The Happy Warrior (35 page)

(AWM MSS 1557)

Standing By – Tobruk

There's a row of wooden crosses in a hollow near Tobruk

o'er a row of shallow graves hard there by the town,

And we, their comrades, say a charitable prayer

for those brave lads who never let us down.

When the storm of battle's over and the guns have ceased to roar

and the gentle breezes blow from in across the sea,

We'll still hear their cheery voices in the waves along the shore

and take solace in the thought — it had to be.

They heard the ‘Fall In' sounded and knew that they must go

though on parade they soon would stand again,

Lined up for ‘inspection' by the heavenly CO,

whose Battalion can't be filled with mortal men.

There Jerry cannot bomb you or pelt you with HE

and you're marching with the army of the brave, the proud and free;

We'll meet you over yonder, till then “Good shooting, mates!

You've founded a tradition for the 2/48th!”

‘The Wandering Bard'

Reward

They lie in Egypt's sands, Australia's sons,

That those who love and laugh may live;

They gave unflinching to a hell of gun,

The young fair lives that duty bade them give.

And on a shifting fringe of foreign land

That undulates and rolls towards the sea,

The rows of wooden crosses starkly stand

To mark the holocaust to liberty.

But say not that this hopeless, endless place

That lifeless lies between land and sea

Has taken to its deathly cold embrace

The ashes of a burnt-out destiny.

For from those lonely, windswept, hallowed graves

Will burst the destined flame and light the way

To life and hope for countless million slaves

And set ablaze the sun of freedom's day.

Anon

Vale

Oh valiant heart: purest was thy spirit,

Nobly you went, without fear of the cost.

Eager, wherever the bravest would fear it —

We who remain are the ones who have lost.

Yet with us still we believe that you tarry,

One without efforts to vanquish the foe.

Long may the way be and hard, yet we carry

Nerving endeavour, a memory aglow.

And when the guns cease their song of destruction,

Silent the desert and peace comes to men,

We shall remember in sore reconstruction

The brave who went forth, but who came not again.

Anon

Farewell

A life of busy toil has ended,

Of effort for his country's good,

A soul that sought to do his duty

Has passed to be at home with God.

Standing on the ocean's border,

Just where the land and waters stay,

With the weight of war upon him

Came the closing of life's day.

How we miss the voice that's silent!

How we miss the form that's still!

How we know we cannot call him

From his slumber, if we will!

Farewell then, to you our cobber,

Sleeping in your quiet grave.

Eyes grow dim, but hope triumphant

Holds us fast o'er life's rough way.

Anon

Timber

They are only a plain piece of timber

But their meaning is stately and grand,

For there's many a gallant man sleeping

'Neath the little white cross in the sand.

I often have wandered among them

And read from inscriptions they bear

The rank, the name and the number

Of one of my pals resting there.

These Diggers have died for their country —

They gave all they had in the fight

For the safety and peace of their loved ones,

A cause that must surely be right.

And when the last battle is ended

And peace has come over the land,

Let us never forget those white crosses,

In rows, in the hot desert sand.

Anon

Somewhere

Somewhere a gun lies red with rust

And there 'midst the trampled clay

The bones of a Gunner have turned to dust

That the March winds waft away.

Somewhere a Mother's eyes are red

As she weeps for her only boy

Who sleeps at peace in his muddy bed

Somewhere by the corduroy.

Cpl John (Jack) McHugh

(AWM PR 00750)

Our Fallen Mates

The battles fought are now history

And now we live in Peace,

The memories of our fallen mates

These sad memories will ne'er cease.

When we stand and face the crosses,

Each bearing one of our mates name

His Rank, Number and Battalion

Who paid the supreme sacrifice with fame.

To the families who have lost loved ones

These words come from the heart;

Their name will be remembered for evermore

For freedom they played their part.

The Boys came from the city and country

And from every walk of life;

They volunteered on a United front

When their Country was in strife.

The Officers and other Ranks march side by side

In the march on Anzac Day,

It proved what Unity will do

In the War it proved that way.

THE BATTLE'S BEEN WON

THEIR DUTY'S BEEN DONE

AND THE WORLD KNOWS OF THEIR DEEDS,

AS WE LAY BACK IN THOUGHT

OF THE GLORY IT BROUGHT

TO HELP THE WORLD TO BE FREE,

AS WE STAND AT THE CROSS

AND THINK OF THE LOSS

OF OUR MATES WE LEFT BEHIND,

WITH THE PASSING OF YEARS

WE STILL SHED OUR TEARS

FOR THE BOYS WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES:

“LEST WE FORGET”.

Syd Buckingham

Bomana

Blue sky

Green rolling hills

To mountains tranquil, stretch.

White clouds in a wide blue sky.

So quiet

So peaceful

Above the young sleepers

Resting beneath each white cross.

With each new dawn,

Their rising sons greet the rising sun

As the days march to eternity.

But they will march no more.

No more to toil along the muddy track,

No more to wonder where their track will end.

It ended here.

Thousands.

Sleeping peacefully,

Under that clear blue sky.

There, in their earthen beds,

Beneath each white cross,

As I walk the graves

And wonder

Why?

Peter Tremain

The Hardest Task

‘The Hardest Task' was penned by a friend who had asked what was the most difficult thing that I had had to do during World War II. I told him that telling a mother of one of my mates, who had died in my arms while on patrol, how he had died had been difficult for me and remains a painful memory. Reuben penned the following poem.

Bill Phillips, 1998.

The hardest task a man could do —

I could think of some and so could you —

But one there was for my friend Bill,

Thrust on him against his will.

On distant shore to serve his King,

Taught to expect anything…

Well, almost anything.

There they saw the battle rage,

Far too much for boys their age,

Guns and mortars and wartime pranks

All took their toll on our boys' ranks.

Some in shock were very numb,

Others screamed and then struck dumb.

Then it was Bill found this lad,

His time was short, the wound was bad.

The talk was brief and tears, they glistened,

He propped him up and then he listened.

The hardest task was about to come,

His final words ... “Tell Mum.”

Reuben K Fox

1998

Soldier

Build me no monument, should my turn come.

Please do not weep for me and waste your tears.

Write not my name on honour rolls of fame

To crumble with man's memories though the years.

Wear no dark clothes, speak in no saddened voice,

Seeking rare virtues which did not exist.

Just let me be, under the cool sweet earth

And sleep in peace where I will not be missed.

I ask one thing that, in still far off days,

Someone who knew me should in their daily round

Suddenly pause, caught by some sight or sound,

Some glance, some phrase, some trick of memory's ways,

Which brings me to their mind: then I shall wait,

Eager with hope, to hear them say “How great

If he were here.” Then, softly at the end,

All that I ask for, just “He was my friend.”

David McNicol (?)

(AWM PR 00392)

To Lieutenant Norman Blackburn

This short ode was written in tribute to Lieutenant Norman Blackburn of the 9th Division. He was killed by a Japanese sniper in New Guinea, 2 October 1943.

Oh soldier, brave and strong,

First of proud line to fall

In distant battlefield;

Fair, tall and noble youth,

Pride of mother sweet and three sisters fair;

You went to battle with a cheerful heart.

With straight limb, steady eye

And face towards the foe,

We know you were true to Australia fair,

We know your heart was all aglow.

Let us who come behind

We who gained liberty, freedom, all,

From your great sacrifice,

Let us, our kind, let us

Oh, Norman! remember thee.

Ernest H. Graham.

PR 82 056

Death of a Peacemaker

In Memory of: A997234 Private Leonard William Manning, DOB 15 August 1975 – 
KIA 24 July 2000, Bravo Company, 2/1 Battalion RNZIR: UN Forces, East Timor
 

With the courage of youth

and in the company of his mates,

he moved forward as the lead scout

to form a ring of steel

between the oppressed people

of East Timor and banditry

loyal only to the violence

of the parang,

— and the politics of the machine gun.

At twenty four years of age,

he was under no illusions

as to the dangers he faced

when he placed himself in harms way

and probed silently forward

to keep his fated appointment,

— with death and destiny.

Ambushed and caught in the killing zone,

he was unaccounted for

in the confusion of sustained

and overwhelming heavy fire,

reported as ‘missing' only later,

— after the ‘Re-Org'.

During the Company sweep,

his mates found him,

dead where he lay

in the heat of an Asian afternoon

weapon missing, ammo missing,

and body disfigured,

— in the age old way.

And so in death,

he journeyed back

that sad and cold

New Zealand winter's day,

to the lush green fields

of his Waikato home

and the quiet streets,

— of small town Te Kauwhata.

And tributes came,

and tributes glowed

as the politicians spoke,

but the tears that flowed

from his mates that day

as they bore him shoulder high

said more than all the gallant words

— as his cortege passed me by.

To the warriors chant

and the Kuia's cry!

they slow marched through the town

and beat the drum with a solemn tone

as the left boot struck the ground,

they bore the broken body

of Private Manning upon high

to the wailing of the Kuia,

— and the tears as soldiers cried.

His Tour of Duty's over,

and his body's laid to rest

he sleeps the sleep

of stolen youth

in the soft sweet soil

of a warrior's grave,

— and the Rangiriri earth.

Mike Subritzky

(2000)

The Best Friend I Ever Had

If you will lend me your ears for a moment

There is a story I feel I must tell,

For I'll never forget that dark morning

We marched into Bardia's Hell.

For two weeks we'd been living in trenches

While our guns roared by day and by night

As they pounded the Ities' defences

Which in turn gave us little respite.

Their shrapnel fell thickly around us

They bombed us with murderous intent,

But we stuck to our guns and we waited

For the dawn of the final event.

The dust storms would rise and the darkness

As dark as the midnight would fall

And the soft sweeping sands of the desert

Would bring us under its pall.

The trenches were crawling with vermin

Our rations were terribly light:

Bully beef, biscuits and water

One quart for a day and a night.

With me was a bit of a stripling,

A lad from the sunny ‘North Coast',

Who spoke of his Mother and Sister

But never of his own deeds did boast.

We shared all together in army life

Our letters our money and all

And each one had certain instructions

If one or the other should fall.

It was the evening before the encounter

As the sun in the desert sank red

That he took from his pocket a wallet

I recall clearly the words that he said:

“Now Johnny, if I fall tomorrow