The Happy Warrior (19 page)

So windscreen wipers are not needed there.

Billy Mose the Welder is sure to like it over there,

No rain to spoil his days off, so to speak,

But Bollins, well I don't know how he'll manage without Mum,

Not seeing her for weeks and weeks and weeks.

There's ‘Happy' Howard, Ronnie ‘Hot', and Jimmy Latham too,

And ‘Draughty' Bill from Section 25,

And not forgetting ‘Aussie', he's the dreamy Sergeant man,

On bottled stuff he mostly seems to thrive.

Then there's ‘Champion J.' and Godden, writing letters by the score

And ‘Ding Dong' Bell and ‘Bunny' Guerin too,

And silly Carrapiett fooling ‘round the whole day through,

'Tho' better mate one never need wish for.

A few more names and then the list is just about complete,

With Raymond Ford, the carpentering man,

And ‘Bluey' Atkinson and ‘Kingy' Clem the Storeman Sarge

And ‘Tinny' Wetzler, Poker playing fan.

Of course there's ‘Mother' Evans, we must never forget him,

Though often through the day he is unseen,

And ‘Mac' who's always reading, and his Sergeant ‘Bricky' Brad,

And Harry Douglas — not a bad old bean.

The ‘Staff ' — we'll ne'er forget him, like he often forgets us,

I mean when jobs are being handed out,

And D. M. Dunk and ‘Gilly', who seem really very keen

And Bruce and ‘Robbo', both just marching out.

There's Sgt King who is away just now in Melbourne town,

But will be back again with us some day

To show us how to time a Ford, or fix a gearbox up,

Or change a plug the right and proper way.

Then there's those of whom we'll often think, who are not with us now,

Like old Ralph Haken, ‘five minutes to go',

And ‘Scotty' Duncan, good old toiler, not a bad old stick,

And not forgetting poor old cranky Joe.

There's one thing that we'll ne'er forget, no matter where we be,

On desert sands or South Pacific isle,

When we are tired and hungry, or resting in the shade

Or playing cards, or idle for awhile,

And that's the ladies — regular as clockwork did they come

Each Sunday with their loads of scones and cakes,

With smiles and pleasant words of cheer to help us on our way,

And army life monotony to break.

Pte Jim Baker NX139320

30 January 1943

The Salvage

On active service not dismayed,

Who is this Unit on parade?

None other than the Salvage crowd,

Shoulders back and heads unbowed.

“Attention there!” “Stand at ease!”

Your gallant ‘Fuhrer', you must please.

He stands commanding your regard,

His gun attached, “On guard!” “On guard!”

‘Note book' Hall looks slightly hurt,

‘Gas' Cunningham is on the alert.

‘Shields' wants to put you on the peg,

‘Barrett' is immovable — don't pull his leg.

And there's dark Durack full of sin,

With P. T. Gatherer so still and grim.

A post for Walker would be a small cost;

Skinner and Hampton appear to be lost.

Dalton and Plummer sometimes run the show.

Maclean as far as words has a wonderful flow;

There's young ‘Tich' Wilson the Unit's noise

And criminal Smith, one of the boys.

The ‘Woorooloo Ram' with his short arm is there,

And ‘Transfer Charlton' so fat and fair.

‘Megaphone' Foley can sometimes be heard;

The ‘Limping Scuttler' is a bit of a bird.

There's Private Plant of the ‘Wailing Wall'

And Lanky ‘Fields' with his nobs and all;

The Dunlops brothers can give you a pain,

Gabell looks on in sarcastic vein.

There is also our youthful ‘Bantam Howard'

And overrated Ovens who looks a bit soured.

Rudkin there our spoiler of food,

‘Whispering' Willis stands in pensive mood.

There's ‘Gambler' Power small and hairy,

And ‘Little' Fitch the Unit's fairy.

Plus little Kent who talks with beer,

Of steady Iredell you never hear.

There's ‘Two-Ton Tony' with all his might,

Lench, Hartnett and Phillips are pretty quiet

‘Goggle Eyed Merry' stares with defiance,

Collins and ‘Two Up' have sworn an alliance.

McDonald looks glum, his temper is short;

McKenzie, junior recruit, has come to report;

Summers the card fiend, is going to the dogs;

James looks ashamed of his friends the ‘Wogs'

“Attention! Attention!” “Stand at ease! Stand at ease!”

'Tis the call of the Salvage, a sort of disease.

“Will you take my punishment, or have a Court martial?”

You must say the Fuhrer is fairly impartial.

Sgt John Patrick Hampton

9th Aust. Div. Salvage Section

(AWM PR 00759)

Song of Tobruk

They brought us, from Australia to fight the Nazi Hun,

Who're once more on the Warpath, well equipped with tanks and guns.

They shoved us into Libya where, the guide book says, it's grand,

But forgets to mention little things, like flies and fleas and sand,

Tobruk was chosen as the place for us to ‘Strut our Stuff '.

Old Jerry soon besieged it and began to treat us rough;

He dropped a kindly hint or two as to how we soon would cop it

Advising us to turn it in, forget the war and hop it.

Now being mad Australians we just didn't take the drum,

So he sent his diving Stukas and made things dam well hum;

A few blokes took the final count, and some joints got knocked about,

But the damage done, as Tommies say, was really “Bleeding nowt!”

He keeps on raiding with his planes, drops bombs and booby traps,

His soldiers sometimes make a move, and the lads have front line scraps,

But months have passed, he must admit, it seems we're here to stay

Till the Springboks come to join us, marching up from Bardia way.

And when we're back at home again and all this strife is o'er,

Some silly is sure to ask, “How did you win the War?”

You can look the bloke right in the face and pat the baby's curls,

Say “We defended old Tobruk, where there wasn't any girls.”

Of all the Units we have here, there's one we'd like to toast,

They're always up to something, but you never hear them boast.

It's good to hear them working, with reverberating crack.

We dip our lid sincerely to — the boys of the Ack Ack.

Sgt John Patrick Hampton

9 Aust. Div. Salvage Section

(AWM PR 00759)

Never Beaten

The following verses were written by Cpl Manning of B Company while his company was in occupation of the forward post during the period when they suffered heavy casualties from enemy shellfire. The Latin,
Nunquain Victus
or ‘Never Beaten' is the motto of the old 48th Battalion of the first AIF.

They were drawn together by some master hand,

Who chose them somehow throughout the land

And flung them into the melting pot,

Where for a time they were as men forgot.

Now some there were who knew quite clear

They were there for all they held most dear.

Others had come for what they'd see,

And others after some wild spree.

Then came a time when tempers were tried.

We were mucked about 'til we could have cried,

And we mocked and jeered at Esprit de corps,

Saying, “What the hell do they take us for?”

At last we heard of the blue and white

And what it meant in the world of fight;

Tales were told of the men who'd worn it

And with what pride and glory they bore it.

We listened to men who had gone before

Of the tales they told of the last great war,

Wondering how we could stand the test

Of measuring up to the Nation's best.

Then was the time we got the idea

Of something that rose above mere fear

And felt the stir of a strange new pride

In things we used once to deride.

Then came the day we were waiting for,

When we saw the last of Australia's shore!

But still we were a polyglot crew

And what we'd do well — no one knew

We landed at last, in Palestine,

And if all thoughts were the same as mine

We had the idea we were a garrison mob,

Not thought worthy of a real man's job.

Then came orders. We were due for a shift,

And you could feel our spirit begin to lift

For the news got round we were moving west

Going, perhaps, to our first big test.

We finished up on the Libyan plain

And thought once more we had to train,

And then they found us jobs to do,

Which could have been done by an infant crew.

At last we were moved by the powers-that-be

From a resting place by the still blue sea;

We had camped, for a breathing space,

In what, to us, was a damned good place.

Then rumours came: Things weren't so hot

For-our ancient foe had us on the trot.

We were moving back — or so they said —

Though then we thought the war was dead

Back we were going, and going quick,

For Jerry's tanks were pretty slick;

This was the time we'd been waiting for,

“At last,” we said, “We're in the war!”

Back and back and still back we went,

'Til we wondered what our bosses meant,

And strength and endurance were needed now

For sleep was a thing that was snatched somehow.

Although we went through a little hell,

There was something born which repaid us well,

For we learnt what mateship really meant

And knew 'twould last where e'er we went.

The backward rush was stopped at last.

Outside Tobruk we were told, “Stand fast!”

And there we were — untried men

Waiting for something beyond our ken.

We lay all day under the torrid sun,

There was our baptism of fire begun.

We learnt the whine of the screaming shell

And some suffered more than they will tell.

But to cut and run never entered a head

Although we saw our mates lie dead,

And all of us made a determined vow,

We'd avenge their deaths on the Hun somehow

For a week or more there we stood,

Although he flung at us all he could,

And flat we lay on the stoney earth,

While his planes and bombs tested our worth.

Then came the day when his plunging tanks

Charged up and down our meagre ranks,

And we knew when they had passed

We'd take all he'd give and still stand fast

But best of all, there in my heart,

The feeling that I was at last a part

Of a band who knew that they were a crowd

Of whom their Fathers might well be proud.

Cpl Manning

You Have Served Us Well

DDG 38 you entered my life

in Boston USA;

Thirty-four years ago I joined you

on your commissioning day.

We were proud young sons of Australia

Three-hundred-and-thirty-three strong,

And as the band played Waltzing Matilda

we embarked from the dockside throng.

They named you Perth after another

who now rests in a watery grave,

You had a proud tradition to follow

established by men so brave.

I recall your baptism of fire

when we were called to that Asian war,

Of how your guns thundered in anger

toward a troubled shore.

San Som, Dong Hoi and Cua Sat

are names that drift in from the past,

In those northern ‘Sea Dragon' waters

you forged a reputation that was to last.

You still carry the scars of that conflict

from the hot metal that punctured your skin,

Old shipmates on their chests wear coloured ribbon

but tend to hold those memories within.

I knew I could not serve in you forever

and in life's journey we ventured apart,

Many thousands subsequently joined you

and maintained you as ‘State of the Art'.

You have nurtured a number of heroes

and there were larrikins that I knew,

You've been a source of pride and frustration

to the twenty-seven who skippered you.

I have returned for your last voyage

as your remaining days are but few;

Soon you will enter your final harbour

and they will take your name from you.

The wind plays a sad tune in the halyards

but your heart beats strong through the deck,

And I sense the presence of your old sailors

as I spend this quiet moment to reflect.

Soon the wake will not surge from your quarter

nor your routines be run to the bell;

It's now time to say “Stand easy old friend!”

for I know you have served us well.

Jack Aaron

(Ex POQMG)

HMAS.
Warramunga
 

For grace and speed she had no par

Across the oceans deep

And on her we, who traveled far,

Adored her striding sweep.

From flaring stem to thrusting screws

And every plate between,

Her purpose spread its warlike news

Wherever she was seen.

A gentle shepherd she indeed

Or fearsome as a lion,

A friendly sight to all in need