To our veterans. Our serving members. The families. And the children here today. Thank you for coming.
One hundred and eight years ago,
at the eleventh hour
of the eleventh day
of the eleventh month,
the guns on the Western Front fell silent.
One year later, on 11 November 1919,
Daylesford gathered in front of the Town Hall.
Returned soldiers. Schoolchildren. Families.
The Mayor read the King’s message.
At 11 o’clock the flags came down to half-mast
and the whole town stood with heads bowed.
Then Mr F. West, conductor of the
Daylesford Citizens’ Band, played the Last Post.
That is what we are doing today. Same town. Same hour. Same silence.
107 years later, we haven’t stopped
After four years of mud, wire and slaughter,
there was quiet.
Men who had not known silence in years
stood in the trenches
and did not quite trust it.
That silence held a hope.
That the world would never do this again.
More than 60,000 Australians never came home from that war.
We remember them
But we also remember those who did
and carried the war within them.
We remember the families who waited and
the nurses and medics who tended the wounded.
We remember all who gave their youth,
their health, and their dreams so that we might live freely.
Every name on our memorial
was somebody’s whole world.
And the hope did not hold.
Within twenty-one years,
the world was at war again.
Since then, Australians have answered the call
again and again.
In Korea, where more than 17,000 served
in bitter cold,
in a war too often called the forgotten war.
It shouldn’t be, and it isn’t today.
In Malaya and Borneo.
In the Gulf, East Timor, Iraq and Afghanistan.
and peacekeeping missions most Australians have never heard of.
And in Vietnam.
To our Vietnam veterans here today
we owe you a particular debt of gratitude.
You fought in horrific conditions, few can imagine
dense jungles, searing heat,
uncertainty around every corner
and you did so with courage.
Many who served in Vietnam
came home to silence, or worse.
No parade. No thanks.
It took until 1987 for a proper welcome home march.
Yet you continued to serve
your mates, your communities,
and the veterans who followed you.
So let me say it plainly, to the Vietnam veterans here this morning.
Thank you. We remember. We are proud of you.
As someone who has once worn the uniform,
I can tell you this.
No one wants peace more
than those who have seen what war costs.
Remembrance is not the glorification of war.
It’s about the person next to you.
At the centenary of the Armistice,
the President of France reminded the world
that patriotism is the exact opposite of nationalism.
Love of your own country
never requires hatred of another.
Peace is not something leaders sign once.
It is something ordinary people build every day.
In how we speak to each other.
In how we treat the stranger.
And in how we care for those who came home
but never fully left the battle.
Remembering isn’t a feeling. It’s a job.
It’s planting a tree. Saying a name out loud.
Turning up at 11 o’clock or dawn in the cold.
Checking in on a mate.
If you know a veteran doing it tough,
please check on them. Any hour, any day.
In 1919 the schoolchildren of Daylesford
stood in front of the Town Hall.
Today there are children here again.
One day it will be their turn to stand here,
say these names, and keep this town’s promise.
So in a moment, when the silence falls, think of one name.
Think of the veterans here today, if you like. Or your grandfather. Or your mate.
Let it hold that hope again.
Lest we forget
