This is the centenary of the Great War. As we ponder the lessons that this pivotal global event taught us, without forgetting the current situations in Gaza, Ukraine, Iraq and Syria, one wonders if we have learned anything from the immense sacrifice of one hundred years ago.

One of our last stops in Turkey was at Gallipoli. It is the defining battleground for Australians and New Zealanders, just as Vimy Ridge is for my fellow Canadians. As luck would have it, most of our compatriots on the tour were from Australia, and seeing Gallipoli through their eyes was revealing.

This is it: a narrow peninsula of hilly land between the Aegean Sea and the Dardanelles. It is strategically important as an entryway to the Sea of Marmara and eventually, the Black Sea and Russia. In a campaign that lasted just shy of nine months, Turkey held the territory against Allied Forces but at great cost. 100,000 men died. The campaign changed history, both for the Allies and for the Ottomans.

The Anzac Memorial is a moving tribute to those who sacrificed their lives for the cause. For our little group of travellers, it was made more memorable by the presence of what has come to be known as a “third generation survivor”. (The second generation facilitates the telling of the stories; the thirds are the ones who cherish and preserve the memories for the future.) This man’s grandfather fought at Gallipoli, and was one of the few who came home. He wrote his memories down in a small journal, which his grandson had carried with him from Australia. Piecing the battle together from the notes, we followed the grandfather’s path to Quinn’s Post, the place where most of his mates were killed. In the small cemetery there, we all helped find the gravestones of the soldiers of that regiment so that his grandson could take pictures of each and every one.

The quotes on the Anzac Memorial plaques are telling. First, from Winston Churchill: A good army of 50,000 men and sea power – that is the end of the Turkish menace. Then from Joseph Gasparich, a New Zealand soldier: Sir, this is a sheer waste of good men. Followed by Memiș Bayraktar, a Turkish soldier: Countless dead, countless! It was impossible to count. And much later from Atatürk, formerly Mustafa Kemal, commander of the 19th Division in Gallipoli:

Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives… You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours… you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.

These beautiful words are chiselled in stone at the Anzac Memorial, as seen in the top photo. But I wonder – was there no way the Johnnies and the Mehmets could have become brothers without slaughtering each other first?

Historians can explain to us the complex geopolitical and religious alliances that were in play in 1914, creating stresses sufficient to allow the assassination of an Austrian Archduke to explode into a worldwide conflict that left 16 million dead. Maybe the world needed to change, and the assassination was merely the catalyst. But again I wonder – must changing the world be so colossally destructive?

Speaking of being destructive, I happen to live in an earthquake zone. The “big one” is going to be awful and it’s going to change my world forever. It’s way overdue, but that’s fine by me. Instead of the big one we get hundreds of small quakes that continually ease pressure points, hopefully avoiding total disaster. Would that people could do the same.