The Ataturk Mausoleum, or Anatkabir, presides over the red tiled roofs of the Turkish capital in much the same way as the Parthenon dominates Athens. It is a much younger creation, a 1950s burial place and commemorative shrine to the father of the Turkish republic, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, who died 50 years ago this year.
Anatkabir's austere lines are relieved by the warm sandstone of the buildings and the spaciousness of the gardens around them. A light breeze tempers the midsummer heat: Ankara is a hilly city, situated 8,500 metres above sea level in the heart of what ancient Romans called Asia Minor and Turks have always called Anatolia.
The approach to the mausoleum is a reminder of the central role of the military in the Kemalist scheme: after a checkpoint entrance there are armed sentries posted at every turn. The courtyards and steps are, literally, the stamping ground of young soldiers and naval officers, who change the guard at clockwork intervals. Tourists witness this elaborate pageantry in silence.
Gigantic, idealised statues depict the grieving men and women of Turkey lining the paved avenue to mourn the passing of their leader.
The buildings are not without beauty: square unadorned pillars, flat roofs and bas-relief murals impressively blend ancient and modernist styles. Not surprisingly, the lines have more echoes of Egyptian than of Grecian antiquity. The mausoleum houses many of Kemal's personal and ceremonial possessions, including the James Cagney-style black Lincoln limousine in which he toured the villages of Anatolia during the depressed 1930s.
There is little else that could be called flashy among the exhibits; during his rule, the Byzantine excesses of the late Ottoman empire were swept aside. In embracing western European values, especially the separation of church and state, Ataturk was acutely conscious of detail. In the interests of secularisation - a vital legacy, given Turkey's strategic location - he not only banned Islamic monasteries and religion-dominated schools, but also outlawed Arabic script and many facets of traditional dress, including fezes and turbans.
"This, gentlemen, is called a hat," he once declared to some astonished villagers, brandishing his fedora. "It is the headgear of civilised people." The present military leadership is continuing this campaign. Last year its pressures led to the collapse of an Islamist-led coalition; since then it has banned prominent leaders of the fundamentalist party, Welfare, now reconstituted in a weakened form as the Virtue Party.
As I left Anatkabir, I could not help wondering at the selectivity of memory. Kemal's greatness was won on the backs of countless Turkish foot soldiers, not to mention those of other nationalities who died in the disastrous Allied assault on Turkish sovereignty at Gallipoli. It was an ill-conceived and arrogant mission which almost wrecked the career of its chief planner, Winston Churchill.
On the other hand, although it cost countless Turkish lives, it was the kind of challenge that moulded the character and reputation of the young Kemal.
But there is more than one view of Ataturk. A measure of the controversy still surrounding him was revealed last week when a proposed film based on his life brought death threats and scared Antonio Banderas out of playing the title role.
At least the mausoleum is honest in its narrow focus. Turkey reveres Ataturk and his secular military legacy: in a paradoxical way he is the saint of secularism and at Anatkabir his role in Turkish life has been cast in stone.
The same day I visited Anatkabir, I listened to President Suleyman Demirel, presenting architectural awards for a proposed peace park on the Gallipoli peninsula. The main feature of the park will be its respect for the natural landscape and for the traditional villages and farms of the area. The contrast with the Ataturk Mausoleum could not be greater.
The winning Norwegian entry involves the least construction of those submitted and was deemed the one most likely to allow the visitor share some of the sweeter sights and sounds that might have been experienced in 1915.
The plan to convert the 32,000hectare national park into a Gallipoli Peace Park is a joint project of the Turkish presidency and the Commonwealth Commission of Graves. Its evolution as an emotionally powerful international shrine, with various focal points where small-scale monuments have been erected over the years, is to be respected in the new format.
Some 3,500 of those who died in the Dardanelles campaign were Irish volunteers, many of whom enlisted in response to calls from nationalist leaders. Yet among the many commemorative memorials on the peninsula there is not one to the Irish.
Correcting this omission could make a huge contribution to reconciliation in Ireland, a Dubliner attending the prize-giving suggested to the project leader and others we spoke to. Tom Burke is a passionate campaigner for the recognition of Ireland's first World War volunteers and a founder of an association honouring the Dublin Fusiliers or Blue Caps.
For Australians and New Zealanders, he points out, Gallipoli was a defining historical moment: they came to the Dardanelles as soldiers of the motherland but died or went home Australians and New Zealanders. The Irish, by contrast, returned home to find they had been eclipsed by history. Many of them lived out their lives conscious that in the post-1916 Ireland they were regarded as fools or even traitors.
Kemal had fought hard as a soldier and then adapted to the peace his struggle had helped to create, President Demirel said at the presentation ceremony. "Peace will be Turkey's gift to world security," he quoted Ataturk as promising. It was a timely emphasis, given the continuing tension with Greece over the Aegean islands and Cyprus, and with the Kurdish separatists in eastern Turkey.
Unlike any other world leader of his time, the president continued, Kemal had urged "the mothers who sent their sons from faraway countries" to "wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our hearts and are at peace. Having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well."
Noble sentiments, nobly expressed: but perhaps not the kind that can easily be cast in stone.