Editorial: Sombre tone fitting at Gallipoli

Some years back, an Australian television documentary on the ill-fated Gallipoli campaign began aboard a bus carrying young backpackers to annual Anzac Day commemoration at the battlefield. The excursion began with the usual banter, drinking and strumming of guitars. But as Gallipoli drew near, silence descended.

Young New Zealanders and Australians became lost in their own thoughts, reflecting on all that this place entails, not least the sacrifice of the thousands who lost their lives there.

A visit to Gallipoli is a profound experience - for old and young alike. So steeped is it in the annals of transtasman history that it cannot be otherwise. To say that the 90th anniversary commemoration needs to appeal to the "mainstream" or to reflect "contemporary taste" - as the leaders of the National Party and Act have, respectively, suggested - is to ignore the ongoing depth of that emotion.

It is also an insult to the young people who travel long distances to Gallipoli every April 25, often sleeping rough among the ghosts of the fallen. They have made that journey for years without the incentive of a concert featuring an English-born Australian rock singer - and will continue to do so.

They also treat the occasion with appropriate solemnity, as do an increasing number of young New Zealanders at Anzac Day dawn services in their own country.

Opposition politicians and Australian talkback hosts aside, there appears, in fact, little support for a John Farnham concert. Australian newspaper polls suggested a clear majority see it as a grievous breach of taste. As, indeed, it is.

The aberration seems to have been hatched at the Australian Office of War Graves, which envisaged a special event before the dawn service at Anzac Cove.

The idea travelled far enough for Farnham to have started work on what his manager described as "appropriate" songs. One of these was You'll Never Walk Alone, a ditty whose only relevance in this day and age is to the Liverpool Football Club. To link it to the Anzacs at Gallipoli is verging on the bizarre.

In fact, good sense apparently prevailed fairly early on, and Farnham was told his services would not be required. Quite how this happened was the generator of short-lived heat on both sides of the Tasman. It is now clear that it was not the doing of Helen Clark.

The New Zealand Prime Minister told her Australian counterpart, John Howard, last November that she did not consider a concert an appropriate form of commemoration. To his credit, Mr Howard also had reservations, and within weeks the plans for the 90th anniversary were being rethought.

Gallipoli is not, and never should be, a cosy experience. It raises awkward questions about war, patriotism and suchlike. It inspires awe for the hardships endured by, and the achievements of, the Anzac troops.

A comfort blanket of the sort to have been provided by Farnham would discourage what is a natural introspection, as it would provide an unfitting prelude to the dawn service.

This occasion demands a subdued and sombre tone. Concerts can be attended any other day of the year. Gallipoli is different; it has everything to do with quiet reflection, and nothing to do with entertainment - as those who go there have long understood.