106 years ago, at 11:00 am, one of the greatest tragedies and social catastrophes of Australian history concluded. Every town, every village, every city and every street was left to mop up the sorrow of the death, carnage, and social dislocation wreaked on a little over 4.5 million Australians.

World War 1 killed 60,000 and wounded 156,000.

That number does not include the tens of thousands of unofficial deaths of soldiers when they returned home. Or the families who would never recover, who didn't know how to cope with their loved ones, now blind, now in wheelchairs, now with nightmares.

Then, there are those buried in thousands of unmarked graves in Australia because they were destitute.

They came from your town, from your street, from your nation.

To protect us, they endured months in the mud under the threat of being shot or buried alive; sleepless, cold, desperately wishing for home.

To protect us, they existed on a diet, at the worst of times, in a trench within sight of corpses, dealing with flies who made a host of both.

Most of us would be scarred if we had to endure this for one afternoon; many of our first ANZACs lived like this for years.

It is not too much of a sacrifice to stop today for one minute to remember.

There would be so many more at the service today if those who died protecting us had found a way back to have families themselves.

Lest we forget.