New Zealand lost 2721 men and 4752 were wounded. Australia buried 8709 men and another 19,441 had to be patched up.
Britain lost 34,072 men killed (78,520); France 9798 (17,371) India 1358 (3421) and Newfoundland 49 (93).
The Turks, who were defending their homeland, steeped its rocky soil in soldiers' blood with an estimated 56,643 men killed and 107,007 wounded.
Those figures do not include men put out of action, or killed, through disease. On both sides more than 500,000 fell sick.
Gallipoli is a name that has been seared into New Zealand and Australian consciences and holds a sacred spot in both countries as this is regarded as being the birth of our nations.
Perhaps it's fitting then that it was so bloody and so painful for those who fought and died there, as well as their mourning loved ones left behind.
To mark their sacrifice - and of all the other Anzac servicemen and women - we wear red poppies in the lead up to April 25 (Anzac Day) and November 11 (Remembrance Day).
The small flower is appropriate as it grew in both Flanders fields and the hills of Gallipoli.
Last Friday, I went into town to finalise details of an imminent trip that will pass close to Flanders fields.
I was pleased - and not a little surprised - at the huge number of people wearing poppies. There were so many that those without could be counted on one hand.
It was wonderful to see as when you buy a poppy you not only remember the past, but you help former servicemen who need assistance.
Anzac Day is now such a public occasion because young people have been educated about its importance.
When I was a young lad in the mid-to-late 1960s - maybe I was 5 or 6 - I remember my first encounter with a place called Gallipoli.
It was at the home of a returned officer who had fought there.
He was old, white-haired and seemed to walk slowly - it was hard to match him up with the photo of him as a young man in uniform.
In the dim hallway of his house was a painting, or print, of the landings at Gallipoli.
I can see it now, small boats heading in towards shore, smoke, others returning to pick up more men. Others storming off the beach and into the cliffs beyond.
Every time I visited Harry's place I would study that picture.
My imagination was fired up by what I saw but, like most children back then, we didn't know much about WWI or Gallipoli.
At the time, WWI veterans were in their 60s and 70s, but kids were seen and not heard and to ask unwanted questions would have been regarded as cheeky.
Their sons who came back from WWII weren't much more talkative - except among themselves at home or Returned Services Association clubs - or after a few beers on Anzac Day. But if you hid behind a door and listened really quietly while they were talking you learned things you were probably too young to know.
I admired those guys and the more I learned about what they went through the more that admiration grew.
This Saturday is the Dawn Parade and, as usual, I'll be down at the Cenotaph in the Mount taking photos.
I feel it is important to document these events as the WWII vets - who are now older than the Gallipoli veterans were when I was young - are passing on with greater regularity.
No doubt there will be more people there this year - being the 100th anniversary but, for me, one thing won't change.
When Last Post sounds, my throat will tighten and I will get a bit choked up.
Those near me may think there are tears in my eyes, but it really will be only dew.
"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
"Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
"At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
"We will remember them ... "
We will remember them.
-Richard@richardmoore.com
Richard Moore is an award-winning Western Bay journalist and photographer.
