Today our team observed Remembrance Day, the day that we commemorate, honour and pay our respect to all our soldiers who fell in war. Those of us fortunate to be working at our HQ walked across the road to the national War Memorial to attend the moving service. We were reminded of the vigilance with which we must work to resolve conflict peacefully and ensure such sacrifice and is never needed and such suffering is never visited upon our country, our children and our way of life.

At 11am on 11 November 1918, the armistice, signed by Germany earlier that morning, came into effect, finally signifying the long-awaited end to the Great War. The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month has been adopted as a time to remember those who served and sacrificed in all wars and conflict.

One of the most moving moments of the service is the recital of "The Ode".

  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.

The Ode comes from For the Fallen, a poem by the English poet and writer Laurence Binyon and was published in London in the Winnowing Fan; Poems of the Great War in 1914. The verse has been used in association with commemoration services in Australia since 1921. The original poem is deeply moving.

  For The Fallen

  With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
  England mourns for her dead across the sea.
  Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
  Fallen in the cause of the free.

  Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
  Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
  There is music in the midst of desolation
  And a glory that shines upon our tears.

  They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
  Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
  They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
  They fell with their faces to the foe.

  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.

  They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
  They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
  They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
  They sleep beyond England's foam.

  But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
  Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
  To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
  As the stars are known to the Night;

  As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
  Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
  As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
  To the end, to the end, they remain.