An original poem
They landed not for glory,
But for duty, side by side,
Young hearts beneath the rising sun,
With fear they could not hide.
Their boots sank into foreign soil,
Their letters left unread,
Their voices echoed in the cliffs
Long after they had bled.
They climbed through smoke and thunder,
Through dust and bitter flame,
And though they couldn't hold the high ground,
The world still knew their name.
For courage is not measured
In the battles that we win,
But in the strength to stand again
When hope is wearing thin.
And every April morning,
As silence greets the day,
We feel the weight of what they gave,
In every poppy’s sway.
We do not march for war itself,
But for the ones who fell.
Who fought not for the history books,
But for the mates they knew so well.
So let the bugle carry them,
Beyond the sunlit foam.
They rest where courage made its stand,
Far from the place called home.
The Day We Stand Still
Before the sun rises and before the birds begin to sing, a hush falls over two nations. Streets stand still as heads bow and flags drift overhead at half-mast. Across Australia and New Zealand, people gather in silence. Shoulder to shoulder in the dark, not for celebration, but for remembrance.
April 25th marks something much deeper than history. It’s a feeling. A shared weight in the chest. A lump in the throat. It’s Anzac Day.
We stop, we remember, and we honour the thousands of Australians and New Zealanders who stepped onto the shores of Gallipoli in 1915, and the many more who followed them into conflicts across the decades.
They were young. Some barely 18. They came from farms and factories, small towns and big cities. They weren’t natural born soldiers. They were volunteers, sons, brothers, mates. They didn’t ask to be remembered. But they will be.
Because what they gave was everything.
The Sound of Silence
If you’ve ever stood at a dawn service, you’ll know the feeling. That stillness. That sacred moment when the bugle pierces the cold air with the Last Post. When The Ode is read:
"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,
We will remember them."
It’s not just a poem. It’s a promise that we will remember those who endured the mud of the trenches, the sting of the sun beating down, the scream of shells overhead. We will remember those who never came home. And those who did, but carried the weight forever.
And we remember the truth that even in defeat, they showed a spirit that forged our identity. Courage, mateship, grit, loyalty and sacrifice.
A Shared Spirit Across the Tasman
Anzac Day doesn’t belong to one country. It lives in both. It binds us in a way few things do.
New Zealand and Australia share more than a date on the calendar. We share a history written in blood and bravery. We share the laughter of diggers cracking jokes under fire. We share the loss, the pride, the ache.
And still today, we share the tradition. The dawn parades, the marches, the poppies pinned to lapels and the wreaths laid by grandchildren.
It is in this spirit of unity, humility, and remembrance that we approach this day.
How Does This Impact Us At WVH ®?
At WVH ®, we talk a lot about craftsmanship. About legacy. About creating something with your hands that will last longer than you.
And on a day like today, we’re reminded where that value comes from. Because the freedom to design homes, to create beauty and to live in peace was paid for by others that have come before us.
We don’t take that lightly. And while our work is humble by comparison, we try our best to honour the past by building for the future. By doing things properly and creating something real.
We work with wood, one of nature’s most grounding materials. We shape it carefully. And we pass it on.
To every man and woman who has served and to those who stood up when it mattered most, we thank you.
Deeply.
This Anzac Day, we pause. We remember and we stand, quietly, in awe of what was given.
Lest we forget.
