The Happy Warrior (4 page)

Don't mourn their dead — the honoured dead —

Thank God they were the right men.

Who says our boys are laggards now,

Who calls our country black?

Where is the laggard that would dare

To blaze that Turkish track?

Come, give your countrymen three cheers-

Three good Australian yells —

You cannot shout too loudly for

The Dardanelles! The Dardanelles! The Dardanelles!

E. Power-Pinn

ANZAC!

Would but some wingéd angel, ere too late, 

Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate, 

And make the stern Recorder, otherwise 

Enregister; or quite obliterate !

Omar Khayyam

(d 1123)

On Turkish coast it woke to life

The symbol of a budding fame!

And 'ere the annals made it rife

The world had breathed the wondrous name.

Like letters writ in human fire

And burning through the Nation's brain

The mystic word seemed to inspire

The Empire's courage yet again.

Australian and New Zealand men

Had fathered it on foreign soil,

And what they made it stand for then

No human pow'r on earth can spoil.

While History remains to tell

The thrilling story to the world;

Australia and New Zealand will

Be famous as the flag unfurled.

At Gaba Tepe they won their fame,

At Suvla and Gallipoli;

And ‘ANZAC' was the wondrous name

They gave it with their victory!

Illustr'ous spot, illustr'ous name,

That holds the mem'ry of their deeds!

No finger points to coward's shame,

But bravery where courage speeds.

On to the end of Life's decree,

On to that eternal close;

When ev'ry light has ceased to be,

And ev'ry nation's lifeblood flows.

Out through the channel into space,

From whence we never can come back;

The world will want to keep in pace

With army lads we call'd: ANZAC!

E. Power-Pinn

Our Heroes

A Tribute to Our Wounded Soldiers

We sent you out with heartbreaks

Tho' we smiled as we said good-bye,

For we knew you were brave lads,

You would conquer or you would die.

What tho' there was danger before you!

What tho' it was hell's own gate!

You would face the danger as bravely

As any who shared your fate.

What tho' there were loves behind you,

And mothers, and children, and wives!

The Empire needed your arm, lads,

To help her to save those lives.

Are you sorry you fought that battle,

And sorry you faced those shells;

Sorry you helped to storm those great heights

Back there in the Dardanelles?

What was the pain to the glory, lads,

What was the price to the gain?

Your country is proud to claim you hers,

To immortalise your name.

Heroes for ever, thro' all time

On hist'ry's pages to shine

What are the marks of the campaign

To the names on ev'ry line?

You can stand before the coward,

A man amongst men today;

Tho' the marks of the battle remain,

'Twas a noble price to pay.

In the years that face you, soldiers,

There may be some who will scorn,

Because you are not as robust

As you were on the battle morn.

But you need not fear those jibes, lads,

You have earned a crown more fair

Than all the beauty they can claim,

In the battle scars you bear.

E. Power-Pinn

Heliopolis : Egypt : Land of Sand

Oh! Egypt, land of dreams and visions

Of dirty towns and street collisions,

Where Arabs sell their greasy wares

And cabbies charge you double fares,

Where sin and wickedness, dirt and smells

Makes this a disease-stricken hell,

A land of sand and desert plain

Where no such thing is known as rain,

A drink of water is a treasure

And tucker's issued in half measure,

Where donks and camels bear huge loads

Across loose sand in place of roads,

Where donkeys, goats, fowls, dogs and natives

All live together, like relatives:

Such sights are common over here

Where Soldiers drink cheap doped-up beer

Then fall, drunk, helpless in the sand;

It makes your hair on end to stand

Two drinks will make a man dead tight

And make him argue all the night

Until his sleepy mates rebel

And wish him and his beer in hell;

'Tis here, midst sweltering sun and skies,

Tormented by insects and flies

The soldier trudges, sick and sore,

Cursing the Kaiser, and the war,

Which brought him from his home to dwell

In this dreary dried up land of hell.

Tpr W. H. Johnstone (?)

8th ALH, AIF

(AWM PR 84/049)

Over There

Over there, it's in the air,

The smell of death is everywhere,

Unburied bodies lying 'round,

Bits of flesh upon the ground.

Grotesque shapes of shattered bone

Stand like sentinels alone;

Where once were living breathing men,

Now hidden, now turned up again.

Tiny flags of flapping rags

Flutter in the air,

Or stiff with mud and dried in blood,

Mutely cry, “Beware!”

Beware of man for he has been,

And look what he has done.

Before another moon does rise,

Once more man will come,

Leaving death and darkness

Ever in his wake.

Greg Brooks

Night Attack

Do you see the cannon flashing?

Do you hear their fire crashing

On the enemy emplacements far away?

With the infantry advancing,

In expectation prancing,

Eager to move up and join the fray.

Our eyes are blinded by the flash,

Our ears are deafened by the crash

Of rapid firing high explosive rounds,

While the cordite smoke surrounds us

Spreads an eerie haze around us,

And the cartridge cases gleam upon the ground.

The artillery is booming,

Their muzzle flash illuming

Shedding temporary daylight all around,

While the enemy is quaking,

In trenches they are shaking,

Trying to dig deeper in the ground.

But they really needn't bother,

The artillery will smother them,

And bury them in craters deep and wide;

Then any who are left to fight,

By bayonet will be put to flight,

As the infantrymen sweep them all aside.

Greg Brooks

The Show Went on Forever

They came in the summer of 'fourteen.

Like daytrippers from Dover they crossed,

With expectations of glory, swaggering proud.

Whilst the lie that war is noble dripped

Like poison from insipid lips

Of politician and statesman,

And urging angry crowd.

They thought it would be a short war:

“Give the Hun a bloody nose,

By Christmas it will all be over —

Come early, don't miss the show!”

They faced off in their tunnelled rows,

Lines of green on grey;

A whistle blew the grave command,

Then all was disarray.

Metal streamers filled the air

In intersecting lanes.

Deadly ribbons tore their flesh

And hammered through their veins.

They died in droves amongst the groves

And in the fields of France,

Pirouetting line on line,

Danced their deathly dance.

The neverending rending

Of the earth and of the air

Saw fragments once were living men

Now scattered everywhere.

They hung upon the sagging wire

Like clothing spread to dry,

Khaki flags of flapping rags,

Stark against the sky.

The living mud entrapped them,

Drew them down in watery holes,

Tightly clung, enwrapped them,

Filled their eyes, took their souls.

The beast of carnage sucked the flesh

And marrow from their bones;

Belched the stark white excrement

Back to the killing zones.

Where is war's nobility?

What price war's romance?

Their blood as tears the angels shed,

The agony of France.

A generation bled to death,

Sacrificed in Christian war,

Fodder to the holy beast

To sate its hungry maw.

They waited for the final curtain,

But the curtain never came.

And the show went on forever

To popular acclaim.

Greg Brooks

Camp Topics

I wonder what they're doing now

In France and Germany;

I wonder why our Government

Sent us across the sea?

Wonder where the others are,

That left soon after we;

I wonder what we're going to have

Next Sunday night for tea?

I wonder why we've got to lead

Our horses thro' the sand,

While officers and NCOs

Can canter round the land,

I wonder why our boys go out,

And act so very queer

I wonder is it natural,

Or is it only beer.

I wonder if the 3rd Brigade

Are going to start the band;

I wonder will they practice in

Some distant foreign land,

Or if they wake the Colonel up,

And all his staff as well,

I wonder will he tear his hair

And order them to ?

I wonder when the heads will wake

And issue us our pay;

I wonder do they understand

We're all stone broke today:

And if this state of things goes on

I wonder what they'll say,

When half the men clear out and get

A ship to old SA?

I wonder when our government

Will start a decent store;

We're paying more for foodstuffs now

Than e'er we have before.

I wonder when the trumpeters

That practice on the plain

Will be shot as peace disturbers

Or be sent back home again?

I wonder why we march to church,

And stand well in the rear;

I wonder why the clergy preach

Too soft for us to hear;

I wonder did the angels blush

When at this said parade,

A gambler netted thirty bob ,

Without the clergy's aid?

I wonder, yes, I wonder,

What the is in the wind;

I wonder, yes I wonder,

How on earth this show will end.

I wonder, yes I wonder.

How my dear ones are tonight.

That settles all my wondering, so —

I'll bid you all goodnight.

BAC

(AWM 1 DRL 572)

When Your Number's Up

You may dodge fatigues and duty if the Sergeant's on your side

You may shirk a kit inspection and some have even tried

To avoid (and quite successfully) an airman flying low

But you cannot dodge your bullet when your number's up to go

For this is a law of warfare not every man must die

Since some must live to tell the tale and no-one shall say why;

Bill Jones is killed while Tom is spared but so the gods decree

And it's no use trying to dodge it for the likes of you and me.

There was Jimmy Green of the Durhams; he'd done his buckshee year,

Waiting to go with the transport, busy packing his gear,

“One more shot at the blighters! Lend us a Bondook!” he cried,

Popped his head over the parapet, stopped an explosive and died.

And I shan't forget that afternoon when Ginger Cook came down

The muddy ditch we called a trench to speak to Topper Brown.

He lit a fag, said “So long, Boys,” turned back and gave a shout –

A German sniper had him set and laid poor Ginger out.

Perhaps you've left the trenches which are commonly called hell

You think you've clicked and found a job away from shot and shell,

But high explosives travel far and aeroplanes range wide

And behind the lines they oft cop out worse than they do inside.

The moral then is surely writ quite plain for all to see:

You chance your arm a thousand times wherever you may be,

The gods on high they play this game, we are the pawns below

And when they put your number up, it's up you've got to go.

Sgt A.M. Dick (?)

(AWM PR 00187)

Australians

We stand on the shore of Durban

And watch the transports go

To England from Australia

Hurrying to and fro,

Bearing the men of a Nation

Who are heroes to the core

To stand or fall by the motherland;

And they're sending thousands more

We've watched the ships returning

With the crippled and the maimed,

With limbs that trail and falter

Theirs an immortal name!

The deathless name of “Anzac”

That thrills from pole to pole,

The remnants of the heroes

On the long and glorious roll.

And now in their tens of hundreds

Come the men to fill their ranks,

And what can we do to show them

Our love, our pride, our thanks?

We can't do much (I own it)

But give them a passing cheer,

While the real elite beat a shocked retreat —

Why, they saw one drinking a beer!

Sgt AM Dick (?)