On the eightieth anniversary of the Anzac landing, Jenny made her way to Gallipoli. It was the first of two such ‘pilgrimages’, journeys that would take her from ‘the awfulness and beauty’ of tiny graveyards in the gullies of the Gallipoli Peninsula to the ‘huge cemeteries’ that sprawl across Flanders. Prior to leaving Australia, Jenny had often attended Anzac Day services. They were ‘small suburban events’ and try as she might she ‘did not find them very inspiring’. But Anzac Day at Anzac Cove was another matter entirely:

Well into her sixties, Jenny had read and travelled widely but ‘nothing prepared [her] for the sheer awfulness of the landscape’. Nor was she prepared for ‘the terrible sacrifice’ entombed in Gallipoli's cemeteries: ‘to walk along and read the names and inscriptions and ages of the soldier makes one feel so sad’.