Just after his 20th birthday my relative Patrick Bugden was also in Europe, although rather than enjoying the sights and sounds he was knee-deep in mud, being shot at night and day.

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Paddy as my family knows him, enlisted in the AIF in 1916. Like most on mum's side of the family he hailed from the northern rivers of NSW, working and playing footy in Alstonville at the time of his departure.

In March 1917 he joined the 31st Battalion on the Western Front. Six months later he lay dead on the Belgian battlefield of Polygon Wood.

In the days before his death, he successfully captured a German machine gun party and single-handedly rescued a corporal who had been taken behind enemy lines

On at least five occasions he rushed into shell and machine-gun fire to retrieve the wounded, acts that eventually cost him his life and saw him awarded the Victoria Cross.

At 23 years of age I graduated from uni and embarked upon an exciting career.

At 23 my great uncle Claude Skimmings was trapped in the Papuan jungle, tasked with driving the ruthless Japanese Imperial Army away from our shores.

Stationed in Papua New Guinea for almost a year, he endured malaria-ridden conditions and the constant threat of surprise attacks with a smile on his face, as shown in his many letters home to his family, including his younger sister, my grandmother.

"I thought I would drop you a line and let you know that I am still in the land of the living and feeling happy about everything," his final correspondence read on December 3, 1942.

Days later he was one of 130 men in the 53^rd/55^th Battalion who lost their lives in an offensive.

Safe to say both of these men have always been role models for me but their stories take on extra significance each Anzac Day.

Their sacrifice has taken on an added layer of meaning in recent years as I outgrow them.

Both men willingly gave up the chance to live a long and happy life. Could I have done that at 23, let alone 20?

So come Monday, it won't simply be a day spent in solemn remembrance but rather a challenge to listen and learn. A glove thrown at my feet to take nothing for granted and show just a fraction of the courage and dedication they possessed.

That is the true spirit of Anzac, a legacy that transcends generations.

Lest we forget.