Motions — Tomb of the Unknown Warrior—Recognition of Service of New Zealanders

I move, That this House place on record its acknowledgment of the return of the remains of a New Zealand serviceman who died in France during the First World War, and who this Armistice Day has been interred in the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior at the National War Memorial; and that the House record, too, its recognition of the sacrifice of those 30,000 New Zealanders who died in the service of their country, its appreciation of the contribution of all New Zealanders who have served in times of conflict, and its continuing commitment to helping to bring peace to troubled places around the world.

It is 84 years since Prime Minister William Massey first explored the idea of having a New Zealand Tomb of the Unknown Warrior. At that time New Zealand had only recently suffered more than 18,000 deaths in the Great War. For the bereaved families throughout the land, the chances of ever seeing the burial sites of their loved ones were remote. So from the outset the return of the Unknown Warrior was to symbolise the sacrifice of all, and his tomb was to be a place of remembrance for all—a place to mourn the fallen.

Those were the days when news of a death in war overseas came to the family in the form of a telegram, and if the loved one was identified, personal memorabilia might eventually be returned. Later on there would be a photograph of the grave or memorial. Relatively little was known about the circumstances in which they died—unlike in today’s wars in the television age. This made it very hard for our families to grieve. Their sons, and occasionally their daughters too, had indeed gone to the uttermost ends of the earth and beyond.

When I was a child my grandmother spoke of her deceased brother, and in her hall hung large portraits of two other great-uncles in military uniform: my deceased grandfather’s only two brothers, who also never returned. As children we all knew their story, and the story of my mother’s side of the family, too. Grandad fought on the Somme on the Western Front with five of his brothers, as did two of his later brothers-in-law. One of that grandfather’s brothers was also killed. I count myself privileged to have visited the burial sites of those brave men: at Hill 60 in Gallipoli, where one died in what proved to be the last offensive of that doomed campaign; at Marcoing in France, where another failed to survive an assault on the Hindenburg Line nearby; and at Bayeaux, where a third died of his wounds after being invalided from the front. A fourth lies buried in Wiltshire, a victim of the influenza epidemic while in camp before deployment to France.

Understanding more about how, where, and why those ordinary New Zealanders died, and about the impact on my family, has helped me understand the forces and events that shaped our people, our country, and its values. And it has reinforced for me a determination that we must never forget, and that their memory should be honoured for all time. That is the spirit in which we have worked to return the remains of this one soldier, as a permanent memorial to the fallen, and as a place where succeeding generations might reflect on the sacrifices made in our name.

We will never know who this warrior is, or from where in New Zealand he came. But his name will be among those on the memorials to the missing maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. It will appear on a local war memorial in one of our rural districts, towns, or cities in New Zealand, and perhaps also on the roll of honour of his old school. He will be listed on the roll of honour kept in the Hall of Memories at the National War Memorial, and he is remembered every time “The Ode to the Fallen” is recited. Fate may have denied him a named grave, but his name does live forever more.

The Unknown Warrior represents more than 30,000 personal tragedies, and many more lives changed irrevocably by the experience of fighting abroad. This was a man who endured the terror of combat, horrendous conditions on the Western Front, and the profound uncertainty, homesickness, and distress of being far from his loved ones. But the tragedy was not confined to the troops overseas. As I have said of my own family, it was all too keenly felt by those who were left behind. They were left wondering each moment what their son, brother, father, husband, or friend might be going through in battles far away. They had the anguish of receiving that dreaded telegram declaring him dead or missing in action. My family still has my great-grandmother’s letter to her son, worrying about why she had not heard from him. We now know that he was already dead when she wrote, and she knew that, too, when her letter was returned.

Today is also a day to think of those who did return; those many who farewelled dead comrades, and who came home from battle to try to take up “normal” lives. We cannot erase traumatic memories; we cannot bring the dead back to life. But what we have done, as a nation, is provide a place where people can come to remember and honour those who risked or lost everything serving their country. While this is a day of commemoration, it is also a day to rejoice that this has finally come to pass.

Today’s events are the culmination of 3 years of hard work and commitment from many organisations and individuals, inside and outside Government. The spirit of willingness and cooperation during this time has been uplifting, as New Zealanders with diverse backgrounds and many perspectives have united in the quest to honour our war dead in this way. There is growing interest, with the passing of time, in the wars of the last century and the experiences of those who served in them, and a sense of regret that we did not do more to record the memories of those who have passed on. The attendance at Anzac Day services, and the pilgrimages undertaken by significant numbers of New Zealanders to Gallipoli each April, and by others to France and elsewhere, are not only a reflection of the awe with which current generations view the courage of their forebears; they are also a recognition of the significant influence the events in which our forebears were caught up played in shaping the people and the country we are today.

The Unknown Warrior died carrying out New Zealand’s role in international affairs. His suffering engraves on our consciousness the need to work in future for a more harmonious world; to act always in the interests of peace, tolerance, and understanding. In reflecting on his sacrifice, we remember to value the courage and dedication of today’s and tomorrow’s service men and women who continue to risk their lives abroad.

Ultimately, too, the Unknown Warrior reminds us to look more closely within our own shores—to seek to know each other as we can never know him. Whatever his religion, race, occupation, or politics, he is a New Zealander. His anonymity encompasses all our differences. We owe it to him to cherish our own lives and those of all New Zealanders, to embrace our diversity as a people, and to work together for the future of all. That is how, as a nation and as individuals, we can continue to find meaning in his sacrifice.

Finding meaning from the appalling events of war has inspired the most moving of poetry from early times. I end with Colonel John McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields”, written in remembrance of those, like our Unknown Warrior, who did not return from the Western Front in France:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

On behalf of the New Zealand National Party I rise to strongly support the Prime Minister’s motion. I commend the Government warmly for its initiative in bringing the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior to fruition. Today we honour the Unknown Warrior, and I was privileged to take part in the service this morning at the cathedral and the interment this afternoon at the National War Memorial. In doing that we celebrate the life of this man who died and the lives of the 30,000 New Zealanders who died while defending our country in the last century. In a sense this warrior represents all those who died, but particularly the 9,000 who died and for whom no known burial place is found. We do not know the details of his life, his age, or his rank, where he came from, his religion, his politics, or his family circumstances. What we do know is that he died at the Battle of the Somme.

I am not sure how much members of this House know about the Battle of the Somme, but it has to be one of the most ghastly battles in which at least the countries of the British Commonwealth have ever taken part. It is said that some 400,000 British Commonwealth people died at the Battle of the Somme, of whom 1,500 were New Zealanders. On the very first day of that battle it is estimated that Allied casualties—not German casualties; just Allied casualties—were 56,000 dead. That is roughly what the Americans lost in the entire Vietnam War. I understand that Allied troops going out of the trenches in the Somme were told to form up at one arm’s length apart and to walk—not run—towards the enemy trenches. It is not surprising that they were mown down by machine-gun fire.

National strongly supports the creation of this Tomb of the Unknown Warrior. It is one appropriate way to honour the sacrifice made by all those men and women, predominantly young, from every part of New Zealand. Few of our older schools, and none of our towns and cities, lack an honours board listing the names of those who fell in our defence. We honour, too, those who returned severely injured. Indeed, we honour all those who served and their families. But, of course, creating this memorial is only part of what we must do to honour those who died. We honour them also by ensuring that our defence forces today are appropriately supported and resourced. Since we are talking in a non-partisan way, I think it is fair to acknowledge that successive Governments have sometimes failed in that regard.

Let me also say that it is important to remember that those who fought and died did so to protect our country and our way of life—that is, a society of first-name informality that is largely free of class divisions, a society where all children have access to education and health care, a society where people are free to make decisions for themselves and their families, and a society where all New Zealanders, regardless of race, have the rights and privileges of British subjects, in the words of the Treaty of Waitangi. There are strong differences of opinion in this House, and that is not surprising. We differ about how to achieve those objectives. Each of us will, and should, argue strongly for the measures that we believe will best achieve the objectives for which those people died. But we must never forget that many of our objectives we share in common. We honour the fallen when we seek to protect and promote the things for which they died.

On the occasion of the marking of the 150th anniversary of Parliament in the Banquet Hall I recalled an occasion that happened to me on the night before the election in 2002, when at a black-tie dinner in Napier the host asked a clergyman to give thanks before we sat down for the meal. He got up and gave thanks for the food and the drink, and went on to give thanks for the fact that in 24 hours we would have elected a new Government. He said that nobody would have been shot, nobody would have been beaten to death, and the parties who lost would not contest the election, although they would be sad—and we were—but would accept the result. He said that we are one of a tiny number of countries in the world for which that is true now and has been true for many decades. Today we remember all those who gave us that legacy.

Eighty-six years ago the war to end all wars ended with an armistice signed in the forests of Compiègne by the Allies and Germans in 1918. Four years earlier thousands of young men, including New Zealanders, went to die on foreign fields for a cause many never understood—except that they believed in God and they believed in king and country. Even though the battles of the so-called Great War stopped on Armistice Day, world war broke out again 20 years later, because the issues had not been resolved. So the next war to end all wars raged for 6 years between 1939 and 1945. Then New Zealanders fought in Korea, Malaya, and Vietnam; and now our servicemen and servicewomen continue to serve around the world, rebuilding battered nations and keeping alive the hope of peace. That is an honourable tradition, and it should continue and be remembered.

Today we celebrate the return of one of our soldiers, who represents each and every one of those who have served the causes we believed in. He will become a symbol for future generations of our sacrifices and our determination to uphold the values of liberty, democracy, tolerance, and peace. We know that this soldier fought in the Battle of the Somme. It was a terrible tragedy in which more than 1,500 New Zealanders lost their lives. More than 1,200 of them in death were never identified. The choice of that bloodied battleground from which to draw our Unknown Soldier represents our commitment as a nation to defend our shared values.

We also remember that we sent large numbers of our brightest and best young people abroad during both World War I and World War II, and many never returned home. It took us a long time to recover from that loss, and we must never forget their sacrifice. It is time to reflect on that and on what it meant for our young country. Whilst we are at it, let us commend our current military servicemen and women and those who have retired but are still with us—people who today have endured a day that was extremely long and extremely hot, but who have done the Unknown Soldier and our country proud. We celebrate the lives of those men and women, and we also embrace for ourselves the values they defended.

The return of this soldier also tells the world that New Zealand, despite being a relatively small nation, has never shirked its international obligations. Wherever our shared values have been threatened, we have stood shoulder to shoulder with our allies. And, now that we have been reconciled with many of those we faced formerly on the battlegrounds abroad and have found them to be—and they are—people just like us, it is perhaps time also to remember that it is the decisions politicians make that start wars, while others have to fight and die in them. We as politicians should be reminded of that every day.

To that effect, we in New Zealand First feel that it would be fitting and timely for a national war memorial park to be established by the year 2014, a century on from the start of the First World War. This should be set in an environment of peace and tranquillity, away from the noise of motorways and industry, where people can reflect on the past and prepare for the present. It would be a permanent park, and it would contain memorials to every national conflict that we as a people have been involved in. It would not celebrate war; rather, it would reflect our gratitude for peace. We must also remember, and always remember, that it is not wars that make one great; it is sacrifice and service. That is what makes the sacrifice of this soldier and others worthwhile and explainable.

We in New Zealand First support this motion, and we wish to conclude with a quote from James K Baxter’s “Elegy for an Unknown Soldier”—a soldier who died in the desert of North Africa:

So crown him with memorial bronze among

The older dead, child of a mountainous island.

Wings of a tarnished victory shadow him

Who born of silence has burned back to silence.

The Green Party is very pleased to support the motion. On this, the 86th anniversary of Armistice Day, we are here to honour and respect those who made the ultimate sacrifice in the First World War, the wars before that, and the wars since then. We are here to grieve for the families and loved ones of those who died, especially those for whom there is no tangible link to the men and women who were tragically killed. We are not here to glorify war.

I am able to make this speech because both my grandfathers survived the First World War. Lance Corporal William Fernley Rogers was a machine-gunner in Egypt and at the Battle of the Somme. Rifleman Eric Walter Donald also fought in the Somme, and at Passchendaele and Messines. They survived the war with few physical scars, but like many of their fellow soldiers they carried to their graves the horror of the mud, blood, and guts of serving on the Western Front. The grandfather I knew personally did not like to talk about his wartime experiences, but at least he survived. As we know, over 8.5 million people died in the First World War. Of these, over 17,000 were New Zealanders. Gallipoli took the highest toll, with 2,721 dead and 4,752 wounded out of a total of 8,550 men—a staggering 88 percent casualty rate.

It was thought at the time that nothing in warfare could surpass the rigours and the horrors of Gallipoli but, as Michael King wrote in New Zealanders at War: “This was not so. In April 1916 New Zealand troops were committed to the Western Front in France and Belgium for another round of carnage and squalor, this one lasting 2½ years. In the trenches, New Zealanders encountered and endured swamp-like mud, duckwalks, snow and ice in winter, frightful slaughter in offensives such as at Passchendaele and the Somme, the stench of unburied men and animals, and new refinements in technological barbarity, such as poison gas. Advances were measured in terms of hundreds of yards, and in 4 years of allied effort, the front moved no more than 50 miles.”

Altogether, 13,250 Kiwis were killed and 35,000 were wounded on the Western Front. As King says: “It was shocking and, considering the negligible result, utterly wasteful of human life.” King observed that for a country with a population in 1914 of fewer than 1,000,000, New Zealand’s contribution to World War I was massive: “The percentage of eligible manpower recruited was 19.35. Of all the allied countries, only Britain’s was greater. The other dominions fell considerably behind. The number of New Zealanders sent overseas was more than 100,000. Nearly 17,000 were killed and more than 41,000 were wounded. This casualty rate in proportion to population was the highest in the Empire.”

The impact of that loss of life can be seen in every small town, at otherwise deserted country crossroads, and on park gates and in other public places in our cities. The names of the fallen—sometimes a family’s entire fine crop of young manhood—feature on those war memorials and on the roll of honour in memorial halls. But, sadly, for 9,000 of them there are no identifiable graves to mark their sacrifice.

Here in this House, surrounded by plaques naming theatres of war where New Zealanders have fought overseas, we are finally honouring the thousands who are still buried in foreign soil, with the return home of one New Zealander. Because we do not know his identity he has come to represent all the unknown and unfound Kiwis who did not come back. There is immense symbolism in this occasion, but for me what is most tragic is that the conflict that the Unknown Warrior was killed in was not “the war to end all wars”. If that was the cause for which this man and 8.5 million like him were killed, then succeeding generations including our own have betrayed their sacrifice in the most brutal way. By the year 2000, the death toll for the 20th century that was directly attributable to war and oppression reached 188 million people. There is little point in honouring the victims of the war if we do not also learn from their deaths.

What lessons did the generation that survived the First World War learn? That rampant nationalism—“My country, right or wrong”—was a lie that was foisted on the gullible by those with vested interests to protect? That brave soldiers were not just the ones who obeyed suicidal orders without question? That God could not be on everyone’s side? That a vanquished nation must be helped back into the international community, not made to pay and pay for its defeat? None of those lessons were learnt, and 20 years later the world was again forced to pay in blood for the sins and greed of the few, and the ignorance and compliance of the many.

Could our Unknown Warrior and all his fallen friends and foes have ever imagined that within a generation of their sacrifice, the world would be inflicted with the horrors of Auschwitz, Dresden, and Hiroshima? We still have not learnt. Rwanda, Congo, Bosnia, Chechnya, Afghanistan, Iraq—a recent roll-call of shame, and proof of George Santayana’s observation that “Those who forget the lessons of the past are condemned to repeat them.”

As we honour the Unknown Warrior today and reflect on his sacrifice, I hope all New Zealanders will also spare a moment to remember the real lessons from the bloodiest century in our history—lessons that many leaders around the world today have either forgotten or never learnt. There is no glory in death in battle, and no victory in war. They would do well to read Archibald Baxter’s book We Will Not Cease. Baxter was one of 14 conscientious objectors who were forcibly transported to the front line in France where they were subjected to a variety of disciplinary measures, including the barbaric “No. 1 field punishment”. Baxter, the father of James K Baxter, wrote his book in London at the beginning of the Second World War, but the first edition was mostly destroyed during the Blitz. When it was republished by Caxton Press in 1968, he wrote in a preface: “A greater barbarism than any the human race has known in the past has risen among the nations. In the First World War multitudes of conscript soldiers were buried alive in the mud of France. Villages were also annihilated but the greatest number of casualties were among the conscript troops. In the Second World War the wholesale slaughter of civilians—by high explosives, by firebombing, and finally by atomic weapons—became a matter of course. Reports from the present Vietnam War indicate that 80 percent of the casualties are occurring among civilians. War has at last become wholly indiscriminate. The Military machine has turned against that communal life that is the seedbed of future generations of mankind. The only apparent justification that war ever had was that by destroying some lives, it might clumsily preserve others. But now even that apparent justification is being stripped away. We make war chiefly on civilians and respect for human life seems to have become a thing of the past. … all wars are equally atrocious and no war can be called just.”

The same could be said of Iraq today. I share Baxter’s sentiments and take inspiration from them. I know I am not alone. Baxter, in turn, took his inspiration from a Dunedin lawyer Alfred Barclay, who went on to become a member of this Parliament. Twelve of Baxter’s fellow objectors were broken into submission, with three becoming stretcher bearers. One, William Little, was killed in action. Only Mark Briggs remained defiant with Baxter until the end. In 1936 Prime Minister Michael Joseph Savage appointed Briggs to the Legislative Council as a symbol of all those who had fought against war.

I hope the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior will become a powerful symbol for peace. It is not enough to acknowledge the futility and obscenity of war. For the sake of all those who died and all those families and friends who lost their loved ones, we must all strive to overcome the causes of conflict and build a peaceful world.

In closing, I admit to struggling with the term “warrior”, because it conjures up someone who goes gallantly and willingly into battle. The truth is that many of those who went to war were unwilling or frightened conscripts who fought rather than be branded a coward. Our Unknown Warrior may be a soldier. He may also be a stretcher bearer. There are other non-combatants, including women, who have no grave to remember them by and whom this man now represents. May he rest in peace.

It is my great privilege to rise on behalf of the ACT party to support the motion today. Today our country welcomed home a young man from a very distant place and from a distant war. He was a young man when he left and he is a young man still. His friends and his family grew old and are no longer with us. A generation has been born after him, has grown up, has enjoyed living in New Zealand, and has passed on, too. Now it is our turn. But that young man never grew old, so he was welcomed home to our country a young man. We will never know that New Zealander’s—that Unknown Warrior’s—name. We will not know where he was born; we do not know precisely where he died. We do not know how he died. His own family is lost to us, just like he was lost to them. We can use this ceremony today as a reminder of what we have lost in war and what we have gained.

The story of the Unknown Warrior is one of extraordinary bravery and incredible sacrifice. It gives to us, through our memories, a deeper faith in our democracy and in ourselves; a deeper understanding of what it is to be a New Zealander. That Unknown Warrior—that New Zealander—can continue to serve his country. He can be a reminder of our love of peace, and a reminder of the need for our country to be ever-vigilant against brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression, and persecution, both here in New Zealand and overseas. Only if we remember those things can that anonymous Kiwi, known only to God, lie in peace.

We know through our grandfathers, our fathers, our uncles, our aunties, our neighbours, and our friends that war is glorious only to those who have never experienced it. To those like this Unknown Warrior, war was hell; they knew its horrors. But we must be careful never to link war itself with those who go to war. We should grant to those who go to war respect for the individual contributions their service deserves. We should honour those who serve our country, just as our Unknown Warrior served his country. We should remember that this Unknown Warrior did not sweat digging trenches in the interests of the self; the sailors on those convoys through those dark nights did not toil there for a dividend; and the nurses on the hospital ships did not work extraordinary hours for praise or notoriety. All of them made their sacrifices for the common good.

Their message is a good one for today, because it is a message about the importance of putting the interests of the community over the self. If we are true to their memory, and if we follow in their footsteps, we can continue to make New Zealand a better place. Our Unknown Warrior has returned today, not to his family, as everyone would have hoped, but to all of us. In reflecting on this young man’s return, we are reminded that young men like him will not grow old as we will grow old, and we shall forever remember their sacrifice and their service.

On behalf of United Future I join in supporting the resolution that has been moved in the House this afternoon. This is a rare day in New Zealand’s history. It is one of an extraordinary mix of emotions. Immediately we think of the pomp and the ceremony we have just seen, and we pay our tribute to our armed services for the way in which they have carried out this task today and over the last couple of weeks. Immediately we think, too, of the work they do in this country and in so many places around the world, to carry out their mission and to provide their contribution towards a safer and more secure world.

We draw strength as a nation from the fact that an occasion like this can occur. Ten thousand people do not queue up overnight to come through this building to pay their respects to the coffin of an unknown person, if they do not have a deeper sense of the meaning of, and appreciation for, what is being commemorated. I think that what has happened in the last 24 hours has demonstrated more profoundly, perhaps, than we might have dared imagine that within New Zealanders today there is a deep stirring and a deep sense of wanting to understand our past and be at ease with it, as a key to moving forward for our future. What is striking on Anzac Day and on an occasion like this is that the numbers of younger people who are becoming involved in the commemorations is ever-increasing. The passage of time, admittedly, has something to do with that, but it is also reflective of a much deeper sense of recognition amongst today’s generations of the significance of the sacrifice made by those of earlier times.

When we start to think about that Unknown Warrior, our curiosity invariably gets the better of us. Who was he? Where was he from? Was he a young man, or an older man? Was he Māori? Was he Pākehā? What was he doing there? Was he in the infantry, or in some other branch of the service? Beyond that, what were his aspirations as a New Zealander growing up at that time and caught up in this conflict? He probably was an unwilling volunteer, but he went because it was his national duty, because his friends were going, and because it was the right thing to do. Perhaps he went believing a little that it would be a great adventure, until the horror struck when he arrived at the battlefield, but all the time possessing a sense of hope that once this crisis was over he could return to New Zealand and pick up the threads of the life that had been mapped out for him. The uniqueness of being a Kiwi was one thing he probably started to appreciate in what would invariably have been his first contact with people from other countries, when he got to Europe, and he would have wanted to bring that sense of “Kiwiness” to bear when he came back to New Zealand at the conclusion of the military campaign.

While we can speculate endlessly about the particular individual and his hopes and aspirations, the linkage through to today is exactly that—the linkage of aspiration and hope for the future. Yes, it is important to commemorate the past, to recognise sacrifice and contribution. But it is also important to say that the aspirations and the hopes of those people who went away so many years ago have to be fulfilled by today’s generation and subsequent generations. That is the mission we inherit from them. It is an important mark of our emerging sense of national confidence that we are able to take on that challenge and that mantle and be prepared to focus as a nation on where our future lies, our sense of nationhood, and what it really means to be a New Zealander today. When the Unknown Soldier first set foot on the battlefield of the Somme, what he was probably proudest of were the shoulder flashes that said “New Zealand”. To him, they were evocative of what he was and what he wanted to be. Our challenge now is to take the same sense of pride that those people felt so many years ago and build a nation that is worthy of it.

That is why today is a day of extraordinarily mixed emotions. There is the sombre feeling of commemoration; but there must also surely be excitement and pride in what lies ahead, because we as a nation are very much at a threshold, at a turning point. The confidence that we are gradually gaining through so many steps towards nationhood to really define what it means to be a New Zealander in the 21st century is, I think, the ultimate encouragement that the Unknown Warrior would want to leave for us and will continue to provide for us. When our children and our children’s children go to the tomb and hear the story and hear the memories repeated, let them also remember that this is part of their essence as New Zealanders—this young, innocent, perhaps naive person slaughtered so far away from home because he was doing what he felt was right and was prepared to stand up for his principles, even if he perhaps did not have the finest appreciation of them that some might have wished. He was bound by that sense of duty and camaraderie, and being a Kiwi was important. Let that challenge never be forgotten.

I congratulate the Government on taking the initiative in bringing the Unknown Warrior back to New Zealand, and providing a permanent and recognisable resting place for the Unknown Warrior. I endorse the sentiment expressed earlier this afternoon by the Prime Minister and by Mr Peters about the movement to have a genuine commemorative park in the area around the National War Memorial. I urge all New Zealanders to look on this day not just as one of remembrance—important though that is—but also as one of encouragement and really strong, positive feeling about what this country can become, and how truly, then, the memory of the Unknown Warrior can be honoured.

The Progressive party supports the motion moved by the Prime Minister and the sentiments expressed by all parties in this House this afternoon. Along with thousands of other Kiwis, a young New Zealander left these Pacific Islands to serve his country in uniform. For that young man, the year would have been between 1914 and 1917. He would have been on a ship, sailing into a world war. Let us imagine he was, like so many thousands of his peers, about 18 years old when he left. In today’s terms, that would be just leaving school—possibly a first-year tertiary student, or just starting his first job. Of course, he left behind friends and family—loved ones, all. For all the loved ones who say farewell today as planes and ships take servicemen and servicewomen abroad, and who crowd wharves and airports when they come back, the return of the body of the Unknown Warrior will also have special significance. They know what it is like, and what it must have been like for the family of this young man and, indeed, for many, many New Zealanders.

As he is an Unknown Warrior, we do not know whether this young man went straight to the front in France or whether he had already been in the Mediterranean. Perhaps he had even served under Colonial William Malone at Gallipoli, and witnessed, or was even part of, the extraordinary heroism of New Zealand’s greatest unsung warrior at Chunuk Bair, whose grave lies unmarked on the Gallipoli peninsula. But it does not really matter whether this young man was ever actually at Gallipoli; what is important is the symbolism. The return of this Unknown Warrior, and his tomb, represent New Zealanders who have served their country in uniform. Wherever he had been, he was killed in his prime in that bitter, muddy trench hell that was the front line in France. He was a young New Zealander who was part of the unique and emerging South Pacific tribe that we increasingly recognise as Ngāti Kiwi, and the fact that we do not even know his name is the point.

Nameless, we honour him and all who serve their country in peace and war. Nameless, he represents the other New Zealanders whose bodies were never identified, some of whose graves are simply marked: “A soldier known unto God.” Nameless, he gives special identity to Colonial Malone and countless others of the First World War, to the many from the Second World War, to those from Vietnam, and—in more recent times—to Private Leonard Manning, who was killed in East Timor, and Major John McNutt, who was accidentally bombed whilst training in Kuwait. Nameless, he invites those who stay behind to remember, and to demand a world where we collectively seek peace whilst also defending freedom. Nameless, he is returned, reclaimed, and reburied in his own soil. Nameless, he is at last named on his tombstone as the New Zealand Unknown Warrior.

Motion agreed to.

The House adjourned at 4.50 p.m.