They served so you
could succeed.

Twenty years ago, I applied for a Uni scholarship. The form asked about my grandfather's military service. I didn't know his story. Mum didn't either. Nobody did.

I was rejected.

It took me two decades to finally decode his records. Honestly? Nothing could have prepared me for what was in them.

Five brothers. Four joined the Army four days after Darwin was bombed - four days. The fifth joined the Navy and became the first Catholic priest ever to serve in it. All five ended up in the same campaign in Papua New Guinea - Milne Bay - on the ground and at sea, in different units. I keep thinking about my great-grandmother, waiting on news of all five at once. Somehow, they all came home.

Their uncle didn't. Gallipoli, Egypt, France, then Belgium - where he was killed in action on 1 November 1917. He has a grave in Belgium and a panel at the Australian War Memorial. And here's the part that stops me cold: his service entitles his descendants under 25 to $8,000 a year through the Gallipoli Scholarship. It was there the whole time. We just couldn't read the paperwork.

I didn't build Decode My Digger for the scholarships. I built it because these stories deserve to be told while there's still someone to tell them to.

The War Memorial volunteers who can read copperplate handwriting and army shorthand are retiring. The National Archives has digitised millions of pages, which is incredible - but a scan of 1916 handwriting isn't a story. Nobody served so their life could end up as pixels no one can read.

Then my best friend decoded her great-grandfather's record. When I mentioned her sons would be eligible for Uni scholarships because of his service, she stopped me: "You need to tell people about this. No one knows."

So this is me, telling people. The same record that saves your family's story can back a scholarship application worth thousands - and no one should miss out because army shorthand might as well be another language.