The Happy Warrior (23 page)

And his death is sure to leave a gaping hole.

So, sad to say, they will not have their day,

They gave their lives that we could now have ours

Yet we both squander life and waste the day

Too busy by far to even smell the flowers.

They had a vision for this land of ours

Once shared by all the people of our land,

Forgotten in our busy business hours

Or buried under mounds of trivial sand.

The Epitaph

If you stop by to read this now and then

And ponder on the ones it's placed here for,

Then when you've finished say a loud ‘Amen'

And gently smile and grieve for us no more.

The future, no longer ours, but now it's yours

Bequeathed to you — it is our parting gift;

Don't look with envy to some distant shores

But make a blessing that will give our souls a lift.

Make of this land the ‘heaven on earth' we dreamed

Let not our pains and deaths have been in vain

Bring to life those dreams and all they seemed

And in that future — there we'll meet again.

WO2 Paul Barrett

Toad's Party

You were mentioned at the table, as they passed around the Port,

They were talking of Terendek and Vietnam

They had known you in the 60s — At Serikin, where the rats

Lived beside and all around you at The Fort.

Where the rations came by plane and star pickets fell like rain

And beer was hot — But Indos must be caught.

You all wandered in the Ulu

With your rations on your back.

Crossed the border, and were miles away from home

When young Andre caused a panic,

So you raced back up the track,

But Terendak wasn't far across the foam.

When you came home to Australia you kept practising your skills

At Tin Can Bay and Ingham — lots of fun!

Then you climbed aboard the Sydney and across the China Sea,

you sailed to stop the Commos on the run.

And you felt the bullets flying, while Alex lobbed grenades

And the fight was often over in a flash.

Then you gathered up your gear, sometimes trembling with a tear.

And you wondered why you did it — not for cash

Back home in '68 you were moving at a rate

To Townsville and High Range –

The Strand and Louth's. And you lived the local life,

And you found yourself a wife.

But you did it all again!

with a different group of men

With Len and John and Pat in 71.

At the Horseshoe and Vung Tau you were there to show them how,

To do the job — and still — to stop the Commo Run.

And we talked till after midnight as we sat among the plates.

And we wondered where you went and what you've done.

Since the time you shared together — with the friends you'll have forever —

You were mentioned at the table

By your Mates.

Margaret Gibbons

Great Day!

I see him at reunions and he smiles and says “Hello!”

Then he sits and talks with mates who do the same.

And I wonder what they're thinking as they sometimes gaze away

To quieter, darker corners from the game.

Are they thinking of the paddy fields, or tall denuded trees,

Or grass so high and hot you cannot see?

Perhaps tears, or lonely longing for family and friends:

Self pity — that's something you won't see.

It's time to go till next year, he pauses at the door.

“Goodbye!” he'll say and quickly looks away.

The tiny tear that twinkles in his eye, he tries to hide,

And his parting word is usually “Great Day!”

Margaret Gibbons

In October

I see soldiers when they're marching

I see soldiers when they walk

I see soldiers when they're laughing

I see soldiers when they talk.

And I like to stand and watch you

when we gather on the Tweed,

And perhaps just more than anything

this may be what you need.

Just to get your thoughts in order

just to stop and think awhile

To find a friend you have forgotten

helps you walk another mile.

So come back again to Twin Towns

talk and laugh and meet a friend,

For that weekend in October

means our memories don't end.

Margaret Gibbons

After the March

Unpeopled streets, swept clear

As by a flood;

Here lies confetti — gay,

But mixed with mud.

Bright streamers strew the ground

In tangled heaps

Like weed cast on the sand

When the sea weeps.

And in an office door

Stand, here and there,

Small tearful groups of girls

Just stand and stare

Into a future suddenly made bare.

Marjorie Larcombe

Remember the Green Parrot?

Telok Anson, Tanjung, Tokong -

Ipoh, Nasi Goreng,

Aussie Hostel, Golden Sands —

Nothing ever boring.

Drinking in the Hong Kong Bar,

Lasah, Lumut, Naafi,

Koyli, Jocks and Ghurke too —

Sometimes even Taffy.

Up the sharp-end

In the Ulu, Sandy Croft and curry.

Merle could feed a hundred men —

No one's in a hurry.

Makan, Tiffin, Pappodams,

Whiteaways and Minden,

Tiger beer and Lucky Strikes —

Oh boy, but you were thin then!

Charlie Brock's old monkey,

A trip to Alor Star,

Gambling at the Garrison,

Haggling in Bazaar.

Chin Peng on the run again,

Taiping, Hong Kong Bank,

Forward scout for Claude this week —

Who can we all thank?

Endless hours of tramping jungle,

Aching backs and tired feet,

Snatch some sleep at Tanjung Bungah,

Fit in some time in Chulia Street.

Your back still aches on Anzac Day,

Your sight is getting dim,

But your eyes search all the ranks

Looking for that special ‘Him'.

The one you used to laugh with,

The one who was your mate,

You haven't seen him lately —

And you hope it's not too late.

Margaret Gibbons

Colours

We stood at the Ho that first summer's morn,

Hearts bursting with pride, tears welling inside,

Thoughts of back home and how far we'd come,

The pipe it was shrill in the crisp air still.

We stood tall that morn and first saw her rise,

Our Ensign she's white, inspiring, bold and bright,

There's been so many others have stood here before,

And watched glory rise, up into southern skies.

It's the start of her day hoisted up slow...

All hands salute... let's give her a show,

On her way up, the red white and blue,

That chord in our hearts will always ring true.

As she reaches the top, the silence is great,

Australia's White Ensign — she'll do me mate!

LSMT Scott Bayley

The Sea!

The sea! That vast, majestic plain

Of foam-flecked wave and windswept rain,

And howling gales that bend the brain

And fill brave men with dread.

The sea! That sparkling crystal pool

Bedecked with phosphorescent jewel,

Where dolphins play the merry fool

And Neptune makes his bed.

The sea! That final resting place

For sailing men of every race,

Where seaweed shrouds are commonplace

Among the grateful dead.

No grave for me, nor crypt, nor tomb,

Nor roaring furnace in curtained room,

But Nature's cool and watery womb

Is where I'll lay my head.

Ron Baker

Remember

Remember, Australia, now peace bells have rung

And Victory's song have been joyfully sung,

Remember the blood that was shed for this land;

Forget not the courage so noble and grand.

Remember, Australia, when birds sweetly sing

And nature's soft blossoms are glories of spring,

As trees gently sway in the light laughing breeze;

Remember the battle to keep gems like these.

Remember, Australia, those brave men who fell,

Whose lives ebbed away in a valley of hell.

Remember their children, and others loved dear

And give them a future to face without fear.

Remember, Australia, the brave who return,

The wounded, the war-torn, you must never spurn;

Remember these men, and discharge your debt well,

Secure and in comfort, be sure they all dwell.

Remember, remember, forever, these sons

Who flung back the foe with a thunder of guns!

As free soil you tread, and on beauty you gaze,

Remember, Australia, remember always!

Cpl S. George Van Staveren

September, 1945

(AWM MSS 1560)

Return from the Unknown

On the planting of trees near Rockingham RSL dedicated to fallen Rockingham Soldiers.

He was young and loved the earth's green places,

Sea in the sun, gardens under rain,

Old trees, long roads, the loveliness of children's faces,

Orchards in blossom, wind on rippling grass,

Dappled skies and all wild things.

Then came a war from half a world away,

And he who saw the world through happy eyes,

Gave up his heritage of quiet play.

He bade farewell to family

And went forward into the unknown.

So plant a tree that it might grow,

Strong and straight with muscled bough,

A tree to say to passers by:

Don't shed a tear and please don't cry,

For once again Rockingham's my home

And midst these trees I'm not alone...

Lt. Col. Jack Gregg, RA Inf

Rockingham, 16 0ctober 1999

Bataans' Plaque

Ulverstone is the place they met

on the north Tasmanian coast

Just to show and not forget

the deeds of Bataan with a toast

A plaque was laid in the park

for all who came to see,

It was lit up in the dark

and showed what used to be.

A destroyer of the tribal class

which served in war and peace

And set a standard unsurpassed,

a prestige that would never cease

Now some are grey and old

and others have passed by

Bataan's deeds will still be told —

the plaque will never die.

Herbert M. Boys

The Men of Yesterday

Along our coasts the cannons roar, our towns are all alight.

And drums they roll and bells they peal to call the men to fight.

But where are the men all trained for war their country to defend;

We have the men, but all untrained, it would be fatal these to send?

From country farm and city street, with hair that's turning grey,

They form once more in steady ranks, the Men of Yesterday.

As they march their thoughts go back to battles long ago,

As side by side with comrades old, they face a nearer foe,

And bursting shell and battle dust block out the light of day,

For grimly fight and grimly die, the Men of Yesterday.

And quicker still the reaper swings and each sweep a full swathe takes

As the foe with deadly fire, those thinning ranks he rakes;

And wider grows those widening gaps, before that hail of lead,

Till few are left to face the foe besides the dying and the dead.

But now is heard the tramp of feet in the lull of battle sound,

And dying men their rifles grasp to fire a final round.

On they come that marching host and charge into the fray,

And through those shattered ranks they pour, the Young Men of Today.

Rank on rank their still forms lie with faces cold and grey,

No more they'll hear the glad larks sing or see the break of day;

Behind those lines the women sing and children are at play,

And perhaps at times they give a thought to the Men of Yesterday.

G. S. Laslett,

OB Flat, 1940

Friendship

Friendship is the golden chain

That nought on earth can sever,

The passing years roll on in vain

True friends are friends forever.

Anon

Reflections

Let our thoughts go back to the Unit's birth,

Of the time that has passed since then;

Of the heroic deeds that have proved our worth,

And shown us as fighting men.

Let us dwell for a time on the present day,

With its trials and hardships so real,

Of the various setbacks that come our way

Which we tackle with courage and zeal.

Let us look to the future with confident mien,

To the battles that yet must be fought,

With courage and team work the world has not seen —

We'll prove we weren't formed for nought!

G. H. B.

Here Again

Your name is here again,

Resting quietly in the trees,

With the flame trees and the brush box

And the tiny native bees,

With the grey gum and the iron bark

And whispering Bribie pine,

The crows ash and the black bean,

Silky oak and turpentine.

Magpies calling in the morning-

Butcher birds and curlew fly.

Lilly-pilly's soft pink colours-

Bloodwood reaching to the sky.

The flagpole stands and watches.