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.

This week we heard distressing news that Australian war graves, along with others at the Benghazi War Cemetery in Libya, had been damaged. While we waited for confirmation as to the number and identity of the graves, our thoughts have been with the relatives and comrades of those soldiers whose graves have been desecrated in this way.