On this most meaningful day:
We acknowledge this is Jaggera and Yugumbir land, and we pay our respects to the elders and customs of the traditional owners and all the first Australians.
Can I thank Ken Heard OAM, and all the men and women of the Logan and Districts RSL, for what you do for our veterans, for organising this commemoration today, and for so long now, and for the opportunity to address you again this year.
I know the other dignitaries appreciate the invitation as well.
Can I thank all the local schools, community organisations, and sporting groups who have come together in such impressive numbers.
And particularly the military men and women from Australia and New Zealand, the serving and those who have served, including those who have joined us here.
***
103 years ago today, in the pre-dawn dark, one boat after another crunched into the sand and rocks, and the young men, of an even younger Commonwealth, ran forward into the fire and fear.
Fred Pope was early onto the beach.
He was from Woodridge. From just next door, in fact, as many of you know.
Shot in the shoulder that first day, later gassed on the Western Front – he made it home to raise poultry here.
Sydney Creswell was another.
A farmer like Pope, but from Kingston, one suburb over.
His 4th Battalion took to the Gallipoli cliffs late in the afternoon of the 25th, playing a pivotal role in establishing, then defending, the beach head.
He was wounded five weeks later, in and out of hospital.
He never came home.
His body wasn’t found but his name is inscribed on one of the 182 special memorials at Lone Pine.
Amidst the misjudgements and missteps of that Gallipoli campaign, there were victories too.
Three years later and 100 years ago today, Australian and British troops, after a night-time assault, reclaimed Villers-Bretonneux in northern France, effectively ending the German offensive on the Somme and changing the course of the war.
A crucial military victory, but not without a price.
Some 2,400 Australians lives were claimed by the brutal efficiency of German machine-gunners just one week after a mustard gas attack had taken another 1,000.
But having endured all of that, heavily outnumbered, our diggers and the Brits reclaimed that village, and it remained in Allied hands for the rest of the war.
No village outside of Australia flies more Australian flags than Villers-Bretonneux.
We remember as they do, every life lost, every friendship formed, every act of courage, the bravery, the perseverance in the face of abysmal odds.
***
That was supposed to be the war to end all wars.
Were that true, Fred Pope wouldn’t have had to put his hand up for a second world war which began just 21 years after the first.
And Kenneth Briggs wouldn’t have found himself crowded next to another diver in a midget submarine for 30 hours in July 1945, in the waters off the Vietnamese coast, as the key component of Operation Sabre.
His crew had been tasked with severing the critical Japanese underwater communications cable linking Saigon and Singapore.
Once they thought the cable had been located, Ken dove into the unknown depths to confirm, returned to the submarine for some air cutters and dove back down into the dark to cut a 45cm piece from the line.
The second dive didn’t take long, but his actions forced the Japanese to
send their messages by radio, which enabled the US Navy to decode them.
When Ken was interviewed years later, he was humble.
Despite being awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, Ken took his contribution to the war effort in his stride.
He was just doing his job and he was pleased that he did it well.
I’m so fortunate to have met Ken, albeit briefly.
And I’m sad he was lost to us a couple of months ago, aged 94.
He’ll be remembered in our community, especially around Underwood and Rochedale South, where he lived.
And across the country and across the globe for playing a key role in one of the most pivotal missions of the Second World War.
Remembered and immortalised for an act that might have only taken just over 10 minutes, but which helped bring about an end to the war in the Pacific.
We remember him as we remember Pope and Cresswell.
We remember them as we remember a man called Snipper – my relative Norman Sim –buried on a breezy ridge in Broodseinde in 1917 and reinterred at Tyne Cot.
We remember Norman as we remember Uncle Reg’s brother John Knox, who died at Changi in 1942.
We remember John as we remember every Australian and all our Kiwi brothers and sisters who risked their life in both world wars, in Japan, Korea, Malaya, Vietnam, Indonesia, Iraq, Afghanistan – everywhere we have served.
We remember the soldiers and signalmen, the nashos, nurses and navigators.
And we remember much more than that – the mums and aunties and sisters and daughters. The uncles and brothers and dads and sons.
The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders who fought for a nation that did not yet count them as citizens; the Maori, and soldiers from 28 different homelands who died in an Australian uniform.
The ordinary people from communities like ours who swapped safety for sacrifice to join a cause bigger than themselves.
We lament the fact many of these brave men and women are no longer with us to share their own stories.
It’s on us now, to pass them down.
Through their kids and grandkids, their nieces and nephews, who wear their medals with pride on days like today.
Through schoolkids who learn of their exploits, their courage and their sacrifice.
Through the ever increasing crowds at ANZAC events each year – the contingent from Logan Brothers which gets bigger and bigger every 25 April is testament to that.
Through you; through us.
We will reflect on their service so it might inspire us to rise to the challenge of their legacy, to meet the standards that they have set.
To build this community and our country into something worthy of their sacrifice.
Lest we forget.
