* * *
Soldier Boy
Soldier Boy gone to war,
To fight and die on a foreign shore,
My blue-eyed boy I do adore,
I fear you’re coming home no more.
Soldier Boy in jungle green,
Of blood and dying I do dream,
Heart of my heart please be alive,
When next my letter does arrive!
Oh Soldier Boy, so long away,
God keep you safe each breath I pray!
Dearest one, your letters seem
To be so few and far between.
Oh Soldier Boy so brave and true,
I cry each night my love for you.
Oh Soldier Boy, love of my life,
Please come home to your loving wife!
Greg Brooks
* * *
The Setting Sun
As I sit and watch the setting sun,
In its fairest tropic splendour,
My fondest thoughts are carried back
To Mother, kind and tender.
The romantic times I’ve spent with her
I remember with delight,
For the setting sun reminds me
Of my lonesome one tonight.
When twilight comes with its million stars
And the sunlight rays are retreating,
They seem to kiss the hills goodnight
As we did when last meeting.
And so my prayer tonight is for my loved one lonely
And may the setting sun, in its beams of life and beauty
Spread its sunny rays upon us two
When Australia’s done her duty.
D. Greene
New Guinea, 25th November 1942
(AWM PR 83 217)
* * *
Desert Evening
Night falling and the stars
Peek out upon the stones and sand.
Cassiopeia and the Little Plough
Twinkle in a cloudless sky
And the sun sinks in a flaming glow.
Our thoughts turn to that other life
Of trees and flowers and lawns,
And memories of our dear ones far away
Crowd before the lonely mind.
A distant murmur, broken beat
Of bombers, going on with fell intent
To blast and burn and harry.
Men like us who dream of home
In the evening’s quiet peace.
Streaks of light and flashes
Dull thuds and boom of bombs
Which fall upon a fort and bring
In the quiet peace of eve
A grim realisation of uneasy life
Which brooks upon this desert.
Bare, aloof, unfriendly,
Full of hidden things inimical to men.
And besides the dreams of pleasant places,
Of parks and streams and cosy houses
Filled with happy children,
The spectre of a hungry beast,
A beast of prey which strangles one
With thirst, torments with flies,
And hides amongst the rocks
Poisonous things, snakes and scorpions.
And yet again there are timid things of peaceful mood,
Frightened hares and graceful gazelles
Affrighted by our rumbling tanks
And so, our evening dream of home
Is shattered by grim thoughts.
We turn and stoop into our desert home
Dug deep, of stones and sandbags,
And there upon a box or petrol tin
Sit around a makeshift table
And drink our ale or good old Scotch
And forget it all — perhaps?
Soon we bid goodnight.
Creeping to our lonely beds
Not unhappy, yet missing all those things we love.
The job is to be done;
We can endure it all
Till that great day when
We shall be home again.
B. M. Laird
* * *
Airmail Palestine
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,”
The Padre said. Row on row
The rusting hymn books in the sun.
Flickered, were folded, thin as one.
A thousand voices stirred the air were silent,
Heads were bent in prayer.
Above the Padre’s voice we heard
An engine drone, just like a bird.
With silvered wings we saw the plane
Above the sandhills out to sea,
Heading with mail to Galilee.
And in the clouds we saw again,
Our homes, the noonday shimmering sun
On the farm, beach and station run.
The stock knee-high in summer grass,
The shearers nodding as we pass.
Each stand: the silos crammed with wheat,
The sheep dogs panting in the heat,
The breakers curl, the lash of foam,
The aching, taunting thoughts of home.
“Praise God from who...” and each man bows
His head to thank his God who sends,
Half way across the world, the mail,
Who deems those engines shall not fail.
But that they bring across the sea,
The mail, to his own Galilee.
Anon
South Australia
* * *
In our Great and Wonderful Country
We have beauty from the hills to the sea,
Like the waves on the oceans of our coastline
In our great country
We are free
We cast our thoughts to the early Settlers,
Who came from many other distant lands
To make our Country their homeland
Where the hard toils were done by hand.
When we travel through our great Outback,
Where the cattle sheep and brumbies graze,
With the closing of a beautiful day
It appears that the whole world is ablaze.
’Neath the blue sky in the Bushland
The big gums stand as with pride
As they show their admiration for our Country
And for the Stockmen in Australia who ride.
The Stockmen are up at break of day
As they do in the great Outback,
Riding their horses to the big round up
Far off the beaten track.
We have our spacious farmlands
With acres of golden grain;
Nearby are the herds of cattle grazing
Feeding after the falls of the wonderful rain.
When we travel to our great south-east,
Where the beautiful pine trees grow,
We can see more beauty of our great land —
It is a sight that we all know.
The beautiful City of Adelaide,
Surrounded by parks and trees,
With gardens of beautiful flowers,
The freshness fills the breeze.
Sid Buckingham
* * *
Leave the Panels Down
The little grey house had a lonely look,
There wasn’t a soul around
But we saw as we crossed the shallow brook
That the slip rails lay on the ground.
We rode in up to the kitchen door
For the stock might take the track,
But a woman said with a weary smile
“My boys are absent many a mile,
And we’ll leave the panels down awhile
To wait till the lads come back.”
And over our southern, sunny land
The same great thought holds true,
From the timbered hills to the parching sand
And the wide green stretches too.
All the boys who’ve done their bit,
Though many a pal we’ll lack,
Whether they come fro
m bush or town
Will know they’ll find the panels down
To the hearts they left, and the love will crown —
The day that the lads get back.
Lt S. D. Leslie
(AWM 2 DRL 435)
* * *
They Also Serve
We’ve poems to our heroes and the deeds that they have done,
And though their wreaths of laurel are begrudged to them by none,
There are braver souls, I’ll warrant, far from trench or North Sea foam,
In the Women of the Empire, in the girls who stayed at home.
They were with us when our transports left our shores two years agone,
In spirit torn and anguished with the sons who they had borne,
They were with us at the landing — that immortal April Day –
And the lads who rushed the beaches bore no braver souls than they.
They were with us at Cape Helles, with a father, husband, son,
With the weary years of waiting for their loved ones just begun;
Ne’er a man fell backward stricken, but the bleeding wound he bore
Was felt by someone waiting on some far-removed shore.
They had no glow of battle such as spurred us on our way,
In a wearying inaction they must pass away each day;
No torment, hardship, hunger, no heat, nor thirst, nor cold,
But they who waited learned it, and felt with us fourfold.
And some have felt the passing of some beloved soul,
Where shrapnel cracked above us, or where Jutland’s waters roll;
And some are waiting, waiting with anxious weary brain,
And fearing, praying, hoping with dull soul-searching pain.
Then here’s my tribute to them, high or lowly, rich or poor,
The Women of our Empire who have helped us win the war;
To mothers, wives and sweethearts, from every mother’s son,
To the Women of our Empire from the ‘man behind the gun’.
Lt S. D. Leslie
A. A. Pay Corp AIF
(AWM 2 DRL 435)
* * *
Safe and Well
When you’re suckin’ at your pencil
And you don’t know what to say
When you wish the bloody censor
Hadn’t seen the light of day,
There’s always one small item left
Considered good to tell
It doesn’t take much writing,
“Dear Mum, I’m safe and well.”
The tucker may be ‘onkus’,
The water pretty crook
You haven’t had a drink of beer
Since Wavell took Tobruk,
You’ve been up before the skipper
For being AWL.
But take your pen and write it down:
“Dear Mum, I’m safe and well.”
You may have beard the Jerry bomber
Come screaming overhead,
And it wasn’t very pleasant
To be dodging lumps of lead,
When you’re lying in the trenches
’Midst hail of shot and shell
You still have time to send a line —
“Dear Mum, I’m safe and well.”
A grey haired Mother standing
Beside an old bush track
Waiting for the mailman
For news of soldier, Jack,
A smile lights up her worried face
With beauty words can’t tell
As she reads the dear familiar words:
“Dear Mother, I’m safe and well.”
Anon
(AWM PR 00526)
* * *
Soldiers’ Dream
Leaning on my rifle
As I do my two hour shift,
Not very regimental
But my thoughts can’t help but drift.
And I dream of my home town
And the girl I left behind,
The days we spent together
Keep running through my mind.
I see fair Sydney Harbour
And the happy carefree throng,
The ferry boat to Manly
And surfing all day long.
The rocks and hills and mountains,
The miles of sun drenched plains,
While golden fields of wheat await
The coming of the rains.
Someday I’ll stop my dreaming
Of that far land far away,
For I’ll be in fair Australia:
I’ll be home to stay.
Anon
(AWM PR 00526)
* * *
Untitled
When this cruel war is over
And I’m starting home once more
I can see you waiting, Darling,
On the good old Aussie shore.
When I go to sleep, my precious,
In dreams your face I see,
For I live in hopes and memories
For you’re all the world to me.
As I go on down life’s pathway
In struggles, war and strife,
I’ll be back again, I hope, dear
For you’re my own sweet darling wife.
Dvr W.T. White (?)
(AWM PR 87 175)
* * *
An Old Faded Picture
There’s an old faded picture hanging on our wall,
It’s ancient paper mottled with no print left at all,
The scene is of lost days, with beauty that’s still,
Of a tank on a stand, plus a lone windmill.
The mill has a shroud of hard red rust
That matches the colour of the local dust,
Now the tank is empty, the stand is rotten,
The water trough gone, and all but forgotten.
But the scene wasn’t always of rust and of still
For once they were shining the tank and the mill,
As they worked together by day and by night
To man and beast a most wonderful sight.
Now there are many memories but very few lingers,
The rest run away like sand through old fingers;
It’s ancient paper mottled. with no print left at all.
Tim Lawrance
20 August 1990
* * *
Forgetting
Forget You ? Well perhaps I may
Forget the very charming way
You smile, and then perhaps I might
Forget your eyes, your walk, your height.
Somehow I even may forget
The way you hold a cigarette
So carelessly, and who can tell
I may forget your voice as well.
With nonchalance and sans regret
All these things I might forget,
But the task too difficult to do
Would be forgetting — I Love You.
Cpl M. M. Carroll
(AWM PR 00544)
* * *
Our Parting
In this land so hot and sultry
With its rain and heavy dew
With its tin and rice and rubber
Here I sit and dream of you.
I often see you as we parted
How you smiled to hide the tear,
How you played your heart with courage
How I loved you then, my dear.
I tried to hide my feelings
With a carefree jovial air —
You must have thought me heartless
And that I ceased to care.
But just behind the reckless smile
I fought a bitter fight,
I felt the pangs of parting
As you did, Dear, that night.
I felt the tempter at my side,
To me he spoke quite clear
He said “The price you’re asked to pay
Is costing you too dear!”
But if I had but turned m
y head
And “Yes!” to him had said
Unworthy of you I’d have been —
’Twere better I were dead.
I know you miss me every hour,
For me each night you pray,
I know you long for my return
Though long and rough the way.
But if to you I cannot come
With honour, head held high,
I know you will remember me
Our love could never die.
So as I think of you each night
I pray with all my heart
That we will reunited be
When we have played our part.
Jimmy Dickinson
2 AASC AIF Malaya
Killed in action 14 February1942
(AWM 3 DRL 6768A)
* * *
Take this Message
Take this message to my Mother
Far across the deep blue sea
It will fill her heart with pleasure
She will be glad to hear from me.
How she wept when last we parted,
How it filled her heart with pain
And she said “Goodbye, God bless you,
We may never meet again!”
Take this message to my Mother,
It is filled with words of joy
Tell her that her prayers are answered
God protects her little boy,
Tell her to be glad and cheerful
And pray for me where’er I roam,
And ere long I turn my footsteps
Back toward my dear old home.
Take this message to my Mother
It is filled with words of love,
If on earth I ne’er shall see her
Tell her we shall meet above,
Where there is no hour of parting
All is peace and love and joy.
God will bless my dear old Mother
And protect her absent boy.
Anon
* * *
There’s a Land They Call Australia.
There’s a land they call Australia,
It’s a land we love so well,
For it’s there we learn to soldier
And Britain’s Army swell.
And often times when we’re abroad
Our thoughts will surely turn
To Aussie, good old Aussie,