Edmonton ANZAC Day Service

Due to impending bad weather approaching Edmonton on Saturday.
It is been decided to cancel this years ANZAC Day Service.
We appreciate the interest to those who were hoping to attend and we look forward to see you in 2027.

Please feel free to message if any more information is required.
Lest We Forget. 🇳🇿🇦🇺

We are pleased to announce that we will be conducting an ANZAC Day Service on Saturday 25th April 2026.
This year will be an outdoor event, to be held at the Serviceman’s Cenotaph at the Beechmount Cemetery.
Address: 12420 104 St NW, Edmonton, AB T5G 2M1
The service will commence at 10.30 am with a minute silence at 11.00 am.
Please feel free to message if there are any questions.
NB: The service will also depend on the weather and should it be cancelled for any reason, this page will be updated.

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Who Owns Anzac Day?

We often say Anzac Day belongs to the veterans.

And sure—without them, there’s no story to tell, no silence to keep.

But look a little deeper,
and you’ll see they’re not the only ones holding the torch.

Anzac Day lives in the hands of many.

It lives in the quiet grief of a grandchild holding a poppy,
in the old photo on the mantelpiece,
in the whispered name of someone who never came home. It's that old lady that visits her veterans fathers grave every year and leaves a poppy.

Families carry the weight too—
those who stayed behind, those who welcomed back the broken,
those who wore the loss like a second skin.

It lives in the hearts of Māori, Indian and Pasifika soldiers,
whose names were barely spoken for decades—
whose service is only just being fully honoured.
It lives in their iwi, their whānau,
in the whenua they returned to, changed forever.

It beats in the rhythm of the dawn parade—
in the sound of boots on concrete,
in the single crack of a drum,
in the hush before the Last Post.

Anzac Day is owned by communities—
by school kids reading lines they only half understand,
by old diggers in folding chairs,
by café workers opening late so people can gather.

And let’s not forget the critics—
those who ask the hard questions,
who remind us that remembering isn’t the same as glorifying.
They keep the story honest.
They make sure the silence isn’t empty.

So who owns Anzac Day?

Not just the veterans—though we honour them.

Not just the fallen—though we remember them.

Not just the nation—though it is a day of nationhood.

Anzac Day belongs to all of us. The veterans. The descendants.
The storytellers. The mourners. The questioners. The dreamers of peace.

It’s not about war.
It’s about memory.
And memory belongs to everyone.