People came in their thousands to Gallipoli yesterday.
They chatted and shared stories of their connections to the Anzacs as they walked in queues along the windswept roads of the peninsula.
And then, they stopped. They were silent for a time.
Some cried, some knelt and placed poppies, some just stood.
The rows of graves in such a beautiful and serene setting are sobering.
They are all pristine, the stonework precise, the surrounding gardens manicured to perfection.
Against the greens of the grass and scrub-covered hills and gullies, the browns of the exposed areas, the graves almost shine.
And they hold many stories.
