Last year I was thrilled to visit the State Library of Queensland, where the dedicated library archivists showed me some of their favourite treasures. This box of index cards belonged to Annie Wheeler, the widow of a Queensland grazier, who was in England when World War One broke out.

Determined to be of service, Annie Wheeler moved to accommodations near the AIF headquarters in London and set herself up as a conduit between Queensland families and their loved ones on the battlefields. She kept track of each soldier’s movements, forwarded mail, advanced allowances, offered care to the injured, and kept family at home informed. By 1918, she had 2,300 men on file and was sending fortnightly updates back to Australia for publication in the local newspapers.

I was captivated by Annie Wheeler and her meticulous index cards. She was known as the “Mother of the Queenslanders” and each card in her file bears witness to the journey of a much-loved son fighting in a brutal war a long, long way from home. I could well imagine the comfort it must have brought each family to know that their young man would not be lost or forgotten while Annie Wheeler was watching over him.

It wasn’t until we were about to pack the file box away that I thought to mention my great-grandfather, a boy from central Queensland who I’d been told had served as a signaller in WW1. It was like reaching back through time to find a small set of cards with his name on them: a young man who died in France without ever seeing or holding his baby daughter, my grandmother. But there he was. File notes written in the kind, careful pen of Annie Wheeler, including, in red ink, the saddest of them all.

As I held the cards in my hand, a long-ago forebear who had to that point been something of an abstraction for me was made real. He had lived. As a young man he had travelled across the ocean to fight a terrible war in a distant country from which he would never return; but he had lived and his journey mattered.

On this day of reflection, I have thought about how much we owe to Annie Wheeler, the archivists of our museums and libraries, and record-keepers everywhere for helping us in our duty of remembrance; lest we forget.