There are 150 of us on the inaugural cruise of the French ship "Le Lyrial”, and a fine bunch of people they are. Some knew others prior to the trip, but after the first week everyone is acquainted and on the best of terms. That includes a handful of Australians; after all it is an Anzac occasion.

Briefly, we spent 24 hours on board in Istanbul before departing at 9pm on April 19. The following day we passed slowly by, and close to Anzac Cove. While the preparatory work for the 25th was almost completed, there were no crowds and little activity. It's hard to describe the feeling of being there but it was a taste of emotions to come. After spending the next three days at three different Greek islands, we headed back to Anzac Cove on Friday, the ship’s speed designed to arrive at the exclusion zone by 5am. At that time there was a small Turkish naval ship off our port side. No cruise ships were permitted into the zone before 7am, when one by one we approached the Cove for a brief pass by.

On board, the reveille had sounded throughout the cabins at 5.25am and again at 5.30am. Judging by the immaculate grooming of virtually everyone, it was obvious most had risen earlier. The Dawn Service was perfect; even the Australians commented so. Organised and taken by Terry Calkin from the Greenlane Church, the letter from Ataturk to the mothers of the foreign dead was read in Turkish by a Turk from Istanbul; then in English by Lance Green, followed by a rendition of Flanders Field by me. Terry’s seven minute speech was perfect, a hymn, a minute's silence and the Last Post concluded the service. We then all threw (knitted) poppies into the swimming pool. and yes, they stayed afloat.

As we made our way through the Dardanelles the night before, I would not have been alone in trying to imagine the thoughts of those on the same course 100 years ago. There are some on board who missed the ballot to be on shore, who were glad of it. To approach by ship had its own perspective. At 5.45am on April 25 it was cold, but not so bad. The breeze had a wind chill factor that numbed fingers, but what the heck. To think of jumping into the water, wading ashore and immediately going into battle in wet clothing, carrying 70 pound packs trivialised a numb finger.

Tomorrow the 26th (local time), we go ashore and tour the landmarks, but there was a common phrase employed on board this morning. Looking ashore from a few hundred meters out, while looking at the landing landscape, that phrase was "how could they make such a cockup?" - "arrogance and stupidity" was the common reply.

Through the week, in the lead up to the April 26, there were a number of organised discussions. We covered why nations go to war, Turkey then and now, Women and War and read letters from Gallipoli. On Anzac Eve, in interview format, a number of the group told stories pertaining to relatives who fought at Gallipoli and at other theatres. As it is often said, there are a million stories out there.

In early December, a package arrived in the morning mail at 8.30am. I opened it immediately before heading to the studio and was stunned to find some medals inside. The covering letter was from Aubrey Bairstow who has a business called NZ Medals, Medal Mounting and Restoration. Noting that my Grandfather was a WW1 AIF soldier, he sent the medals and ribbons appropriate for his service on the Western Front. I wore them for the first time today, and yes, as you will see I got my protocol wrong in wearing them on the wrong side. That fact was pointed out gently, by a couple of service folk. I corrected things but it but the photos were already done.

More comment after we go ashore tomorrow.

It is a great privilege to be here.