed such an odd moment – standing above the resting places of Australian soldiers, the pomp and ceremony over, all joining in to sing of our unity as a nation in the middle of Turkey.

On that last day in Istanbul, driving on our beloved, koala-bedecked minibus back to the airport, I really didn’t want to leave. I know I’ll be back though – Turkey is one of those captivating places that really does cast a spell over you. Maybe next time I’ll fulfill my desire to find a Turkish bebek (for those of you not in the know, it means ‘handsome’, or literally, ‘baby-faced’) husband who can cook! But for now, it is not so much goodbye, as au revoir. Until next time, Turkey.

Of the Dawn Service, I found the most moving section to be the sound and light presentation of the Gallipoli symphony. The combination of music to the pre-dawn lighting on the water and land, created a scene so reminiscent and similar to that of the 1915 landing, that I realised how little the landscape has changed, over the last 95 years, and how parallel the scene that we saw was, in comparison to the landing. Additionally, the emotional impact was very large, being present with thousands of other Australians and New Zealanders, who were there with the common interest to acknowledge previous generations sacrifices, and to salute them with pride.

When presenting Edward Lewis Maynard, I found that because of my research I felt connected with his individual story. I was not only acknowledging the contribution of a generation, but one individual’s personal sacrifice. Personally, my journey of discovery had enabled me to gain a greater individual connection with the Anzac spirit and legend. This feeling could not be conveyed as much through the mass commemoration services, as it was a more personal experience. For me, my commemoration of Edward Maynard was personal and distinct.

Having the opportunity to tell other people about Edward Maynard’s service as an Aboriginal digger was a very worthwhile experience.  I was able to tell his story to the other members of the Simpson 2010 group, and surprisingly to other Australians at Lone Pine when I was interviewed by Warren Brown, the compere for the pre-service activities. In addition, for me, it was very fitting and poignant that the last song the Naval Band played at the Lone Pine Service was ‘I am Australian’; a verse of which I presented as a key component of my commemoration of Edward Maynard. As I went to pay my last respects to Edward Maynard, I was pleased and proud to see a select few Australians looking at his name on the wall, because I had mentioned him, to them, before the Lone Pine Service.

Not only was the commemoration of Australian and New Zealand soldiers a major experience for me, but also the acknowledgement of our soldier brothers, the Turks. I found that the laying of the wreath of carnations at the Turkish 57^th Regiment memorial, with our Turkish bus driver, Ondur, was a very respectful experience, and appropriate. It was important to not only understand our own involvement, but also to respect the enemy who has become our friend.

I found the experience with Turkish culture a very interesting one. It was eye opening to see the different way of life that the Turkish people had, especially in Istanbul, with the everyday rush of life. The Turkish people were very welcoming, pleased to introduce themselves and keen to try out their English skills with us. Additionally, the Turkish spices were excellent, and, because I brought so many home, my house will always have their aroma!

My huge thanks to my fellow students who made this trip so worthwhile; to Alice, to Alix, to Dale, to Maisie, to Sarah, to Sophie and to Will for the fantastic friendships created, and the wonderful experiences enjoyed together. And, to Eser, to Sharee and to Jackie, thank you for making our trip safe and educational, and ultimately, to Andrew, my appreciation for bringing us all together, and ensuring our entire trip was so successful!

Yavas ol!

Departures and remembering

Departures are always difficult.

When it came to leaving Turkey, however, the hours of travel and emotional attachment kicked in when I touched home so that nestled within my ponderings were images of the serene Gallipoli landscape, cornucopia of bazaars, bebeks, rich history and the infectiously brilliant ‘Simpsonite’ Group. Needless to say, I felt like young Edmund Pevensie intoxicated with Turkish Delight and suffering the withdrawal symptoms as a result of it. Aside from contracting some mutated form of laryngitis, another, perhaps more significant after-effect was the yearning to go back. For all of us I think that the trip was a pleasure beyond a shadow of doubt. Picture the eight of us: Kimberly, Alix, Maisie, Sarah, Sophie, Dayle, Will and myself, all self-confessed nerds in Australia, making our way to the Gallipoli peninsular in a snug coach and letting our hair down. We sang songs, made trenchant remarks about the boys’ hair and surveyed the demographic landscape before us, with Sophie soon founding a new scale to measure the hotness of it all. We wanted to grasp every minute of our experiences, whether it be in a bus, climbing a Trojan Horse, bartering with an intransigent Turk or commemorating the sacrifices of the ANZACs. This urge to sum up our emotions, have some sort of tangible definition of what we had so gloriously experienced there, led Alix and Sarah to pen down all the witty lines, hilarious events, and creative Disney-inspired songs that we shared as a group.

In regards to the ANZAC service, both the Dawn Service and the Lone Pine Service were a final commemoration for us in several respects, a recapitulation of the symphony of experiences and stories we had gained from Gallipoli. It was especially emotional to hear those stories echoed out to us at the Dawn Service and the eerie, cathartic power of the music composed in memory of the ANZAC story.

The last few days were a whirlwind in terms of speed. When speed-shopping ended, before we knew it we were boarding our flight, farewelling Eser, our last real connection to Turkey and feeling gutted by the fact that all the Turkish food had been replaced by Burger King and Gloria Jeans. Departure from Sydney Airport meant real finality to the Simpson Group and we were desperate to keep in contact with one another. The bubble of 2010 ‘Simpsonness’ I think still remains within all of us, so that as Alix wisely predicted, nobody quite knows what ‘bebek’ or ‘yavas ol’ means. Thank you to my fellow ‘Simpsonites’ for making the trip what it was. Thank you to Eser, Sharee and Jackie for keeping us engaged and in line and Orndur for taking us to all the places and keeping Will amused with games. Warmest gratitude for Andrew’s presence, his humour, his infectious groans on the plane, and the liberty he gave us to explore everything. I have been told to do a short presentation on this trip at school and the one word that I can’t help using is ‘remember.’ I think now that the ANZAC story and the Simpson experience will always remain in our collective memories because we so dearly want to ‘remember’ it.

The four am kebab before the dawn service was perhaps an indescribable culinary experience, though the prelude to the dawn service itself, sitting in the cold and dark with tears streaming down my face as they told the stories of the men (some as young as my own brother) who had died on the beaches and in the hills, needs no explanation. When the dawn came and the bugle played as the massive form of the Sphinx slowly materialized above us, a feeling of awe came over us all in the face of the magnitude of the situation.  This was followed by a silence observed even by the sea, barely a wave lapping the hallowed shore where we sat. Presenting wreaths at Lone Pine after surmounting the hills of Artillery Road (where we shed all the layers gained during the cold dawn) was a great, unforgettable honour, as was the girls’ trust in my styling skills before the service in preparation for TV.  I was very thankful for all the practice we had done the night before concerning hair and eyes, because no one wants to risk the dangers of an amateur wielding a mascara wand.  The timely provision of a mirror by Eser elicited squeals of joy (my especially reflective phone wasn’t cutting it).

Since I arrived back home, the memory of the Grand Bazaar is enough to cause a sigh. I’m sure we all remember the valuable life lessons we learnt in those few short hours plundering the six-kilometre maze of stores we were thrown into, whether it be to always have a male to help buy coffee grinders, or that a fez will always, I repeat, always be cheaper on the street than inside the Bazaar.  The words “student discount” will work magic on an older male storeowner and ‘morning prices’ can always be halved.  Never enter the store of a shopkeeper that starts his approach by commenting on your appearance unless you determine to turn this flattery into a large discount.  Otherwise just pick up the pace as you hurry on past.  Buy carpets with a local who knows everything (and is friends with the shopkeeper) and always remember that turquoise is a wise investment.

The trip was an incredible experience, made so not only by the places we visited and the voluminous amounts of good food we ate, but by the amazing people I went with.  We couldn’t have had a better group, so thank you everyone for being fabulous; I can’t wait for the reunion!

Maisie xox

The reality of the Anzac Legend; that there isn’t a singular definition you can superimpose upon it. It has a barrage of different meanings and levels of significance relating to each individual Australian, which was exemplified at the Dawn Service, where different reasons brought the yellow-beanied “fanatics” and aged war veterans to Gallipoli.

What happens when you put eight teenagers together on an overseas trip; after twenty-six hours on a plane together, you lose any awkwardness you feel at being in a new country with people you don’t know very well. After all, once you’ve seen someone sleeping with their mouth wide open, you practically know them better than they know themselves. Surely this unique vulnerability we all witnessed provided the foundation for what, in a short amount of time, became close friendships.

The consequences of being a Northern Territorian- do not spend more than five minutes in the Aegean Sea. The cold will only hurt and possibly numb you, but you will have the delicious smell of seaweed in your hair as a constant and lovely reminder. You will also learn that the “Northern Territorian Toughness” immediately dissipates in mildly cold weather.

A little of the reality of Turkey, where everything is beautiful, and everyone is eager to serve you copious amounts of food. There was a kind of novelty value that came with being Australian- shopkeepers immediately screamed “Owzies!!! Kangaroo Jack?” if we told them, and lowered their prices with a supposed “Special Australian Discount For You”. The Turkish people and government also extend this courtesy on a more significant level, in their embrace of Australia’s national grief upon their land. The Gallipoli Peninsula is marked with the white memorials of Australian cemeteries, and national hero Atatürk himself honours the Australian loss on one such monument- “You, the mothers, Who sent their sons from far away countries, Wipe away your tears, Your sons are now lying in our bosom, And are in peace”.

So-called “embarrassment” is just an obstacle in the way of good times, as demonstrated by the groaning in ecstatic unison when receiving hot towels on the plane, high-pitched renditions of Staying Alive in fez hats on the streets of Istanbul, terrifying impressions of “What A Wonderful World” and an impromptu performance of the Sarah’s Soft Hair song on the floor of Changi Airport.

A minimal but (worryingly) useful Turkish vocabulary including two translations of “easy, tiger!” (yavash ol and colai arslan) and “he/she’s a babe” (bebek gibi). I also picked up a wider, Simpson Prize 2010 vocabulary, the most frequently used words and phrases being:

• Bebek- noun; a person of moderate to high hotness.
• Corncob- noun; a male, highly-rated “bebek”.
• Walnut- noun; a female, highly-rated “bebek”.
• The Bebekosity Scale- Of Biggian and Philippian origins; a very subtle scale using degrees and temperature to rate “bebeks”, e.g. “I’d say that waiter is an approximate 25 degrees on the bebekosity scale, wouldn’t you agree? Bit of a corncob really.”

Unfortunately, no one back home understands what I’m saying any more.

I’d like to thank everyone who made it possible for me to collect all of this new learning and become the enlightened monk-like figure I am today, particularly the National History Teacher’s Association, Australian Federal Government and Boronia Travel, who paved the way for us to Gallipoli; Andrew Gray, who can do the most high-pitched and concerning rendition of Staying Alive that I’ve ever heard in my many years; our brilliant Turkish guide Eser who held to her “I am a Sister, not a guide” promise; the teachers who accompanied and tolerated us; and my fellow winners, who helped make this the best time of my life thus far.

I’ll always remember the Simpson Prize Trip, thankyou to everyone for your support.

From The Mystery Woman herself, Sophie Philip.

Till then Hoscakal!