My earliest memory of Anzac Day is as a child standing on Wellington's Lambton Quay watching the parade pass - first some army jeeps with about a dozen very old men in them - too old to march. These were the Boer War veterans. Next came a mass of grey-haired men - a few with walking sticks and the odd wooden leg or so but all of them in jackets and ties and wearing their colourful medals. These were the First World War men.
Then an even larger group of much younger men - again all in jackets and ties and with medals and banners proclaiming Alamein, Crete, Italy and, of course, a handful of Battle of Britain fighter pilots. Then a much smaller bunch of much younger looking Korean War vets brought up the rear together with Wrens and bands and other things to impress my young mind.