Today, the 25th of April marks the 96th anniversary of the landing at Gallipoli.
Over the next nine months or so, never have so many died in such a small area - one Australian offensive resulted in over 200 dead and approximately 130 wounded out of the 600 who took part, with every last one of them falling in an area no bigger than a tennis court. In another hotly fought engagement over just a few days, the dead were piled two, or even three metres high.
By the evacuation in January 1916 more than 120,000 men were dead from both sides. Almost nothing was gained.
Today we here in Australia and New Zealand remember the fallen, not just in that small strip of hell, but in all conflicts throughout the decades and all around the world.
Up until my discharge in 1995 I had the privilege of Cenotaph guard, each and every year. Although physically and emotionally draining, it's what I miss most from my time in the army. The dawn service, although short compared to the 11am, is, was, and always will be in my mind the most important. Unlike the latter service, only veterans tend to attend, soldiers who've fought, maybe been wounded, had their mates die beside them, and come out the other side.
"With the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them."
"Lest we forget."
