One hundred years ago men and boys from across Australia made their ill-fated landings on the Gallipoli Peninsula, sailing towards sheer cliff faces impossible to scale.
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Misdirected and misguided these soldiers were unprepared for what was to come in the days, weeks and months that followed.
There is little dispute a century on they were the cannon fodder of politicians and allied military leaders who underestimated the enemy, sent in too few troops, had not done their homework on the Turkish shoreline and let their own hubris get in the way of sensible decision-making.
The toll at Gallipoli was horrifying. In just over eight months more than 8000 Australians were killed in action, died of wounds or succumbed to disease.
The Australian War Memorial reports 416,809 Australians from a population of five million enlisted in World War One. Across the 1914-1918 campaign, more than 61,000 were killed and 156,000 were wounded, gassed or taken prisoner.
The tragedy and travesty of their collective plight was so many were left on foreign shores, bundled into unknown graves if they were lucky.
Beyond Gallipoli’s shores, others fell in France, Egypt and Belgium. Their suffering was no less significant nor tolerable. It was mass murder of a heinous kind.
Those who made it back were tortured and tormented by the deaths of their mates at the hands of a shell, bullet or bayonet; pneumonia, infection or starvation.
Among these troops were men and boys from this local region, exuberant farmers’ sons, labourers, shearers, children barely out of school who stretched the truth on their age, re-arranged the letters in their names or invented fantastic new ones so they could stealthily enlist without Mum and Dad’s knowledge.
These were not solitary enlistments, either. The boys joined up in packs; mates together who signed on the dotted line for King and country, were kitted out in flash military gear and given a few bob and, sadly, believed all their Christmases had come at once.
Many caught the Main Northern Line’s rickety train south to the Big Smoke. Many more walked or hitched a ride.
They surfaced in Murrurundi, Muswellbrook and Merriwa; Aberdeen, Denman and Scone. Even the tiny hamlets of Wybong, Stewart’s Brook, Sandy Hollow and Kerrabee delivered up their boys. Away they went and, in too many cases, were never seen again.
Wherever they fell, and however they died, they and their future promise were lost to us forever.
Lest we forget.