HOLDING a black and white portrait of his late grandfather, Ian Aird grappled with the word “luck”.

The lone surfers catching waves with the Fort Scratchley spotlight on their backs were lucky.

So too, he said, were the thousands making plans for coffee and eggs after shuffling in for the dawn service at Nobbys.

His grandfather also had luck on his side, of sorts.

In 1916, Wallace Aird lost a coin toss with his brother Clarrie over who should enlist in the war effort, with one needed to stay home to support their widowed mother.

But he was sent over anyway when Clarrie was rejected on medical grounds.

The clerk-turned-gunner had several close shaves. He was gassed in the Somme. One time, a shell exploded inside his gun barrel. Another shell killed two horses he was holding, but not him. And two months shy from the end of WWI on November 11, 1918, he was the only survivor when his five-man gun party took a direct hit.

“Three times he escaped death,” Mr Aird said. “Three times lucky.”

Was he lucky?

Mr Aird’s grandfather would return to Newcastle still a young man, but broken, physically and mentally.

Lodged in his head, back and leg were pieces of shrapnel from the blast.

Also in his head were mental scars. “We call it PTSD now, but 100 years ago he would have battled with it on his own,” Mr Aird said.

“He died 20 years later. I never met him, and I wish I did, because he’s my hero.”

Those who woke early on Wednesday might have also considered what it meant to be lucky.

The crowd jolted when a loud “boom” from the speaker system preceded a narrator who described war as “hell”.

Lord mayor Nuatali Nelmes then told the crowd to “take a look around” at everyone who had been affected by war, adding as it started to drizzle: “We should never take for granted our freedom, our democracy, our way of life.”

Some reached for umbrellas and ponchos. 

Most came without.

The rain became heavier, but bearable, throughout the rest of the tribute.

A member of the Turkish community read a famous line attributed to Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, now removed from a memorial at Anzac Cove on the Gallipoli peninsula, reportedly for political reasons.

“You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country … There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours.”

A procession of civic, military and business leaders laid wreaths at the flame, which had been lit for the first time from Christ Church Cathedral’s hallowed Warriors Chapel flame.

A couple let out a repressed laugh when a 19^th century hymn, Abide with Me, was sung.

A few sang along.

Silence filled the air for the Last Post, the pitter-patter of rain louder than the thousands standing in Camp Shortland. Even louder than the Supercars that groaned through there five months ago.

Heads turned up to Fort Scratchley for four cannon gun salutes.

“Woah,” said kids in the front row.

A catafalque party ended proceedings, and Newcastle City RSL sub-branch president Ken Fayle was keen to share some news.

“This is my last Anzac as your emcee,” eventually finishing his sentence in tears over the sound of the bagpipes and drums.

“I think we’ve all got a use-by date. I’ve reached mine.”

He said the Nobbys dawn service was now the second-largest in Australia, edged out only by Canberra, telling Novocastrians their “attendance and commitment” was something to be proud of.

Now was time for a “fresh set of eyes”, he said, alluding to a need to stay relevant. 

Dawn didn’t break over Nobbys, the cloud cover too strong for the sunrise to appear. Photographers groaned. Others didn’t seem to mind. And the surfers were too busy soaking up the spotlight. Literally. 

Thousands would head back along the harbour, filling cafes and piling onto park-and-ride buses. 

Garbage trucks and skip bins plonked on city streets were a head-shaking reminder of a changed world. Only the day before, 10 people were mowed down and killed in a van attack in Toronto, Canada. 

Like a flame easily extinguished, life is fragile. And Mr Aird’s “lucky” grandfather sure as hell knew that.