At the going down of the sun, and in the first hush of dawn, we remember them. We remember not as one recites a date in a ledger, nor as one glances idly at old stone and bronze, but as children remember those to whom they owe everything. On this sacred ANZAC Day, we bow our heads before a generation of uncommon courage, and before all those who followed in their noble wake. They were young. So heartbreakingly young. Boys with laughter still warm upon their lips, girls with springtime yet in their step, men and women who ought to have known long years of peace, hearthside joys, marriages, children, gardens, ordinary Tuesdays and blessed old age. Instead, they heard the bugle’s cry and answered it. They turned from comfort towards chaos, from safety towards shot and shell, from the tender arms of those they loved towards the cold uncertainty of war. What must it have cost them to go?… What private terrors did they master in the small hours before battle? What prayers were whispered into trembling hands? What letters were folded carefully into pockets, kissed once, then placed close to the heart? They knew, as only the brave can know, that to step forward might mean never stepping home again. They knew they might never again see a mother’s smile, a father’s proud embrace, the face of a sweetheart waiting at the gate, the children they longed one day to hold. Yet still they went. Headlong into the fray. Steadfast. Resolute. Gallant beyond measure. And what of those left behind?… The mothers whose hearts broke in silence. The fathers who stood straighter only because grief would not allow them to fall. The wives and sweethearts who kept vigil by the window, straining for footsteps that would never come. The children who knew a parent only through photographs, medals, and stories told through tears. There are battlefields far from shore, yes… but there were battlefields in kitchens, in parlours, in lonely bedrooms, where sorrow was borne with equal courage. We honour them all today. We honour the fallen, whose names are etched not merely in marble, but in the living soul of our nations. We honour the returned, who carried home wounds seen and unseen. We honour the families who gave their dearest treasures and were asked, by history, to endure the unendurable. We honour the spirit of mateship, sacrifice, duty, endurance, and that quiet valour which asks for no applause. They did not give their tomorrows so that we might squander today. They did not walk into darkness so that we might live carelessly in the light. The freedoms we enjoy, the peace we too often take for granted, were purchased at a cost beyond calculation. So let us speak their names with reverence. Let us keep faith with their memory. Let us live in such a manner that their sacrifice was not in vain. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them. Lest we forget. 🫡🇦🇺💔🫡🇳🇿💔