We gather here on the lands of the Wangal and Gadigal people in the quiet of the early morning as Australians have done for generations on the 25th of April.
To reflect on lives interrupted, on service given, and on the heavy cost of conflict that is carried long after the fighting ends.
ANZAC Day asks us to pause.
To acknowledge loss—those who did not return, those who came home wounded in body or in spirit, and the families who carried the impact of service quietly and often without recognition.
Today is also about commemoration and honour.
ANZAC Day has evolved from its World War One beginnings to recognise the service and sacrifice of all Australians who have served in wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations.
We honour those who never returned, those who were changed by their service, and the families who carried that burden alongside them.
It marks the reality of war—the loss of life, the lasting wounds, and the responsibility borne by those who served, rather than the glory of conflict.
At its heart, ANZAC Day is about respect: for courage shown under pressure, for mateship forged in the most difficult of circumstances, and for the quiet resilience shown long after service ends.
It asks each generation to remember honestly and to honour that service by valuing peace and looking after one another.
Early in the morning, we gather for services like this one—around first light—to reflect quietly, close to the hour of the original landing at Gallipoli.
Later in the day, veterans and their descendants meet again to march through cities and towns across the country.
And in a way that is uniquely Australian, that solemn remembrance also sits alongside traditions of gathering, storytelling, and of course a bit of irreverence and fun — coming together later in the day for two up, a laugh, a beer and company.
It’s not a contradiction. It reflects who we are: honouring sacrifice with respect, while relying on each other and humour to get through.
ANZAC Day continues to matter because it gives us space to remember what service truly costs.
It’s not about speeches or lessons—it’s about the people standing beside us this morning.
About mates remembered and mates missed.
About the long road many have walked after taking the uniform off, and the understanding that service doesn’t always end when deployment does.
Here in the Inner West, remembrance has always been close to our hearts.
The names we honour belonged to people who walked these streets, caught the same trains, worked locally, and came home to families not far from where we stand now.
For many households across the Inner West service wasn’t distant or abstract, it was personal.
This service reminds us that the impact of war didn’t happen somewhere else. It happened here, in homes and families that carried both pride and grief across generations.
The values often described as the ANZAC spirit—courage, endurance, loyalty, and looking after one another—still resonate strongly. But they are not frozen in the past.
We see those values today in our current service men and women, but also in our first responders, in communities standing together through fires, floods, and hardship.
The spirit lives on not in words, but in actions—in how people step up when it matters.
It is also heartening to see younger generations standing at services like this one.
Many are here not out of obligation, but out of respect and curiosity, wanting to understand the stories behind the medals and the meaning behind the rituals. Their presence helps ensure that remembrance remains something we carry forward, not just something we look back on.
As the morning light grows stronger, we are reminded that remembrance is not passive. It calls on us to remember honestly, to care for one another, and to work for a future that does not take peace lightly.
May we honour those who served by striving to be worthy of the sacrifice that was made.
Lest we forget.