While most of my colleagues in the mainstream media were busy marvelling at the inelegant, perhaps even offensive, reference to the election in John Howard's Remembrance Day speech this morning, I was busy marvelling at a number of other more interesting things.

The out-and-out Britishness of the whole affair. The Church-like reverence of the crowd. The arrest of a protester, which has gone unreported, probably because it happened far off in the distance and the only media representative watching (and taking photographs) was me. The Australian Federal Police stormtrooper outfits, which have single-handedly reinvented fascist chic.

More than anything, however, I was marvelling at the sheer number of young people attending the service.

And not just babies and pre-schoolers, though there were certainly enough of those to go around. I'm talking about teenagers and young adults, many of whom seemed be there without parents. Young people who, of their own free will, had decided to just rock up.

This, to me, is strange new fruit. I have never gone in much for military memorial ceremonies and have avoided them wherever possible. When I was little, I found them overlong and dull, and always shifted uneasily in my seat. As I grew older, my objections became more complex and the shifting in my seat became edgier. I came to have problems with the form and content of such ceremonies, and increasingly, over the course of the last ten years in particular, with their implicit function.

In other words, what's a nice kid like you doing at a ceremony like this?

"We just decided that we should pay our respects and come down here," says Paul (right), 20, a student at the Australian Defence Force Academy.

"I think it's just appropriate that young Australians come down and show their support for all the old diggers who have given stuff for our country," agrees Matt (left), 19. "And that's why we're here, to show our appreciation, to show our support."

"The reason we're here is not because we're military," attests Michael (centre), 19, "but because, as young people, we kind of feel that this is the place that we've got to come. ANZAC Day, Remembrance Day. It's something I've done since I was a kid."

"It's just a chance to come along and show that we have a history here and respect it."

Where the boys looked very much the part in suits, ties and poppies, Madeleine (right), 17, and Nicole (left), 16, just happened upon the ceremony.

"We forgot it was Remembrance Day today. We arrived and all this was going on!" laughs Madeleine.

"We actually needed to come here anyway…" says Nicole.

"…for research," finishes her friend.

It turns out that they're doing Modern History at school and are currently working on a project about trench warfare in World War I.

I ask how they are finding the course and whether they're enjoy learning about the War.

"Well, you learn about World War I all through high school and you think you'd get a little bit bored of it," says Madeline. "But it's still pretty interesting and relevant. The War really effected Australia's culture and image as a nation."

I ask if that's why ceremonies like today's remain relevant to younger generations.

"I think it's important," says Nicole. "Even if the ceremony's a bit boring, it's still important to remember."

I ask whether they could change the service to make it less boring and more relevant.

"Well, not really without being disrespectful or not being reverent," says Madeline.

"It kind of what it is, and it's not really going to change," agrees Nicole.

Edward (second from left), 15, is a schoolboy from Trinity College in Kew, Victoria, and one of a handful of Trinity boys who took part in the service.

Towards the tail-end of the ceremony, when the symbolism was beginning to pile up, 102 school students from across the country were invited to laid wreaths at the Stone of Remembrance. They represented, we were told, the Australian youth and the 102,000,000 servicemen and women who have died in wars or conflicts of which Australia has been a part.

"It must have been a pretty big deal to have to represent all those people," I suggest.

"I guess for some of us it was and for some us it wasn't," says Edward. "It wasn't that big a thing because we rehearsed it like 20 times."

"But we all acted respectfully and we all knew what kind of occasion it was."

"I think it's pretty cool," he says. "We may be on the TV or something like that."

Before I can get another question out, John Howard is coming out of the War Memorial and Edward and friends are off to shake his hand. These kids, I think, I'm having trouble keeping up with them.

And as I listen back on the interviews this evening, a number of themes begin to emerge. The most notable of these are the need to pay respect to the fallen and the notion that the traditional service remains the best way of doing so.

Indeed, there seemed to be an understanding among the young people I spoke to that to change the form (or, worse still, the content or function) of the traditional military memorial service would, in and of itself, constitute a sign of disrespect. For this reason alone, it couldn't be done, and if it could, it shouldn't be.

But this perceived connection between traditionalism and respect is in fact a false one. What's more, it denies these days of remembrance their inherent ability to adapt over time to an ever-changing multitude of demands.

Without meaning to generalise (it is admittedly hard not to), there is no doubt that that services like this one, which collapse the boundaries between the military and the sacred, appeal to a certain type of person. To a great many others, they are a celebration of things best left uncelebrated, memorials that only remember what they want to. They are networks of signs and signifiers that most Australians do not own, and can thus feel no part of.

I would contend that a move away from traditionalism is precisely what is required if these days of remembrance are to remain relevant to all, as opposed to only a few, Australians. We are one but we are many, lest we forget.

ElectionTracker, 11 November 2007