I shared a special moment with my daughter this morning. I bought her a copy of The Beach They Called Gallipoli by Jackie French and Bruce Whatley last night, and we sat down together to read it. Before we began, I commented on how young the soldiers were. “They were mostly boys,” she replied sadly. She talked about the nurses who served and comforted, and the power of crimson poppies to represent the sacrifice of the ANZACS. It was a challenge, trying to explain war when I don’t understand it myself. It was easier to highlight sacrifice and outstanding courage. “I want to go to the dawn service on ANZAC DAY,” she said. “Me too,” I replied. It is a beautiful book, published on this, the centenary.