Jessica Collins (NSW, Liberal Party) | Hansard source

My Nana passed away last month at the age of 106. For the first time since I started this job, I took leave from the Senate so that I could go to New Zealand and say goodbye to her. I sat by her bedside and I read out the letters that my children had written to her, but, when it came to my turn, I just didn't know what to say.

Not long after Petty Officer Nancy Moore peacefully took her last breath, surrounded by her family, it dawned upon us that we needed to notify the New Zealand Chief of Navy, because Nana wasn't just our matriarch; she was a titan of New Zealand. During World War II, Nana was one of the first people to sign up for the Women's Royal New Zealand Navy Service, known as the Wrens. Her serial number was 11. As a signaller, Nana was tasked with relaying coded messages, providing vital links between ships at sea and senior Allied commanders. She told the New Zealand Defence Force that, when relaying these important messages between allies, you would be scared of making a mistake, because the mission was bigger than the enlisted members. It was a fight for freedom and democracy and the ability for us Anzacs to raise our flags for generations to come. It was a fight for survival.

Nana served until a few years after the end of the war and then married Fleet Air Arm pilot John Moore and settled in Masterton, where she raised her four children on a farm. After Gramp died, Nana lived alone into her early hundreds before finally moving into assisted living at the age of 102. Would you believe that at that time, when Nana was 102 years old, the New Zealand health department assessed her for aged-care living? The official spent two hours assessing Nana, moving through a checklist on an iPad, which Nan had to show him how to use, and he was there for so long that Nana had to make him some lunch. Reaching the end of the checklist, he stood up and said, 'Well, Pat, I can't see any reason why you should go into aged care,' to which Nana replied: 'Well, I'm 102 years old dear. What else does one have to do?'

More than 80 years after the war, Nana's Navy training never left her. There was an occasion when Nan popped into a friend's room at the aged-care home, only to discover that her friend had fallen. Nana reached for the nurse alert button, but she didn't press it just once. She pressed it many times. It was a combination of short presses and long presses. The nurses probably arrived expecting to find a panicked resident that needed help. Instead, they found a cool, calm and collected Navy veteran with her friend, laughing when she realised that nurses these days probably don't get taught Morse code.

I took leave from this place so that I could say goodbye, and I'm so thankful that I got there in time. I want to take a moment to reflect on the impact that she has had on me. We often hear people in this place talk about what they believe in and what they want to do, but I just want to talk a little bit about why. Petty Officer Moore was one of the first to enlist and last to leave. She discharged after the war, in 1946, but stayed part of the Navy family. Even when all the friends she served with had passed, she would be visited by a senior contingent of naval officers every year on her birthday. They would arrive in their crisp uniforms to show their respect and would end up staying for lunch and swapping war stories with Nana. A female commodore from the New Zealand Navy who delivered the only eulogy at Nana's funeral described Nana as a trailblazer who made it just a little easier for every woman who followed behind her because she didn't just stop after service; she continued to work and built a career long after the war ended.

The support and well wishes that have come from the Navy have been so appreciated by the family. I particularly want to thank the New Zealand Chief of Navy, Rear Admiral Garin Golding; your predecessor, Rear Admiral David Proctor; and our Chief of Navy, Vice Admiral Mark Hammond, who is our soon-to-be-appointed Chief of the Defence Force. Congratulations, Admiral. The spirit of the Anzac is well and truly alive.

The men and women that sign up to serve their country—in your armed forces—make a sacred covenant to put their country ahead of themselves and their families. Whether you're a new digger being posted to a place you've never heard of or a battle hardened operator manning a gun in a place where insurgents hide behind civilians, the representatives in this building have an obligation to protect you so that you can protect us. To the men and women who have served their country and now feel like their country has forgotten them, I want you to know that we see you. We can do better and we will do better. We must do better.

The more soldiers, sailors, aviators and veterans that I meet, the more I come to understand that your culture goes to the heart of what you do and contributes something to our force elements that can't be quantified with a dollar value. As anyone who has ever worked in an office would know, when you leave, your last day is usually a morning tea to say thank you and, later on, maybe you'll have a couple of beers with your colleagues—the ones you actually like—right after you hand in your swipe card. Compare that to the senior officers who visited my Nana on her birthday who were not even born when she discharged. That is why Defence members talk about colleagues as their family, not just their friends or colleagues. It would be a mistake to think that the history and culture attached to the places where our people serve only has value as some kind of museum exhibit. The plan to sell off bases like Victoria Barracks Sydney and move Defence members into an office block is an attack on Defence culture. It will erode the cultural ties and make the hardest and most thankless jobs even harder. It will undermine our Defence capability.

To anyone currently serving and anyone who has served, I am doing everything I can to stop this and protect your culture. Nana, your life exemplified service, courage and humility. I hope I can make you proud. Petty Officer Moore, you stand relieved. We have the watch.