The Happy Warrior (28 page)

Wherein the deep, wide river

Crocodiles wait in stealth.

There miles of waving cane

Nod their head in friendly breeze,

Golden corn grown tall as fence posts

Fringed by Queensland's mighty trees.

Herds of browsing cattle red,

White and charcoal black.

Graze happily, contentedly

In this wonder state's outback.

Well-bred Merinos

And sturdy Corriedales

Live upon the stations

Filling sovereigns into bales.

Birds of gorgeous plumage,

Fish of every hue,

Bask in your golden sunshine

Amid the skies of blue.

Oh, Queensland in the brilliant future

Which, for Australia we can see,

Thou shalt lead the states in glory

To a great prosperity!

Ernest H. Graham.

(AWM PR 82 056)

The Chicago of the West

Oh Dubbo, thou hast grown from tiny acorn

To mighty oak tree green,

While five-and-ninety years have passed

Beside Macquarie's silvered stream.

Along the willow-studded banks

Where now a large white bridge doth stand,

Many a hardy pioneer camped

Before selecting out his land.

Six busy lines of shining steel

Radiate from out your pulsing heart,

Where only yesterday many bullock teams

Had place to make their start.

Powerful locomotives,

The giants of the road,

Now carry Dubbo citizens

Into Sydney's mighty fold.

There wheat, the king of all the grasses,

The food supplier in our land,

Rises tall and strong and golden

Over all that eye can span.

Over Dubbo's tree-clothed mountains

And rich but dusty plains

Sheep roam almost unmolested

Until shearing season reigns.

Then wool, our cloth supplier, pours gold into many bales.

Oh Dubbo! the finest, busiest town in all the west,

With many beauteous treasures

We know that thou art blest.

In the dim and distant future

When other towns shall fade,

I know that thou shall blossom into greatness

Perhaps becoming the Metropolis of the West.

Gnr E. H. Graham,

Cairns

(AWM PR82056)

Our Wild Orchid

Have you seen our wild orchid, with fragrance not,

It's found in the most secluded spot

On the floor of our bush; it's seldom seen,

For it's ever so tiny, with sparse foliage of green.

And when it does flower, the joy it can bring —

But remember it's Autumn and never the Spring,

With its colour of brown, on a two inch stem;

It's hands and knees, to discover them.

So if you are lucky and look quite steady.

I think you'll find that there's one ready

To be looked at and studied, and left well alone.

For our tiny wild orchid, the bush is its home.

Tim Lawrance

27 April 1981

The Australian Scene

An azure mass of mountains and the swiftly flowing stream,

This thin veil of the cascade sparkling out among the green;

The tall giants of the forest holding proud heads on high

And the silken strands of whitened clouds as they go passing by.

The brilliant pools of coral where pretty fishes swim and twist and turn,

And the radiant orbed sun on the placid ocean burns;

Miles and miles of black soil plain, dotted with many sheep,

And tiny cosy cottages nestling beneath the mountains steep.

Giant snow gums of our mighty Alps, their stark white figures show,

And winding western rivers down to their ocean flow;

Exotic orchids spread their colours in the darkest jungle depths,

And the red, raw sand of inland over our broad brown land is swept.

You may have any country in south or northern clime.

But our love for dear Australian Scenes shall endure for all time.

Ernest H. Graham

Rocky Creek, June 1944

(AWM PR 82 056)

My Mum and Dad

From the earliest age I can remember, their love and their care and concern,

They showed me the beauty of nature and all of the things I should learn.

They taught me to know good from evil, they taught me to do right, not wrong,

They taught me to hate the devil, and to praise our God in song.

I'd think of the parents of other kids and wonder, with a sense of pride,

Why God, so generously, bestowed on me the best Mum and Dad worldwide.

Although I failed to appreciate them (growing boys have other things on their minds)

My own kids (and grand kids) have taught me the breadth of their love's not outshined.

From the smallest of things in the nursery to the biggest decisions I've made

Their influence always to guide me will help me to make the grade.

I am no giant or genius of science or art or fame,

As a good man I hope to be remembered and never to bring them shame.

And now as they bask in their autumn, they can look back and feel content

Their children they raised free and happy, which I'm sure was God's intent.

And when they meet our maker, surely high on the list of St Pete

Mum and Dad's name will be highlighted: ‘Reserved — to sit at God's feet'.

For certain, in doing God's wishes, as parents they have excelled,

Nothing less than the highest honours, for the duties they've done so well.

In this day and age, unaccepted, for grown men to express their love,

But for them I would make this exception, for the sake of heaven above.

For I'd tell God that he has no worries, nor concerns for these parents of mine,

Their work is a constant example — as parents, their names will shine.

To say “I love you” is simple, and it doesn't seem so much,

Just three little words in English that, hopefully, God's heart will touch.

There is no end to this poem, with gratitude in every line

For their love will go on forever — forever, till the end of time.

WO2 Paul Barrett

Just Another Aussie

If he's tall and tanned and strong

And wears a careless grin

That's a ‘come on', for the smarties –

He always gets them in.

And if he wants to bet you

Anything, medium, small or big,

You'll know he is an Aussie,

Better known as Dig.

If some well-known speaker

Is to lecture on the air,

And at that time they broadcast

The hounds are chasing a hare,

And you see a fellow switch on

To the dogs, well you can twig

That he's just another Aussie

Better known as Dig.

If the guns are roaring

And the enemy is in sight

He will plough right through the bloody lot

And ask you for a light.

For drought and dust and danger

He doesn't care a fig,

Cause he's just another Aussie,

Better known as Dig.

Whether it's in Egypt

Or any place inferior,

An Aussie is an Aussie

With plenty of interior.

He'll grin and he will bet you

With his mouth half full of cig,

And if he loses he will say:

Mahfeesh!
good on you Dig!

Anon

(AWM PR 00526)

Untitled

Only one more marching order

Only one more sick parade

Only one more kit inspection

And of that we're not afraid.

When this bloody war is over

Oh! How happy we will be;

We will tell our Sergeant Major

He can go — to Werribee.

Bdr S. J. Lynch

(AWM MSS 1557)

A Day at the Office

Have you ever been in an Orderly Room

And studied the Clerk's routine?

No! then come along to the 48th,

Here is the opening scene:

It's situated near a stream

A number of miles from Lae,

It's not exactly an artist's dream

But here we'll stage the play.

Have you ever seen an aviary

With a gable roof on top?

Yes? We'll nail a sign ‘A Office' up

And that's where we play shop.

The time is almost nine o'clock

The Sarge knows what to expect,

The Adj walks in with piles of bumph,

And the usual “type this next”.

The sun climbs up in the heavens,

The minutes go fleeting on,

The little Sergeant heaves a sigh

And yells for Tonk and Don.

Faint murmurings are heard nearby

Then voices speak without,

And in they walk those clerical guys

With a “what's all the panic about?”

Don looks spruce with his whiskers off,

Every day it's considered too cruel,

Grizzles our Tonk with an injured air

“Why Don, you've broken the rule!”

Down they squat as they heave a sigh,

Says Don “it's time for a smoke.”

They roll their fags with a studied grace,

And Tonk starts to crack a joke

The Sergeant gives a disgusted look

For the joke is really taboo,

He rummages around the various files

And finds them something to do.

An oath from Tonk as his screwdriver prods

Into the back of the old machine,

As he backs the spacer and thumps the bar

And tinkers with parts unseen.

Don sets to work with the roll on his knees,

And marches men in and out,

He checks the strengths of Company rolls

And his pen starts scratching about.

When Saturday dawns so bright and fair

There are Field Returns to do;

The Sgt struggles with figures of men

And thinks them all bally-hoo.

Work proceeds at a steady pace

Till the typewriter seems to be stuck;

The Sgt peers o'er the typist's shoulder

And finds he has overstruck.

He says to Tonk “Don't spare the rubber,”,

ays Tonk “Looks good paper to me.”

But at him is thrown an eraser,

For the Returns the Old Man must see.

Time goes on the work eases off,

Some letters the boys start to pen.

Don writes some pages to Mother

While Tonk ear bashes to Gwen.

They say to the Sarge about tea time

“You've worked us to death all day,

You can pull your silly-gig head in,

We're giving the game away!”

And so the curtain closes,

On the overworked! happy! three!

Each day is the same in the Orderly Room —

Come again some time and see.

GB

The Ninth Div Grand Final

'Twas the day of the football premiership

The Ninth Div final grand

When the 48th met the Cavalry

Way up on the Tablelands.

The Tricolours were the favourites

With better form as a guide,

Although the gallant Blue and Whites

Are a never-beaten side.

And they proved it so, at the epic end

Of a game that will never die

When they won the match with a well-earned goal

Ere the final bell rang nigh.

From the start it looked the cavalry

Would take the ridge hands down,

For playing in a flawless style

They put the Blues to ground.

High marking safe and brilliantly

To dominate the air

With driving kicks, from end to end

They triumphed everywhere.

For though the 48th strove hard

Their run to grimly stay,

They could not match the brilliance of

The Cav's grand open play.

Goal after goal they rattled on:

Again, and yet again,

The ‘Troopers' scored to shade the Blues,

Who battled on in vain.

(Or so did seem) till came half time

When of that break in need

The ‘4-bar-8s' were six goals down

Oh! what a heartbreak lead.

But few have known just really when

The 48th were beat,

For when their chance looks at its worst

They're hardest to defeat.

And once again it proved this day

For fighting grimly back

The Blue and Whites came back to win

Upon a hopeless track.

Right through to ‘lemons' hard they held

The dashing Cavalry

As inch by inch they slowly gained

With dour tenacity.

Yea (spite of all) at ‘lemons' still

The Cav by four goals led,

Full well the ‘4-bar-8' men knew

The task which lay ahead.

So when the final term commenced