ANZAC Day — Carter family history and genealogy

ANZAC DAY

My father played the euphonium. I can’t recall whether he owned his own instrument or used the band's. He never encouraged us to pursue music, as far as I remember, but he was always keen for Bruce and me to play rugby. Dad, an ex-player himself, was a passionate supporter. Bruce and I started playing from a young age.

I sometimes reminisce about those early days: applying dubbin to leather rugby balls, polishing black boots with white laces, braving the thin air and icy grounds in Waiouru—where the swimming pool now stands—being handed orange wedges at halftime, and savouring hot Milo from an urn after the game. Back then, a try was worth three points—and there was no chance of getting paid for it, either. At least the rugby fields in Waiouru were free of cow patties, unlike the rugby paddocks in Pukekohe or Waiuku!

In later years, Bruce played hooker and I played halfback. We both made the 1st XV at Papakura High (though in different years) and were often soundly beaten by St Stephen's (they felt like an old-boys' team) and Wesley College. I still remember the great Bruce Robertson giving us a pep talk.

Many ANZAC Day Dawn Services were spent climbing over the old guns at the Auckland Domain while Dad played the euphonium in the band or lined up with the other “old bastards” (as we likely thought of them).

I believe Dad learned to play the euphonium in his teens, likely influenced by his Salvation Army upbringing. Lusty singing and loud music were hallmarks of Salvation Army meetings. Their brass bands at the time featured euphoniums, cornets, flugelhorns, and other instruments—not trumpets or French horns, which were reserved for orchestral and concert bands.

Dad wasn’t outwardly religious and, as far as I remember, he never spoke much about his Salvation Army upbringing. He was baptised at St Mark’s Church in Remuera on 24 May 1950, just three days before marrying Mum, who was an Anglican. Yet when he passed away on 28 May 1995, he had a Salvation Army funeral service. (Jill and Peter Hales were married at St Mark’s on 9 December 1972.)

Dad was a bandsman in the Band of the 1st Battalion, Auckland Regiment. In 1960, while with the 3rd Auckland North Battalion, RNZIR, he was awarded the British Empire Medal for his “outstanding contribution to Territorial Force recruitment”. In 1963, he was promoted to sergeant and posted to Burnham Camp. On 1 April 1964, all units of the Royal New Zealand Infantry Corps (including the 1st Battalion, Auckland Regiment) were reorganised into the Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment (RNZIR). That same year, the New Zealand Army Band was formed under Capt. Jim Carson of the RNZIR.

Members of the New Zealand Army Band were regularly posted to Malaysia to perform with the band of the 1st Battalion, RNZIR. From 1964 to 1966, Dad was posted to Terendak Army Camp in Malaysia with the 1st Battalion, RNZIR.

Dad took great pride in his association with these bands and remained an avid supporter throughout his life. His cherished Grundig radiogram (model KS 550), which he brought back from Malaysia, stood as a symbol of this passion—always gleaming with a deep shine and stacked with brass-band vinyl records.

ANZAC DAY

I blindly followed suit, starting at the bottom rung—the illustrious rank of Driver in the Royal New Zealand Army Service Corps (or, depending on the year, the Royal New Zealand Corps of Transport). My grand title of apprentice chef didn’t exactly scream military glory. One ANZAC Day, I found myself on sentry duty at the corner of a war memorial during the parade in Tokoroa, standing at attention like a statue. I ended up chatting with rural farmers from the backblocks and old soldiers—real veterans, unlike us pretenders.

These seasoned men had a particular fondness for a splash of rum in their morning coffee on ANZAC Day—a habit that conveniently extended to anything else liquid and alcoholic as the day wore on. As it turned out, so did I. That same afternoon, I treated myself to a different kind of cultural experience—watching “Saturday Night Fever” at the Tokoroa Picture Theatre, grooving to “Stayin’ Alive,” “You Should Be Dancing,” and “If I Can’t Have You.” I could probably work out the exact year if I made the effort.

[It was ANZAC Day, 25 April 1978—I was 18. On 12 May 1979, the RNZASC was disbanded, and its responsibilities for road transport, air dispatch, postal, and catering functions were transferred to the newly formed Royal New Zealand Corps of Transport (RNZCT).]

I’ve become one of the old bastards myself. On this beautiful, still, sweet dawn, I marched—or at least tried to keep in step—with the other old bastards at Waikumete Cemetery, proudly wearing the medals of my grandfather, Robert Fergusson Strong of the Seaforth Highlanders, whose ashes are interred there. Picture “The Western Front”—the Battle of Loos, the Arras Offensive, and the retreat under heavy fire during Operation Michael. The aftereffects of the gassing he endured were part of why he and his wife moved to a warmer climate—New Zealand—in 1924. Like him and his father, I share the Fergusson middle name.

Alongside his medals, I also wore Dad’s—Jay Force, Malaya, Borneo, and Vietnam. And, just to round things out, I pinned on my solitary medal—a humble memento of my time serving the Queen.

In comparison, the short time I served in the Army—the good times at Waiouru, Fort Cautley, and Ngaruawahia alongside my army mates—wasn’t a hardship at all.

Russell William Fergusson Carter, 25 August 2025.

FURTHER REFLECTION

Since rugby sidelined music lessons in my family, it’s thanks to my wife, Silke Carter, that music lives on in our household. Silke, a cellist, was the tireless force behind our sons, Alex and Max, learning the violin. She preferred the violin because, even though it is difficult to learn, it provides better ear training. I can’t say for sure if that’s true—though I suspect it is—but I do hope the music lives on.

ANZAC DAY

In 2013, I travelled with Silke and Max, along with the Aotea Youth Symphony, to Tahiti—the first time an orchestra like ours had ever been there. We were hosted by the French Navy but stayed in a resort hotel (Max stayed with a local family). Our mission was to remember and honour, on ANZAC Day, an Australian soldier and a New Zealand soldier who died en route home from the war in Europe. They are the only ANZAC soldiers interred in the cemetery in Papeete.

With us was Esther Harrop, daughter of our conductor, Paul Harrop. Esther, a lieutenant colonel in the New Zealand Army, led the service alongside the French Navy admiral, commander of the Armed Forces in French Polynesia—also a woman. This was perhaps the most memorable ANZAC Day parade I can recall. But one thing’s for sure: it was hot standing in the sun that day. The orchestra also performed at various locations around Tahiti. It was a great experience.

Read more on Tahiti Infos

ANZAC Day Reminiscing