The Happy Warrior (12 page)

And if the worst should happen

We've a job quite man size,

Defending Aussie and Egypt

In the pillbox on the rise.

Anon

(AWM PR 00526)

To the A.A.S.C.

They have toiled their loads o'er the far flung roads

And the labour has been their pride

They have hauled the clip to the waiting ship

Through the streets to the waterside.

They have brought the grain from the stubbled plains

Till the silo siding was full

Through the days that were long they have loved their song

Of the engines thrust & pull.

When the gales wild lash made the branches crash

Spite of perils old & new,

Down the winding grade not a whit dismayed

Came the transport roaring through.

Through the coastal rains, over black soil plains

Through flood & dust & flame,

No matter what the odds, by all the gods,

They'd get there just the same.

Now they've left the roads, they have no loads

To the wharf or the outback store

For the Empire's call has brought them all

To the days & the ways of war.

Now the engine's song sounds stern & strong

And its theme is the common will,

For the foe of old grows overbold

And we love our freedom still.

Yet the part they played in the nation's trade

Their motto now shall be,

Equal to the task to all that's asked

Of the men of our ASC.

In the peaceful years they got no cheers

And they seek none now, it's true

But this we know, where wheels can go,

They'll get their war freights through.

They'll haul each shell to the gates of hell

To the maw of each hungry gun,

O'er countless roads they'll bring their loads

And the job will be well done.

Let the spotlight shine on the firing line

On the guns & the infantry

But save a cheer for the trusty Rear,

The men of our AASC.

Anon

(AWM PR 00526)

1941

That year it rained death like apples

It did not matter at all about the dead

For what better than death in battle,

(The sick voice said in the belly

What death better than death in battle?)

That year the wicked were strong but remember

That the time comes when the thing that you strike

Rouses itself suddenly, very terribly,

And stands staring with a terribly angry look

And says, “Why do you strike me brother? I am a man.”

One man is like another,

One strength like another strength

And the wicked shall not prosper for ever,

When the turns of history

Bring the innocent —

To Victory!

G. W. F.

(AWM PR 00526)

The Australian Volunteers

This war is just beginning,

By a man who has no love

For the lives of human beings

And the God we know above.

So to victory we're marching,

The possessors of no fear

And throughout the world we're known as:

The Australian volunteers.

When we left our wives and mothers

It was sorrowful, I'll say,

And for the pain they supplied

Someone will have to pay.

That someone's Adolf Hitler

For he's caused them many tears,

And revenge will be the bayonets

Of the Australian Volunteers.

Our fathers fought in 'fourteen

When they made their big advance,

And they wrote their names in history

As the bravest men in France.

We'll follow in their footsteps

Tho' it's after twenty years

To keep the old tradition

Of the Australian volunteers.

When we return to Australia,

Victorious from the strife,

There's many a man we left behind

Who gave his gallant life

So freedom may continue

As it has in former years,

With the Empire's gains assisted

By the Aussie Volunteers

Anon

(AWM PR 00526)

Bound'ry Riders of Tobruk

We're riding Shank's pony,

Round the boundry of Tobruk

And looking to the traps at night as well;

We're rounding up all the boobies

And we have our share of luck

And now and then we yard a straying shell.

We're used to yarding cattle

On a brumby mountain bred,

We can use the whips and spurs in proper style,

But the boundaries here are different

And the whips are Brens instead

And our spurs are made of barbed wire by the mile.

We see the Jerry rustler

As he sneaks about at night,

No doubt he is a trier, is old Fritz,

But he's found the Boundary Rider

Ever ready for a fight

If he decides to start on a blitz.

We are gathered from the outposts

Of Australia over here

And if we chance to leave slip and rail down,

It's just a trap for Jerry,

So you needn't have a fear,

All you blokes that work back near the town.

Just send us up our rations,

Keep the ammo well supplied

And see we get our mail and parcels too;

We'll route the Jerry rustler out

And tan his bloody hide

Ere we round him up and send him back again.

Anon

(AWM PR 00526)

Headlines

A mighty island fortress,

The guardian of the east,

An up-to-date Gibraltar,

A thousand planes at least.

“It simply cannot be taken,

'Twill stand a siege for years

We'll hold the place for ever,

'Twill bring our foe to tears.

Our men are there in thousands,

Defences are unique.”

The Japs did not believe it –

So they took it in a week.

Anon

The Battle of Jahore

There's a strip of rubber country

North of Singapore;

To the Diggers it was a death trap,

On the map it's called Jahore.

'Twas against tremendous odds

The boys put on a show

That was the equal of the Anzacs

At Gallipoli long ago.

But men on the ground can never fight

The terrors of the sky;

Without air support they just lie still

To wait on death and die.

Face to face odds matter not

For the Digger loves a scrap,

But when the sky is full of planes

And every one a Jap,

It's then you wonder, was it a dream,

For in the paper that you read,

Air support will soon arrive

As production goes ahead.

There's a strip of rubber country

Which some day we will take,

For that is all he asked of us

The chap who was our mate.

Then we'll hand Malaya over

And with it goes Jahore,

And we'll pray to God we're never called

To defend it any more.

Anon

At Anchor in Aden

There's a cobalt blue that's brilliant

As I gaze into the sky,

There's a sheen of blue-green waters

And a dhow is sailing by.

The fleecy clouds are fading

As the sun climbs further still,

The sullen sea reflects its glare,

Its heat frowns on the hill.

There's a range of rocks so rugged,

Some million years gone by,

May have held a valley verdant

Beneath a kindlier sky.

They rise up stark and sombre

From out the Gulf's green wave;

They are barren as the desert,

As forbidding as the grave.

Gaunt hills that girt the harbour

And guard the dead Red Sea,

To ships that sail the ocean

A sign of sanctuary.

It's one more Empire outpost,

A bulwark of the Nation,

That earns an exile's edict,

A place of desolation.

Where strategy commands the sea,

Where ships across it sail,

Where wealth is won from toil and trade

A port must mark the trail.

And thus it is that Aden,

Sheer rock and desert dust,

Was found and won by Britain

And hold to it we must.

For all of us the fight is fought

And play our parts we will,

And though our thoughts stray far away,

Our eyes are on the Hill.

The day will dawn, the tide will turn,

Our term in exile ended;

We'll greet again our hearth and homes

And reap the vision splendid.

John L. Wylie

(AWM MSS 1375)

Tulagi

In commemoration of the sinking of HMAS
Canberra
in Tulagi Bay, Solomon Islands, 9 August 1942

We sailed north, invasion our aim,

Not for honour or fame,

Just to teach the Japs to play the game.

When we reached Tulagi,

The invasion barges were in the Bay,

How many soldiers was hard to say,

But when they landed there was hell to pay

on that island of Tulagi.

The sailors were quiet, the atmosphere tense,

The Admiral kept them in suspense,

And nobody knew the Japs defence

When we sailed into Tulagi.

The Japanese bombers left Rabaul

To answer the island's desperate call

And some of them were seen to fall

into the Bay of Tulagi.

The torpedo bombers came to attack,

All we heard was the sharp ack-ack

As our ack-ack guns drove them back

Away from Tulagi.

Then late at night action sounded,

And to their guns the sailors bounded,

As into the Canberra many shells pounded

just off Tulagi.

The sailors were almost in their stride

When a Japanese torpedo hit our side,

And many a brave sailor reeled and died

Near the Island of Tulagi.

Although we could not help the fleet,

Our wounded Captain kept his feet,

He was one who didn't admit defeat

when we sank in Tulagi.

Able Seaman ‘Happy' Fellows

A Survivor

A Tribute to Greece

I ask no nobler task than to portray,

As one fate spared to flee your fire-raked shore,

The glorious martyred courage that today

Flames fiercer than the brilliant meteor.

I'd write Your valiant fight two years ago

That stained the scales of Liberty with blood!

What more vivid memory could I know

Than Athens, warm and gay, steeped in the flood

Of Grecian sunlight, like a vibrant maid,

Splendid with life and love, with head held high?

Though ruthless rape still holds its ghastly fate,

You'll not cringe and cry the plea that Byron made;

For there will come a new Thermopolae,

To give rebirth, to purge the German hate.

Tpr W. L. Johnson

VX8303

(AWM PR 87/062)

Gundeck Reverie

(RAN Reverie)

Where the deep blue of the ocean meets the brighter blue of sky,

Where white capped waves and wind swept clouds are scudding gaily by,

From east to west, from north to south, as far as eye can see,

That ever distant circle, the horizon, calls to me.

It calls me with a yearning only sailors can define,

Ports and harbors, sailing ships, the tang of ocean brine;

There's magic in the surging sea, the trackless ocean way,

There's music in the lullaby of wind and flying spray.

When golden sun gives way to night, with myriad stars a throng

The moonlit sea, the rhythmic throb of engines is my song.

Yet the call of hearth and homeland intrudes my reverie,

For there's sadness in a woman's heart, who lonely waits for me.

On duty on the gundeck as we plough across the sea,

All the action and adventure, all the splendor fades from me —

Far beyond the distant skyline, beyond the boundless foam,

There's a wistful woman praying that his ship comes safely home.

There's a cosy little cottage and each night a vacant chair,

And a loving heart is heavy, for a loved one isn't there.

The children, as they go to bed, kneel down at night to pray:

“Dear God, Will you bring Daddy back? Please bring him home some day.”

L/Sig John L. Wylie W 769

Aden, Arabia, December 1940

(AWM MSS 1375)

On the Sanananda Beach

The palm trees sway at the close of day

On Sananand Beach,

A cloud-filled sky bids the sun goodbye

Beyond the jungle's reach.

Each swirling wave seems to engrave

A pattern on the sands:

A silent word, unseen, unheard,

Cut out by nature's hands.

A shadow falls and a wild bird coils

To the sinking sun and the sea;

The fast fading light, and the still of the night

Bring a breath of a mystery.

The bird's call stops and the night breeze drops,

And an awful stillness reigns;

A soothing calm like a healing balm,

But the sound of the sea remains.

As if in a dream, there comes a wild scream,

As aeroplanes roar overhead;

With bombs and with fire, they leave a huge pyre,

Of wounded bodies and dead.

The jungle recesses and lost wildernesses