The pre-dawn light was just starting to come through the lounge room window when I awoke. I had slept on the sofa at my father-in-laws house in Teagardens where we were visiting. I arose, and prepared for a lovely dawn on the river after the huge storms in the previous week.

Outside, in the normally quiet street there was almost a traffic jam, and throngs were walking along the esplanade to the local ANZAC Park. It is a hundred years since the failed World War I invasion at Gallipoli, and the Dawn Service to commemorate, is a matter of national significance.

I left the house with my camera pack and tripod walking in the opposite direction to the human tide. As a small boy my mother had once taken me to an ANZAC Day Parade in Melbourne during the 1960s, yet she refused to join the Returned Services League (RSL)…