This time a century ago young Kiwi soldiers, some in their teens, were readying themselves in Egypt for deployment to a part of the world that most of them would never have heard of before.

So far their experience of war has been pretty tame. They'd been training to go to the Turkish peninsula called Gallipoli, and they had no idea of what to expect.

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As their boats approached a beach which is now indelibly etched of our nation's psyche, Anzac Cove, they saw the towering cliffs above the sand. As the boat drew closer, the sky lit up as big guns and bullets whizzed through the air, raining down from the cliff tops.

Many of them didn't even make it to the beach, they were gunned down in the surf and the waves now red with blood lapped the shore. This trip for many of the young men was nothing more than an adventure, there was no notion of fighting for King and country for most of them.

None of them expected what they got at Gallipoli for the next eight months, constant bombardment. They dug into their trenches which were within throwing distance of the Turkish dugouts.

If they poked their head above the parapet it'd be blown off. With their number eight fencing wire mentality they devised periscopes to keep an eye on and to fire at the enemy.

From time to time the order would be to charge at the Turks with bayonets fixed. More than a hundred at a time were sent over the top to be met with a hail of led. As they lay dying, another charge was ordered with the same result, and on and on it went.

Soon the decomposing bodies between the trenches became all too much and a truce was called as both sides buried their dead. They exchanged cigarettes and food but were soon back in their dugouts shooting each other and the mountain of decomposing flesh soon built up again.

Not counting the slaughter of the tens of thousands of British and French down on the tip of the peninsula at Cape Helles, New Zealand lost 2779 young men at Anzac Cove and the Australians 8709 with many thousand more wounded. The Turks lost many more defending their homeland from invasion.

But they couldn't be beaten, and the allies finally withdrew by stealth, leaving behind a rearguard to dupe the Turks that the invasionary force was still in place.

My grandfather Hugh Mackay was one of those left behind to keep them occupied before finally evacuating himself. His memories of that time were bitter. War, he often said, was futile.

There is nothing to celebrate about Gallipoli. This week we commemorate those who died, with many of them not even knowing what they were fighting for.