Fiona Scott (Lindsay, Liberal Party) Share this | Hansard source

The landing at Gallipoli is an episode in our nation's history—one that broke the hearts of families, villages, communities and countries and forever entrenched the legend of Anzac as an intrinsic part of our nation's identity. Every day we still see parts of the legacy of Anzac right throughout our country. We shall never forget that 8,141 Australians would die on that peninsula. We should never forget that terrible toll, and we should never forget the devastation that more than 8,000 families endured. Families in the twenties were still coming to terms with their losses; you only need to look at the newspapers of the time: parents were being offered a medal in return for their loss. It does not seem to be a very fair exchange, but for those parents it was everything and for many it was the only thing they had to remember their sons by.

In 1914, there were fewer than five million Australians. We were a country full of hope. Out of the gloom of Victorian terraces and rundown inner city suburbs, a new Australia was emerging, a gentile country, a new country, making a statement with fine Federation houses, a new flag and a new spirit. We were no longer settlers or convicts; we were mates. We were no longer New South Welshmen, Victorians, South Australians, Western Australians, Queenslanders or Tasmanians—we always have our identity at State of Origin time; we were Australians. Yes, we were young and we were free, but we were still guided by what was, at the time, our mother country, Britain.

It was an era when the horse and cart still dominated the roads and when trams opened up our inner city suburbs. It was a period when we began to dream big. Then, on 28 June 1914, something very remote and unremarkable to the average Australian happened: a Serbian nationalist assassinated Franz Ferdinand, the Archduke of Austria and Hungary. The heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne was dead. On 28 July, Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. This, in turn, saw a complex series of treaties invoked which placed Britain at war with Germany.

Being part of the Empire, Australia was also at war with Germany, so Australian troops boarded steamships and headed to the Northern Hemisphere. Initially, most headed to Egypt and set up camp under the pyramids. For many young men it was an adventure, a trip of a lifetime, a free pass to visit family back in England. In Egypt, they were chaotic. There was larrikin behaviour towards British officers, and many ran amok through the settlements—but, soon, the fun would be over.

The war had reached a point where allied Russia was being starved of supplies because enemy countries were blocking access. A plan was hatched to try to ship supplies through the Dardanelles Strait—a body of water just over 60 kilometres long and, in places, just 1,500 metres wide—to supply Russia from the Black Sea. First they sent a shipping convoy, but the strait was heavily mined. Tragic assumptions were made. It was thought the Turkish army would be unwilling to fight and that troops would be able to take the shoreline and secure the Dardanelles.

On the morning of 25 April 1915 the first Australians went ashore. When they landed they faced a small beach and huge cliffs. The Turks were waiting. That we held any position that day was a miracle. We were in a stalemate for eight months. It was there, dug into trenches, that people relied on each other. That support saw incredible bonds formed, which we recognise today as mateship.

Gallipoli was part of a war that saw 416,809 Australians enlist and around 60,000 die. It ruined families; it broke hearts. But the mateship formed on that tragic shoreline would also serve to define our nation. We were no longer colonies. We were no longer English, Scottish, Irish or Welsh—we were all Australian. For a while, even our Indigenous population were treated as Australian and equal in every sense of the word. Sadly—very sadly—that goodwill ebbed away in the following years, and only now are we finally starting to break down the layers of discrimination. For the Turks, too, Gallipoli was a pivotal moment. It defined modern Turkey. It saw the demise of the Ottoman Empire. For the Turks, too, there were tens of thousands of families experiencing the pain of loss. In this hundredth year we commemorate all of this. We should never forget the legacy our forebears left.

In my electorate of Lindsay this year we are restoring honour roll boards for our local schools. The Penrith RSL sub-branch is organising the restoration which will mean those boards will continue to play a pivotal role for the next 100 years in ensuring so many schoolchildren also understand the losses. Recently I had the pleasure of looking at some of these boards at Llandilo, Penrith, Orchard Hills and Emu Plains public schools. On these visits it struck me just how well our younger generation understand the Anzac spirit and the honour in keeping it alive. These were kids in public schools, yet they knew what had happened 100 years ago. They knew what these brave young men did for our nation. Some of the principals will use those rolls as the basis for research on the young men from our local community that went to war. Students will pick names from the boards and check military records to learn about this history.

I would also like to talk about Wollemi College in Werrington, a school which is building a memorial garden as a permanent reminder of all who have sacrificed. Recently 102,804 poppies were planted in Poppy Park in Penrith—a poppy for every serviceman and servicewoman who has died in war since the Sudan conflict in 1885. Media right around the world talked about Poppy Park in Penrith. I would like to commend the work of Martin and Owen Rogers for bringing Poppy Park to life.

In September we will see the Cooee March go right through Penrith. A cooee march also came through Penrith a century ago on a recruitment drive for young, fit and able-bodied men to join the war effort. The government is supporting the march with a day of commemorations in St Marys. The original march began in Gilgandra with 26 men. They walked 320 miles. By the time they reached Sydney, they were 263 men strong. They were blokes wanting to help in a time of need, as reports were coming home about the horrific situation our diggers faced. In September, people will march in peacetime. A century ago, many marched to board ships that would take them to their final resting places. All of this is being remembered in Lindsay, with many schools this year having held moving Anzac ceremonies.

The human toll of this war was tragic. But there was a double tragedy. The workhorses used to till our soil and build our roads also left for war. It is estimated that 136,000 horses were taken to war—never to come home. Only one Waler would ever return. As somebody who grew up with horses, I was very proud as a 16-year-old to have my Waler take part in an Anzac march. I think my horse knew what he was doing that day. Horses in Lindsay are amazing animals. In fact, it was my great grandfather that joined the Light Horse. He used his two horses to grade the Northern Road and Mulgoa Road. He went off to war and, of course, his horse never came back. He marched out with the Light Horse Brigade from Luddenham. This year, 2015, is a year of commemoration. It is a year in which to be proud, a year of us remembering those values that still define Australia today and a year that we must never forget.

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