For me, Anzac Day brings me memories of my dad, who served in New Guinea in the Second World War.
Growing up, I noticed he wasn't one for going to the March, or the Pub either. He'd spend the day in his beloved shed - a bit more subdued than usual.
In later years, he explained to me that he was thinking about the mates he had lost, especially his best friend, Freddy, who was shot by a sniper on the day before the war ended. Peace came too late for Freddy. And many others.
My father didn't talk much about what he had been through, in the war.