We will remember them: A return to the Anzac landings

It's quiet here.  

There's the sound of flies and the water rippling softly onto the beach. A distant gull. The sand stretches north – a thin strip of yellow edged with khaki scrub that straggles up the gullies. Look out across the bay and it's a serene summer's day on any beach, anywhere. Turn your gaze inland, and it's the site of a massacre. Months of massacres.

From the beach now known as Anzac, the reasons appear obvious. How did those generals and politicians ever imagine that this was a good place for an invasion? There's no shelter here on the shore, and mere metres away the headland and crumbling cliffs look impassable, even without machine gun posts and artillery.