In our measure of success,
Academical detractors
Condemnation strong express.
True, we don’t go ‘Nap’ on polish-,
Soldiers’ business is to kill,
And we’d cheerfully abolish
Half the service form and drill.
Though the vile ‘by numbers’ racket
I may aptly use in rhyme,
Plain horse-sense, with pluck to back it,
Suits the Bushmen every time.
Of mere regimental antics
We are wearied, and would fain
Quit these senseless corybantics
And take to the bush again.
Pleased for once, we’ll do a double
To the stations in the west,
Where the non-coms cease to trouble
And a fellow gets a rest
Bosses there don’t care a (blessing)
Whether Smith keep step with Jones,
And there’s no ‘eyes right’ and dressing
Heelpegs, nosebags, saddles, stones.
We can sit the war-horse fairly
When we’re out ‘upon our own’,
And a ‘want of training’ rarely
Proves the ‘power behind the thrown’;
But we’re bound to take a tumble
When red tape replaces brains
And some military bumble
Comes and takes away the reins.
Not so much we blame the person
When official acts annoy;
What we stop to heave a curse on
Is the system they employ,
With its hidebound regulations,
And its blind obedience rules —
Well designed abominations
For the stock-in-trade of fools.
True, the starred, an ill-starred Johnny,
Dollars many, gumption ‘nix’,
Though in drill book lore a Don,
He caps the blessed bag of tricks.
For these embryo tacticians
Humbug hath attractions rare
And the ‘Army’s best traditions’
Find their best exponents there.
Such may form a theme for joking,
But the humour’s not so gay
When we find John Bull revoking
As to our Rhodesian pay.
Things are crooked with an Empire
Upon which the sun never sets
When the military vampire
Cannot pay its lawful debts.
I’ve no wish to pose as mentor
In respect to shady modes
Shown by that financial centaur
Johnny Ball and Cecil Rhodes,
But his paper credit’s riddled
Since he broke his bond to pay,
And we’re dished and jerry diddled
Out of sixty pence a day.
Thus, we’re ‘fed up’. Others phrase it
In a manner less polite,
Which, being the sad case, it
Wouldn’t do for me to write.
So I’ll wind up with a chorus,
And all hands will join the strain —
We have other work before us:
Kindly send us home again!
Epilogue
Away, my bush-bred Pegasus! My nimble brumby go!
Let’s spread aboard the joyful news all Bushmen long to know: For fourteen months we’ve battled with the drill book and the Boer, And which has been our direst foe I cannot tell, I’m sure; At all event we’ve knocked both out and now, our troubles past, Fling up your hat and kick it, boys —
We’re going home at last!
Trooper Fred H. Wyse
1st Australian Bushmen
(AWM 3 DRL 6070A)
* * *
When Other Lips and Other Hearts
When other lips and other hearts their tales of love shall tell
In language whose excess imparts the power they feel so well,
There maybe perhaps in such a scene
Some recollection of days that have happy been;
And you’ll remember me, and you’ll remember me.
When coldness of deceit shall slight the beauty now they prize
And deem it but a faded light which beams within your eyes,
Then you will remember me.
When hollow hearts shall wear a mask
T’will break your own to see in such a moment —
I but ask, that you’ll remember me.
C. T. Mealing
14 August 1900
(AWM PR 00752)
* * *
Oh, Give Me Back the Days…
Oh, give me back the days of long ago,
When life was one long glad and everlasting dream
When things that were less than things that seem
No thought of sorrow then no thought of woe;
Oh give me back, give me back the days of long ago!
When first fresh breezes breathed from far away,
When morning’s splendour lingered through the day,
No thought of sorrow then no thought of woe;
Oh give me back, give me back the days of long ago!
Oh give me back the days of long ago,
When life with flashing power was all agleam
And love took up and changed it to a dream
No whisper then of heartbreak nor of pain;
Oh give me back the good old days of long ago!
C. T. Mealing
14 August 1900
(AWM PR 00752)
* * *
Ah, He Kissed Me When He Left Me
Ah, he kissed me when he left me
And he told me to be brave,
“For I go,” he whispered, “Darling
All that’s dear to me on earth to save.”
So I stifled down my sobbing
And I listened with a smile
For I knew his country called him
Though my heart should break the while
Chorus: Ah he kissed me when he left me,
His parting words remain
Deep within my bosom, “Dearest
We shall meet again.”
Oh, the sun shines just as brightly
And the world looks just as gay
As on that fatal morning
Which bore my love away
Now, alas, the dust is resting
On that bold and manly brow,
And the heart that beat so proudly
Lieth still and quiet now.
Yes, he fell, his clear voice ringing
Loud to cheer his comrades on,
But now much of you and gladness
Is with him forever gone.
Where now the pine tree rustles
And the southern branches wave,
There my own true love is lying
Low within a soldier’s grave.
C. T. Mealing
18 August 1900
(AWM PR 00752)
* * *
Untitled
Oh, are she dead and be her gone
And is I left here all alone?
Oh cruel fate you is unkind
To take the fort and leave I behind;
Her never will come home to we
But we will surely go to she!
C. T. Mealing
10 August 1900
(AWM PR 00752)
* * *
A Love Poem
’Tis you I love and shall forever
You may change but I shall never
Let separation be our lot,
Dearest Ethel forget me not.
Take this little bunch of flowers
And the ribbon that is around them,
Take them to cheer your lonely heart
And take the boy that bound them.
When rocks and hills divide us
And you no more I see,
Remember dearest Ethyl
’Twas Chris
ty that sent this to thee.
C. T. Mealin
19 December 1900
(AWM PR 00752)
* * *
A Love Poem
My dearest Dear my heart’s delight,
Don’t fret because I am out of sight,
But bear me in your mind for what I write I am sincere
I am still in love [with] you my dear
And as the sand lies on the shore
It’s you I love and no one more.
Written by a loving hand and sealed with a kiss
Think of me, Darling, when you are reading this;
Think of me [as] the miles between us lay,
Think of me when far away;
Think of me and love me true
When I am far away from you.
When distance rolls between us shall I forgotten be
Or will you, when far away, fondly remember me?
C. T. Mealing
19 December1900
(AWM PR 00752)
* * *
In the Starlight
In the starlight, in the starlight, I am dreaming of the past,
While the soft breezes fan me gently and the time is speeding fast;
I am dreaming of my darling and all thou art to me,
I am longing, I am dreaming, in the starlight by the sea.
In the starlight, in the starlight, once you promised to be true
And my heart is broken for all its faith was placed in you;
Oh, thou false forgetting cruel maiden! Dost thou think of me,
And all the vows we uttered in the starlight by the sea?
C. T. Mealing
27 September1900
(AWM PR 00752)
Untitled
This poem was annotated with the following: – “This poem was put together by a mate of mine and not long after he finished it - he got killed. (signed) Bob”
The Turks thought the Australians
Did not know how to fight
But we soon taught them a lesson
On that awful Sunday night.
We drove them from the ridges
Midst shrapnel, shot and shell,
Our officers were falling
And for us they made it hell;
And on that Monday morning
The sun shone on our heads,
Saw the stretcher-bearers busy
With the wounded and the dead.
They were as thick as rabbits
And so we took a deadly aim,
For the men there in our trenches
Will keep Australia’s name.
They fought and fell like heroes
And our rifles getting hot,
For they plainly burnt our fingers
As we fired every shot.
They were using their artillery
But we never had a gun
And the odds they were against us
Yes, they numbered us four to one;
From hill to hill we bounded
And before us they were driven;
There was not a bugle sounded
And not an order given.
Our officers — there’s very few
Left in the first, our Brigade —
They fought and fell with hearts so true,
’Twas a gallant charge we made
It’s the old British saying
What we’ve got we’ll hold,
And the Turks we still keep slaying
For this country dearly sold.
And when the battle ended
And a roll-call has begun,
And a lot of our young comrades
Lie bleaching in the sun,
There will be some anxious faces
Waiting on Australia’s shore,
Watching as the troops come home
For a face they’ll see no more.
When they turn away sad-hearted
They all will think the same,
That men that died in Turkey
Helped to make Australia’s name.
Pte R. Thompson 1191
D Company 2nd Batt
(AWM PR 85 273)
* * *
At Sea
’Tis night.
Across the sea the silver crescent moon
Is slowly sinking, following to rest
Her sister orb. The high-arch’d dome above
Glows with a myriad lesser lights that shine
Upon the track we follow. All is peace
In this our little world, while far away
On Europe’s bloody shores Australia’s sons
Are giving of their best amid the lust
and tragedy of war. How strange it is
That very soon we too perhaps may be
Enveloped in this dreadful sickening strife!
God knows what’s held in store for us, and yet
On such a night as this the joy of life
And love of home and friends, enwrap the heart
In such tranquillity that only those
Who know the Saviour Christ can hope to keep
Throughout these troubled, storm-tossed years of woe.
The agony will pass, thank God, and then
Humanity will rise from out the mire
To better, finer things and thus will come
The glorious kingdom of the Lord, our God.
So we have offered all we have and are
That by our sacrifice mankind shall learn
To live for others is the highest life,
And truest peace is born of truest love.
Sgt Alan J. Kerr
24th Battalion AIF
SS Euripides May 1915
(AWM 1 DRL 397)
* * *
Adieu!
O ye who live
Beneath the splendour of the Southern Cross
In peace we mourn with you the awful loss
Of thousands of our brothers who have shed
Their lifeblood in the world war’s stream of red,
A humbler cross its vigil sad now keeps
O’er many a spot where some brave hero sleeps
O ye who love
The beautiful, the true, the pure and sweet
Let not a madman crush beneath his feet
All you hold dear, the music and the art
Of centuries. Be strong and play your part
And show the world that he who will not give
A helping hand has lost the right to live.
O ye who see
Beyond this turmoil and chaotic strife
Beyond this sinful waste of human life
An age of gold wherein mankind shall dwell
In highest heaven instead of deepest hell,
Be not afraid to spread your faith abroad,
But trust to God for strength — He is the Lord.
Sgt Alan J. Kerr
Gallipoli, 16 December 1915
(AWM 1 DRL 397)
* * *
Christmas, 1915
’Tis Christmas Eve. In all the camps
There gleam a host of tiny lamps
That make the hill on which I stand
A veritable fairyland.
For friends at home and far away
Have helped us celebrate the day
By sending each and every man
A present of a billycan
Crammed full of wondrous things inside,
You couldn’t guess them if you tried.
Tobacco, socks and butterscotch,
And for some lucky chap, a watch;
Tinned cheese, and ham, and bloater-paste,
Sweet biscuits (which we will not waste)
Toothbrushes, chocolate, lanoline,
Bootlaces, cocoa, vaseline,
Stewed fruit, cigars, a Christmas cake,
And writing pad all helped to make
A gift as pleasant to receive
On service as it was to give.
Now the first excitement o’er
And as I listen from the
shore,
A wave of song towards me floats
From fairy choirs in fairy boats
Bearing the message of love and praise
And a prayer for purer, better days.
The Spirit of God is hovering there
In the wondrous calm of the still night air,
For the roughest heart has seen again
A vision of peace and goodwill to men.
So here’s to you, good friends and true,
And ‘hands across the oceans blue’;
We wish you all both far and near:
A happy Christmas, a prosperous New Year!
Sgt Alan J. Kerr
(AWM 1 DRL 397)
* * *
The Dardanelles
A Tribute to Our Boys at the Front
Who said our boys were laggards?
Who called Australia black,
The home of sports and spielers,
From Sydney and way back?
Who taunted us with wanting
Discipline, courage, go?
Who said we were not soldiers,
But just an idle show?
Not Kitchener or Joffre,
Not Hamilton or French;
Not Uncle Sam or Poincaire —
But critics at the bench.
They judged us as rough bushmen,
Who gape like gawking fools
At every bloomin’ hustler,
Too raw for rods or schools.
They passed us by as stockmen,
Forgot we learnt to ride
The toughest mounts with hoofs on
When school boys, with a pride
That equalled any leader
Of dauntless cavalry;
Forgot, too, that our shots were
More than ABC
We never missed a target,
Nor failed a pal when down;
For hearts are warm in our land —
What matters to a crown?
Our fathers’ blood is in us
The British pioneer!
And those who scorn Australians;
Old Britain’s sons must sneer.
Let ev’ry tongue defame us,
Let braggarts scoff and scorn,
We’ve made a page for history
That never dare be torn.
We’ve shown our pluck and courage,
We’ve rung the grim death knells,
At Turkey’s gates we thundered
In the famous Dardanelles.
At school we learnt that Turkey
Had built her forts supreme,
And nations looked upon her strength