I hear their voices speaking
From across the ocean deep.
In my mind we’re happy,
Our hearts are free from pain,
There is no room for Hitler
For it is peace again.
Each day I long for nightfall,
When I will dream once more
Of my friends and family,
Whom we are fighting for.
If my life was halted
Then turned back a year or more,
My choice would not be altered —
I’d still he here I’m sure.
Raymond John Colenso
(AWM PR 00689)
* * *
Homecoming
The chaps all line the forward deck,
Their eyes are shining bright,
Hearts are light and happy
For we’ll be home tonight.
We’ve sighted Sydney Harbour
And the beaches and the shore,
The troops are all returning
From victory and from war.
Once more we’ll be united
With the folks we left behind,
The faces they remember
With heavy marks are lined.
No longer are we carefree,
We’re not the lads they knew;
We changed from youth to manhood,
Our minds have altered too.
Sights we shall remember
Until our dying day
Have made us sober-minded
And taught us how to pray.
Perhaps our loved ones’ welcome
Will help us to regain
The carefree hearts we left behind
Before the Nazi reign.
The ship is in the Harbour,
The wharves are now in view,
Despite their smiling faces
Tears keep coming through;
For now they’re very happy,
From far across the foam,
The men they love so dearly
From war are coming home.
The ship has dropped the anchor,
We’ll now be getting off
And mingling with our kinsfolk
Waiting on the wharf.
The faces I have treasured
I now can plainly see,
Uplifted hands are waving
For they have sighted me.
Now stop your shoving, Digger,
There’s no need for a crush!
Many times we hurried
But now you needn’t rush.
What is that you’re saying?
Oh, yes! I can hear,
I was merely absent
From those whom I love dear.
In dreams I often travel
To the land I know so well;
In sleep I find much comfort
Despite the shot and shell.
Pleasant dreams, old cobber,
On watch I’ll take my turn;
’Though while awake we quell it,
Our hearts for home do yearn.
Raymond John Colenso
(AWM PR 00689)
* * *
Thoughtless Phrase
Have you never felt the danger of your child’s small, trusting face,
That unshakeable belief that in your words they place?
The momentary mayhem of a madman’s blood-red haze
Is nothing to the damage of a careless, thoughtless phrase.
For flesh and bone can heal themselves, to good as was before,
But a wound to heart or spirit is forever fresh and raw.
Capt Don Buckby
* * *
My Boy
My boy lays there before me on a pillow fast asleep,
His brow is clear and perfect, his rest is sweet and deep.
No tears of disappointment have left their bitter trace,
No lines of fear or worry yet mar his lovely face.
I sit and think, as fathers do, what kind of man will he be?
Brave, loyal, straight and honest — not at all like me.
I pray he’s not a coward, a murderer or thief,
Just a good man with the courage to pursue his own belief.
And then upon life’s cruel streets will be your turn to go.
And I cannot walk them for you though I would that that could be,
No, I’ll watch you from the distance that must be enough for me.
Watch, as Fortune weaves her fickle spell and alternates ’tween joy and hell,
And forces strength to compromise, and takes her price to make you wise.
But I shall be not far behind you should you stumble, slip or fall,
I will ever be close by you — all you have to do is call.
Capt. Don Buckby
* * *
Christmas.
Written in 1945 at Moratai N E.I. and sent to his children.
The boys and the girls are all happy today,
Because they know Christmas is not far away.
The Jackasses laugh and the other birds sing,
Knowing that Santa has something to bring
To you and to me, if we’ve been very good,
And helped our dear mother as much as we could,
Who works very hard, without any fuss,
To make Christmas pleasant and joyous for us.
Pte. Jim Baker
* * *
My Love for You
There is no hour that passes by
But some sweet thought of you
Shines like a lamp of love on high
To light my whole life through.
The day is long but at its end
My prayers for you I say
That God will guard and bring me back
To ever with you stay.
A.W. Curran
(AWM 3 DRL 3527)
* * *
If
If these thoughts have never crossed your mind then let them do so now,
That this world would be a better place, if only we knew how:
How to look beyond the strictures of self, and self alone,
How to take a stand against a wrong, not cowardly condone;
How to foster in our children a feeling of their worth,
How to teach them that there’s more to life than pursuit of wealth and mirth:
How to teach them of the diffrence ’tween the body and the soul,
And that both need to be nurtured to make a person whole;
How to not impose upon their childhood to make them grow too fast,
But to offer them the wisdom of the errors of your past.
Capt. Don Buckby
* * *
The Lure
From the emerald heights of Atherton to the brown of Townsvilles’s plain,
The lure of Northern Queensland calls me back to her again.
I clutch my coat close ’round me ’gainst the southern winter’s chill
As the vision comes to haunt me, of the sun off Castle Hill.
Jostling cheek by jowl, through the raucous urban sprawl,
I crave that sweet serenity, a placid cane field tall.
As thoughts of brilliant coral reefs are drenched in winter rain,
Ah yes! the lure of Northern Queensland calls me back to her again!
Capt. Don Buckby
* * *
November Jacaranda
If there’s one sight to glad the heart of expatriate Queenslanders
It’s the brilliant purple blooming of November jacarandas,
For to whatever far-flung corner of this nation they may roam
This annual explosion reminds them of their home.
In sleepy, dusty hamlets, bustling cities, towns and farms,
Their gnarled and darkened limbs dispense their bell like charms
And though they’re not confined to the land above the Tweed,
Its humidity and sunshine seems to make a b
igger breed.
As we make our steady progress down the twisting track of life
The small things of our childhood prove a refuge from its strife,
A sight, a smell or sound can recall a better time
When life was still all mystery, no trouble, strife or crime.
Jacarandas are the herald of the end of winter’s reach,
A symbol of the coming of long days upon the beach,
A relaxation from the stresses of the frantic daily race —
They’re reminders of the days of a kinder, gentler pace.
And when finally I find my way back north where I belong,
When the pull of home and family at last becomes too strong,
I’ll take my ease upon some sun drenched back verandah
And drink in the purple glory of November jacaranda.
Capt. Don Buckby
* * *
Twilight
Twilight falls upon the City of the Hills,
Moist heat gives way to evening cool,
Bright colours melt to muted shades
As light upon the tropic foliage fades.
Light points twinkle on the sides of hills,
Child voices cease, only carnage remains:
Bikes in driveways, toy soldiers left to stand
On guard, night is come to Brisbane’s backyard.
She has not changed, dear city of my youth,
Still lush and green, languid and serene
She seems unkempt ‘gainst the ordered south,
Yet cares not, full knowing of their envy.
Yes, I love her still! She calls me,
E’en after all these years away,
One beckon of her tanned brown arm
And I would leave all, to bring us Home.
Capt. Don Buckby
* * *
Australia
Australia, land of sunshine and rain,
The country of our birth which we hold dear,
Ne’er shall you feel the tyrants yoke or chain,
For you will fight, and fighting know not fear.
Anon
* * *
Give a Thought
Have you ever wondered what they think
In Blighty, day by day?
Have you ever wondered if they say a prayer
For you, while you’re away?
Let me reassure you,
They give us all a thought
To those who have not yet returned
Who went away and fought.
Do you ever give a thought to those
Amidst their strife and cares?
Do you think to say each night
Just one or two small prayers?
You will find that life goes better
When everything seems blue
If you give a thought to those who wait
So patiently for you.
A.W. Curran (?)
(AWM 3 DRL 3527)
* * *
Before it is too late
If you have a grey-haired Mother
In the old home far away
Sit down and write the letter
You put off day by day;
Don’t wait until her tired steps
Reach Heaven’s pearly gate,
But show her that you think of her —
Before it is too late.
If you have a tender message
Or a loving word to say,
Don’t delay and forget it
But whisper it today.
Who knows what bitter memories
May haunt you if you wait?
So make that loved one happy —
Before it is too late.
We live but in the present
The future is unknown,
Tomorrow is another day
Today is all we own.
The choice that fortune lends us
May vanish if you wait,
So spend those life-long treasures —
Before it is too late.
Those tender words unspoken,
That letter never sent,
The long forgotten message,
The wealth of love unspent;
These things will ease the burden
From a heart about to break,
So play the game and be a man —
Before it is too late.
A.W. Curran
(AWM 3 DRL 3527)
* * *
Thy Wife
She is sitting by the fireside
The kiddies are at play,
She’s thinking of their Daddy
So many miles away.
When will she get a letter?
When will she see his face?
When will he be among them
In his accustomed place?
His chair is in the corner,
His pipes are in the rack,
She looks towards his pictures
And prays “God please send him back!”
The kiddies may grow rowdy,
But she won’t wear a frown;
Her man just said keep smiling
And she won’t let him down.
And so for love of Daddy,
Who’s miles across the foam,
She joins in with the kiddies,
To make it ‘home sweet home’.
One day he will be there with them
Then life will be serene;
She’s only just a soldier’s wife
But every inch a queen.
Private Charles Antill
(AWM PR 00036)
* * *
Millgrove
There is a town I am thinking of always,
A town where the tall trees grow.
Where the Yarra flows peacefully onward
Beneath the shadow of Mount Little Joe.
It’s a town where the evening shadows
Cover the valley in a deep purple glow,
A town where one train comes in daily
And life remains tranquil and slow.
Dear old Millgrove, I have left you —
Although I left you not for fun,
But to keep you quiet and peaceful,
With a well oiled ack-ack gun
So that you will never hear the big guns
Bark their defiance at the Nipponese,
So that you’ll never be lit up by fires
That start when they drop incendiaries.
That’s why I’m here in a disease-laden land,
A land of dust and mosquitoes and flies,
Where troops march along the shell-torn roads
And fighter planes zoom in the skies,
Where the drone of the bomber planes mingle
With the whine of each high-powered shell
And falling bombs make your spine tingle
When they scream like the inmates of hell.
Yes Millgrove, one day I’ll be returning
And when I step off your once-daily train,
I will want to see home fires burning
And hear birds singing freedom’s refrain;
I want to see tall gums tinged golden
As they sigh in the setting sun’s rays,
Then I’ll know that I’ve done my duty
To the town of my child-hood days.
Bdr Sydney J. Lynch
March 1942
(AWM MSS 1557)
* * *
My Mother’s Smile
Alone with my thoughts on a tropical isle
As the sun sinks low in the west,
A vision appears with an angelic smile
And I pray that the sun never sets;
For the smile is that of my Mother
None other has such tender care,
And I know she is thinking of me over here
While I’m thinking of her over there;
And today is the day God has given
In remembrance of one who’s so dear,
And as time passes on may He grant me
An increase in
my love every year.
Bdr Sydney J. Lynch
(AWM MSS 1557)
* * *
Dad O’ Mine
Midsummer day, and the mad world afighting,
Fighting in holes, Dad o’ Mine,
Nature’s old spells are no longer delighting
Passion-filled souls, Dad o’ Mine,
Vainly the birds in the branches are singing,
Vainly the sunshine its message is bringing,
Over the green-clad earth stark hate is flinging
Shadow for shine, Dad o’ Mine,
Shadow for shine.
No one dare prophesy when comes an end to it,
End to the strife, Dad o’ Mine,
When we can take joy and once again bend to it,
What’s left of life, Dad o’ Mine.
Yet for one day we’ll let all slip behind us,
So that your birthday, Dad, still may remind us
How strong yet supple the bonds are that bind us
Through shade and shine, Dad o’ Mine,
Through shade and shine.
Leagues lie between us, but leagues cannot sever
Links forged by love, Dad o’ Mine;
Bonds of his binding are fast bound for ever,
Future will prove, Dad o’ Mine.
Your strength was mine since I first lisped your name, Dad,
Your thoughts were my thoughts at lesson or game, Dad,
In childhood’s griefs, it was ever the same, Dad.
Your hand round mine, Dad o’ Mine,
Your hand round mine.
Strengthened by shadow and shine borne together,
Comrades and chums, Dad o’ Mine,
We shall not falter through fair or foul weather,
Whatever comes, Dad o’ Mine.
So in the years to be when you grow older,
Age puts his claim in and weakness grows bolder,
We’ll stand up and meet them, Dad, shoulder to shoulder,
Your arm in mine, Dad o’ Mine,
Your arm in mine.
Lt E.F. Wilkinson, M.C.
(AWM MSS 0671)