Poems of the Era 2
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ANZAC Day
I saw a kid marchin’ with medals on his chest. He marched alongside Diggers marching six abreast. He knew that it was ANZAC Day - he walked along with pride. He did his best to keep in step with the Diggers by his side. And when the march was over the kid was rather tired. A Digger said “Whose medals, son?” to which the kid replied: “They belong to daddy, but he did not come back. He died up in New Guinea on a lonely jungle track”. The kid looked rather sad then and a tear came to his eye. The Digger said “Don’t cry my son and I will tell you why. Your daddy marched with us today - all the blooming way. We Diggers know that he was there - it’s like that on ANZAC Day”. The kid looked rather puzzled and didn’t understand, But the Digger went on talking and started to wave his hand. “For this great land we live in, there’s a price we have to pay For we all love fun and merriment in this country where we live. The price was that some soldier his precious life must give. For you to go to school my lad and worship God at will, Someone had to pay the price so the Diggers paid the bill. Your daddy died for us my son - for all things good and true. I wonder if you understand the things I’ve said to you”. The kid looked up at the Digger - just for a little while And with a changed expression, said, with a lovely smile: “I know my dad marched here today - this is ANZAC Day. I know he did. I know he did, all the bloomin’ way”. D. Hunter A veteran of Shaggy Ridge with the 2/12 Battalion in WW2 Lone Pine
Lone Pine! Lone Pine! Our hearts are numbly aching For those who come no more, Our boys who sleep the sleep that knows no waking, Besides the Dardan’s shore. Through all the years, with glory sad and sombre, Their names will deathless shine; No bugle call can wake them from their slumber: Lone Pine! Lone Pine! They did not quail, they did not pause or ponder, They counted not the odds; The order came, the foe were waiting yonder, The rest was with the gods. Forth from their trenches at the signal leaping, They charged the Turkish line, And death charged too, a royal harvest reaping, Lone Pine! Lone Pine! Nought could withstand that onrush, backward driven, The foemen broke and fled. (TROOPER) Edward Harrington Not a Hero
The ANZAC Day march was over - the old Digger had done his best. His body ached from marching - it was time to sit and rest. He made his way to a park bench and sat with lowered head. A young boy passing saw him - approached and politely said, "Please sir do you mind if I ask you what the medals you wear are for? Did you get them for being a hero, when fighting in a war?" Startled, the old Digger moved over and beckoned the boy to sit. Eagerly the lad accepted - he had not expected this! "First of all I was not a hero," said the old Digger in solemn tone, "But I served with many heroes, the ones that never came home. So when you talk of heroes, it's important to understand, The greatest of all heroes gave their lives defending this land. "The medals are worn in their honour, as a symbol of respect. All diggers wear them on ANZAC Day - it shows they don't forget." The old digger then climbed to his feet and asked the boy to stand. Carefully he removed the medals and placed them in his hand. He told him he could keep them - to treasure throughout his life, A legacy of a kind - left behind - paid for in sacrifice. Overwhelmed the young boy was speechless - he couldn’t find words to say. It was there the old Digger left him - going quietly on his way. In the distance the young boy glimpsed him - saw him turn and wave goodbye. Saddened he sat alone on the bench - tears welled in his eyes. He never again saw him ever - but still remembers with pride, When the old Digger told him of Heroes and a young boy sat and cried. Clyde Hamilton |
Gallipoli
The new dawn lights the eastern sky; Night shades are lifted from the sea, The Third Brigade with courage storm Thy wooded heights, Gallipoli Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! Australians tread Gallipoli. Thunderous bursts from iron mouths - Myriad messengers of death, Warships ply their deadly fire Watching comrades hold their breath Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! There's hell upon Gallipoli. Serried ranks upon the beach, Courage beams in every eye These Australian lads can face Giant Death, though e'er so nigh, Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! There's death upon Gallipoli. On they press in endless stream, Up the heights they shouting go; Comrades fall; but still press on They press the now retreating foe Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! The Turks flee on Gallipoli. One by one the brave lie low, Machine Guns, shrapnel do their work; Brave Australians know no fear, Never have been known to shirk, Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! Their names carved on Gallipoli. Reduced, cut up, there numbers show The murderous fire that swept thy field; But still victorious they stand, Who never have been known to yield Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! Thick dead lie on Gallipoli. For days they hold with grim set grip, Their feet firm planted on the shore, Repelling every fierce attack And cheerfully they seek for more Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! Their trenches line Gallipoli. For thirty weary days they fight, For Britain's sake they give their best; With uncomplaining voice they stand And neither look nor ask for rest Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! They've conquered thee, Gallipoli. The waves break on thy wave swept shores, The breeze still blows across thy hills; But crosses near and far abound, A sight that deepest grief instils Gallipoli! Gallipoli ! Their graves lie on Gallipoli. For those brave hearts that died to show Australia's worth in this dread war, The far off tears and sighs for those Who sleep beneath the cannons roar Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! Thou still, shalt pay, Gallipoli. The few that valiant still remain, War worn but grim and anger yet To hurl full vengeance on the foe. Because they never can forget Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! They ask the price, Gallipoli. Gallipoli I warn you now, Australia's sons and Turks shall meet Once more, and then our onslaught yet Shall sweep the ground beneath your feet Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! Thy end's in sight, Gallipoli. Upon the Graves of those that sleep, Upon thy wooded slope and vale, We shall avenge. Remember then, Australians cannot, will not fail, Gallipoli ! Gallipoli ! Thy doom is sealed, Gallipoli. Staff Sergeant Sydney Bolitho 6th Battalion A.I.F Sonnet for ANZAC Day
Sound the Last Post again, lest we forget the freedom that we cherish has been bought - not found like mushrooms in the field; the debt is ours to pay, mindful of those who fought and fell - yet still they held the torch aloft! May we remain as zealous to withstand the traitors who would make our fibres soft, as well as enemies beyond the land. The trumpet has the power to move us still, and though the debris of a flood of years lies over hand and mind, an aching thrill comes rising perilously close to tears. Sound the Last Post to hold the memory bright, then sound the Rouse and keep the torch alight. Alf Wood |