Poems of the Era 5
|
The Australian
The bravest thing God ever made! (A British Officer’s Opinion) The skies that arched his land were blue, His bush-born winds were warm and sweet, And yet from earliest hours he knew The tides of victory and defeat: From fierce floods thundering at his birth, From red droughts ravening while he played, He learned no fear no foes on earth - The bravest thing God ever made! The bugles of the Motherland Rang ceaselessly across the sea, To call him and his lean brown band To shape Imperial destiny., He went by youth’s grave purpose willed, The goal unknown, the cost unweighed, The promise of his blood fulfilled - The bravest thing God ever made! We know - it is our deathless pride! - The splendour of his first fierce blow; How, reckless, glorious, undenied, He stormed those steel-lined cliffs we know! And none who saw him scale the height Behind his reeking bayonet blade Would rob him of his title right - The bravest thing God ever made! Bravest, where half a world of men Are brave beyond all earth’s rewards, So stoutly none shall charge again Till the last breaking of the swords; Wounded or hale, won home from war, Or yonder by the Lone Pine laid, Give him his due for evermore - The bravest thing God ever made! W. H. Ogilvie To the Sunburnt Ear
Our homeland was carved out by the bushman Been defended by our heroes at war We're lucky to have both ... no ... they're the same See our heroes were bushmen before. And the women whose hearts grew beside them Who stood by them ... over here and over there Have since inspired a nation That has since given birth to their heirs. The price that we paid for our freedom Was the best that we had to give The cream of a young generation Were buried ... so the unborn could yet live. The blood and bone that's been shed for the southland Has raised a crop like none else on earth A people of heart ... an invincible spirit A people of immeasurable worth. Little wonder our enemies hated The sight of the one sided hat They knew wherever they saw it Was not the place to be at. Because even if both sides had run out of bullets They had learned ... there was one left to fear The digger ... with the heart of the bushman A bayonet ... and a sunburnt left ear. He may have come from the city Or milked cows ... or dagged sheep for a quid Been a tradesman ... or managed a business It mattered not what he did. You see ... if you're born a son or daughter ... of this southland In a hospital bed ... or out back o' the bar The bush is not something you live in The bush ... is just something you are. As long as there's dust at the base of the rock There'll be those who are willing to die For the right of every Australian To walk free under clear southern skies. And those who go forth to defend it This land ... this people of such infinite worth Will always be without doubt The finest soldiers on earth. And others will ask ... what quality makes them so different? They didn't win every fight They were rough and not as respectful Or as well equipped as they might. We'll never satisfy their questions Because the answer only we'll understand. They never left home for the battle With an intention ... or a desire ... to hate They went to war with the mind of a soldier But the heart and soul of a mate. So when they ask from over the ocean By what writing ... high tribute ... or honour Should we mark the graves of your dead. Know what I'd tell em ... I'd tell 'em If you just mark 'em ... Australian. No greater tribute ... no higher honour ... could ever be Thought of ... written ... or said Because to those who know ... who have stood at the wall To those who know ... one word ... one word says it all. By Tony Gunter |
The Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels
Many a mother in Australia, When the busy day is done, Sends a prayer to the Almighty For the keeping of her son, Asking that an Angel guide him And bring him safely back Now we see those prayers are answered On the Owen Stanley track, For they haven’t any halos, Only holes slashed in the ears, And with faces worked by tattoos, With scratch pins in their hair, Bringing back the wounded, Just as steady as a hearse, Using leaves to keep the rain off And as gentle as a nurse. Slow and careful in bad places, On the awful mountain track, And the look upon their faces, Makes us think that Christ was black. Not a move to hurt the carried, As they treat him like a Saint, It’s a picture worth recording, That an Artist’s yet to paint. Many a lad will see his Mother, And the Husbands, Weans and Wives, Just because the Fuzzy Wuzzy Carried them to save their lives. From mortar or machine gun fire, Or a chance surprise attack, To safety and the care of Doctors, At the bottom of the track. May the Mothers in Australia, When they offer up a prayer, Mention those impromptu Angels, With the Fuzzy Wuzzy hair. Sapper H "Bert" Beros NX 6925, 7th Div., RAE, AIF 
Photo courtesy: George Silk
The Soul of Australia
In the light of dawn, the break of day, Through the waters chill they fought their way; Like their sires of old, to the Motherland They came o’er the sea, and they sprang to the strand; And the blood of the Angles, the Scot, and the Celt Grew hot in their veins as the war fire they felt. In the light of noon, in the bright sunlight, They fought up the cliffs from height to height; And the sun shone down on that scene of strife Where the ‘Soul of Australia’ came to life, As the blood of Australians was shed on the sod, For Australia, for Britain, Humanity, God. Shall Australia mourn for the sons she has lost- Should Australians weep? Nay! Great though the cost, Joy mingles with grief, and pride mingles with pain, For our boys died like heroes, and died not in vain. And the ‘Soul of Australia’, new-born on that day When her sons died at ANZAC, shall never decay. J.H.M. The Brisbane Courier, 25 April 1916 |