In our hearts you’ll brightly burn.
From this land they call Australia,
For twelve months now or more,
I’ve seen their bright and happy faces
Leave for a distant shore,
The flower of Australia’s manhood.
With a job of work to do
Leave their loved ones far behind them
Just to help old England through.
From this land they call Australia
I’ve seen them come and go;
I’ve seen ’em fat and forty,
I’ve seen ’em just sixteen or so.
Some were at the last one
And they’re to the fore again,
For they’re off again to this one
Just to see if war’s the same.
From this land they call Australia
To my mates I’ve bid adieu;
Pals you’d give your life for
’Cause they’d do the same for you:
Tom and Jack, Frank and Bill
Gosh, you know them too?
They left their jobs and wives and sweethearts
’Cause they were Diggers through and through.
And this land they call Australia
Some will see no more,
’Cause they gave their lives, their very all,
Like their fathers did before;
But to their mates and pals whose luck has held
There’s a debt you have to pay:
So see you stand up to your task
In the same Australian way.
And when this war is over
And Hitler’s met the fate he’s earned,
We’ll meet again in Aussie,
Those of us that have returned,
And we’ll stop and think a moment
Of the mates and pals we loved,
In the highest bloomin’ possie
In their last Camp up above.
Will Handley
(AWM PR 85 205)
* * *
Just a Dream
I dreamt that I was home last night
And peace was here once more,
What a thrill it was to set foot once again
On dear old Aussie shores.
Gee! back home again! it was hard to believe
With Port Melbourne just the same,
I vowed right there on the wharf, they could keep all their wars —
I’d never leave Aussie again.
They were there in their thousands to meet us,
Cheering and screaming like hell,
And I turned to my mate on the boat rail and said,
“Boy, isn’t this swell!”
Then I sighted Mum, and the rest of the family,
The tears just streamed down my face,
For the day that I dreamed of at last had arrived
And I longed for her loving embrace.
Then they let down the gangway;
The crowd with excitement went mad
The greatest moment of my life was here at last:
“My Mum! My Dad!”
They showered me with all sorts of questions
About places I want to forget,
For the war was over for me at last,
And by hell there were no regrets.
Then we left the scene of excitement
With its happiness, laughter, and tears
And made straight for Young and Jackson’s,
Where we knocked down several beers.
The bar was full of laughter
As the boys told their narrow-squeak tales,
With a big pot of Carlton in one hand
And their foot once again on the rail.
At last we arrived at the home town
And a lump sort of grew in my throat,
She’s the same as the day we waved her goodbye,
As we left on our way to the boat.
Then the band struck up on the station,
In a sec I was out of the train,
There were handshakes, streamers, and shouting
As they welcomed us home once again.
Then I pushed through the crowd on the station,
Through the gate and out on the street —
Then I felt someone tap on my shoulder,
“Wake up Dig, it’s your turn on the beat.”
Will Handley
(AWM PR 85 205)
* * *
What were his thoughts as he lay in his bed,
His only part visible, his grey, ruffled head;
He could think of today, and also the morrow,
Of lots of laughs, or a little sorrow.
He could have been King,
But he wasn’t in line,
Instead, just a man —
Upright and fine.
Tim Lawrance
28 May 1989
* * *
You
You are the wind that fills my sails,
The star that guides my way,
The oasis in this desert,
The smell of the forest after the rain.
You are the stillness of dawn,
The brilliance of its shafts of light,
You are like the dew in the morning that sparkles,
You are my bay for the storm that I’m in.
Your hair is like the flowing golden sand,
Your eyes reflect your nature: gentle and understanding,
Your mouth invites my kisses every time I see it,
Your skin is smooth and delicate like that of a peach.
The way you move is like the calming of the waves on a tropical shore
You give me sanctuary, happiness and, yes, that damn smile!
Capt. Danny Lea
* * *
A Letter from Home
When you’re sitting in your dugout with your chin upon your hand
And your thoughts are ever flitting to that golden, far-off land,
When the dusty wind is blowing, and all is grit and sand,
What’s the thing that bucks you up and makes you feel just grand?
A letter from home.
When air battles are araging and all is noise and din
And you’re feeling tired and dusty, and just about all in,
Your hand goes to your pocket, gropes and finds the thing you seek
And you read it over once again, though you’ve had it for a week:
That letter from home.
When the air is full of Stukas, and the bombs are dropping fast
And the ack-ack guns are blazing and the Spitfires roaring past,
And the Navy’s guns are booming out, bombarding from the sea,
When you reach the base you’re heading for, you wonder if there’ll be —
A letter from home.
So don’t forget to write to him, he loves to hear the news,
And it’s sure to cheer him up and drive away those blues;
It’s better far than any leave he’s likely to obtain,
Please do remember, get your pen, and write him once again:
A letter from home.
Anon
(AWM PR 87/062)
* * *
Storied Trails
The dust swells from the sun-drenched road
And billows in the bush scented breeze
’Tis the same torn track the sundowner strode
To the tune of the wind in the trees.
It winds ever onward and over the hill
Through the gums and gullies and all;
It passes the shack and the silent mill,
Which oft saw the sundowner call.
Gone is the man with the dog at his heels
And friendly greeting for all;
Along the old track sounds the piper’s reels
And the brazen war bugle’s call.
Where his camp fire gleamed at night
’Neath the clear and starry sky
Myriad lanterns twinkle bright
And a sentry paces nigh.
Comes the stamp of marching feet
And the suntanned ranks swing by,
Three by three with ringing beat
That causes the dust to fly.
The mirages dance on the road ahead
And nary a man but feels
That he is treading the steps of one long dead,
The man with the dog at his heels.
Anon
(AWM PR 87/062)
* * *
To Cairns
Immortal Cairns, gem of our northern seas!
Living green is found on every side our tired eyes to please,
Young peaks thrust proud heads to sapphire-tinted skies
And sparkling rivers downward flow to where the sun doth rise.
Oh, balmy spot! where winter’s icy finger ne’er can reach,
Where southern sleet cold and snow are not;
Miles of waving cane nod soft heads in the lazy, friendly breeze
While red-roofed cottages nestle safely under Queensland’s lovely trees.
On thy eastern side in rolls the great Pacific o’er
The coral barrier that ever rose from ocean floor;
Here the lordly sun each day spreads his golden fruitfulness,
Enriching thee, immortal Cairns, gem of our northern seas!
Ernest H. Graham
(AWM PR 82 056)
* * *
To Queensland
Oh, loveliest of all our states
The fairest jewel in Federal Crown
Set in sapphire seas,
Guardian from our enemies in tragic days like these!
Land of rugged mountains,
Rich in timber wealth,
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,
&n
bsp; 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