Keeping all those Anzac torches burning

Canakkale on Friday, his security detail would have made the White House blush.

Sharpshooters athletically stood on the roof of his bus, as it breezed through town but Erdogan didn’t attend the commemorations.

Our group entered the commemorative site at 4pm on Anzac eve, enduring a frigid night’s vigil. I lucked upon a vast diesel generator, blowing out hot air, which spontaneously doubled as a monstrous alfresco fan heater for bonechilled Antipodeans.

The Australian Prime Minister, Tony Abbott, decided to do a walkabout after the service, because he was too knackered to do it with John Key the night before. In the process, he unceremoniously managed to delay the entire exodus from Anzac Cove.

As beautiful and uncomplicated as the dawn service was, the New Zealand Memorial Service at Chunuk Bair was a far more evocative affair. Classically Kiwi, it was intimate, with strumming guitars and a welcome splash of informality.

Rebecca Nelson was radiant. The royals were greeted like rock stars, although it was conspicuously embarrassing that the Abbotts were inadvertently jettisoned, left to talk to themselves on stage, while the royals were led around the crowd.

The highlight for our group was hearing and sharing the family anecdotes and connections to the heart-wrenching Gallipoli campaign. We think we had the youngest living son of an Anzac soldier aboard our group, while another tour groupie showed us evidence that suggests the famous photograph of Simpson with his donkey features his father Thomas Straight. Rekindling those stories, reading the diaries and polishing the medals, keeps the Anzac torches aglow and the spirit alive.

As beautiful and uncomplicated as the Dawn Service was, the New Zealand Memorial Service at Chunuk Bair was a far more evocative affair.