Linda Reynolds (WA, Liberal Party) Share this | Hansard source

I rise tonight with a great deal of pride and emotion to share my family's pilgrimage to Gallipoli for the Centenary of Anzac celebrations.

On Anzac Day this year hundreds of thousands of Australians and New Zealanders came together in Gallipoli, not to commemorate victories or defeats in war but to honour and remember the courage and selfless sacrifice made by our service men and women, past and present.

My grandfather, Alfred George Reynolds, was one of the young soldiers who departed Albany in the first convoy, on 1 November 1914. He was a Third Field Ambulance medic, who, against all the odds, served not only throughout Gallipoli but throughout the Western Front, Fromelles, Somme, Pozieres, Ypres and Amiens.

Unlike so many of his mates, he did return alive. He returned home in good physical health but, mentally, terribly scarred. My grandfather rarely talked about his experiences and neither valued nor kept reminders of war. After the war, he went on to do many things in his long life in Western Australia. He married twice and had seven children. He was a wool classer, a sheep and wheat farmer in Mukinbudin, an accountant in Albany and even a politician—a Labor politician—in state parliament. His story is one of many now shared in the Albany Anzac Centre.

My Dad, Laith, and I were two of the very lucky 10,000 Australians and New Zealanders who were successful in the ballot for the opportunity to participate in the Gallipoli centenary commemorations. Joining us were my brothers Andrew and Cameron. It was my first organised tour and none of us were sure what to expect on an eight-day bus tour, finding out when we got there that we were four, along with 2,000 others, booked with this particular tour operator. They were up to the challenge and my family, and 20 other Aussies and Kiwis, became Bus A214 for the duration of the trip. We were a wonderfully mixed group who, over the course of the trip, shared our diverse and interesting family stories with not only each other but others whom we met.

After the official commemorations had concluded and the world's eyes had moved away from Gallipoli, my family and I continued to tour the battlefields and war cemeteries to gain a greater understanding of the Gallipoli campaign.

We were very fortunate on our bus to have the award-winning journalist and author Chris Masters as our historian. He skilfully brought the campaign to life with not only his own knowledge but the voices and stories of so many diggers. Our irrepressible local Turkish guide, Sukar, also provided us with thought-provoking and alternative points of view.

Many tears were shed by me and all others at the wonderful and moving ceremonies at Anzac Cove and Lone Pine. It was a trip that we as a family will always remember and cherish. It has also now given me much to reflect on as a senator.

As a family, we were hoping to gain a greater understanding while in Gallipoli of what my grandfather may have experienced and to fill in large gaps in our knowledge of his four years of war. We have fragments: his utter dismay at the Simpson legend and the mythology that arose; his extremely unfavourable impression of Pommy officers; his belief that shell shock was a medical condition, not cowardice; and his very keen appreciation of French women when he was on leave!

But, in retrospect, the most visible evidence of war, which bewildered his children, was his anger and lifelong battle with what today we call post-traumatic stress disorder.

My own memories of my grandfather are scant because he was already old when I was a child. Sadly, he passed away long before I was able to ask him questions that I had and now other family members have. But one of the most wonderful things I will always remember of the trip is the stories that we shared with each other, not only of my own family but also of everybody else there whom we encountered.

Strangers shared their stories on aeroplanes, on the way there, in cafes, in hotel lobbies and on the grass at Anzac Cove and Lone Pine. It was evident that we all had a very strong and common bond and that our pride as descendants of ANZACs was very clear.

While many said that they made the pilgrimage to honour their own family members, others could not find the words to explain why they had felt so compelled to make the journey. They just knew that they had to be there.

The rows of heartbreaking messages, placed by grieving family members on gravestones of their loved ones, will stay with me forever. They paid a penny and a half, per line, to try to both capture the life and untimely death of their loved one and make sense of their loss. 'Some day. Some time. We will understand. Mother,' was just one of the many heartbreaking tributes.

Sadly, the lives of so many of these men, who loved and who were loved, are already lost to time and their stories will not be remembered. While not all will be individually remembered, through the actions of an increasing number of family members and historians, many more will now be remembered and their stories passed on and I discovered not just in ways we would have anticipated.

I met two brothers at the Shrapnel Valley Cemetery, who were locating and individually dressing the gravestones of every single man whom their grandfather, a chaplain at Gallipoli, had buried. The efforts they went to to personalise each and every one of these gravestones and the respect that they showed these men were incredibly moving and will stay with me forever.

For 100 years we have said the words 'Lest we forget' at the end of the ode to remembrance. But I, and I am sure many others, have not always fully appreciated this solemn caution to us all—a caution not to forget the service and the sacrifice of all our returned service men and women, and also not to forget the lessons of war.

An anonymous Australian schoolchild's note, left on the shrine at Lone Pine, poignantly captured 'Lest we forget' with the words:

To all the soldiers who's stories are untold (love heart) sending love and thoughts.

Whether by action or design, the centenary is not only providing an opportunity to collectively commemorate service to our nation but also encouraging families and historians to capture and preserve these individual stories. That was evident on Anzac Day, right across the world, with shrines, cenotaphs and war cemeteries filled with wreaths, photos, mementoes, newspaper articles and, sometimes, people's handwritten notes to their own relatives.

None of us can ever truly understand what our returned service men and women experienced in war. That is reserved solely for those who have been to war. But hearing the voices and reading the stories of Gallipoli veterans while walking the ground with my father and my brothers—the same ground my grandfather walked 100 years ago—provided us with just a slightly greater insight into what he may have experienced.

On a very personal note, I hope that this has helped my father find a little bit more peace and understanding about his own father and the legacy that war had left him. The most emotional image that I took away was observing my father's silent contemplations on his own father at the Beach Cemetery, where my grandfather first came ashore on that fateful first predawn morning.

My heartfelt thanks go to the hundreds of Australian and New Zealand staff and volunteers, the ministers, the ministers' staff, the War Memorial staff, and all the hundreds and hundreds of others who made this possible. You all did an extraordinary job in another country and delivered, to all of us who attended, an experience we will never, ever forget. And for that I thank you most sincerely.

The Commonwealth War Graves Commission also does an amazing job. They quietly tend equally to all of those who will never return home.

The Turks' generosity of spirit in supporting our commemorations—of an invasion of their land—says so much about them as a nation and really brings to life Ataturk's famous words to Australian mothers whose sons lie forever in their soil.

So 'Lest we forget' means not only remembering the lessons of war, but also capturing and sharing the individual stories of those who served so that their families can individually remember and honour them all. And then, as a nation, we are able to commemorate them all. There is so much for me to reflect on. Lest we forget.