The Happy Warrior (9 page)

To find out his strength, the positions of the foe.

These men, gaunt, unshaven, with a glint in their eyes,

Nothing but their senses could they use for their guides;

Their automatics slung, their senses all alert,

Thought first of their loved ones, their loss they knew would hurt;

And with hearts that throbbed madly, with pulses that raced,

Only they knew the perils they would have to face.

Wiping out their thoughts of home and all they love,

They mingled with the shadows, trusting that God above

Watched their every movement; their lives they left to Him.

It was a path of Life and Death, a path so dim,

Shrouded by the tree tops, and undergrowth so thick,

To make no false step needed every jungle trick.

With stealth, and with silence, using every jungle law,

Stalking and creeping, they knew that every yard more

Brought them close to Death. But did anyone stop?

Not they — only the Japs' bullets could make them drop.

Then with suddenness the silence was broken,

A Jap machine gun to their right had spoken.

Down to ground! Their thoughts were in a chaotic mess.

Had they been seen? No, it was impossible — but yes;

For still the machine gun bullets were passing by

Just three feet over their heads, they were whining high.

Where was the danger that now impeded their way?

They puzzled this out as in the bracken they lay.

Someone then remembered, higher up, to the right,

A woodpecker had been seen in the waning light,

And the Jap from his greater height could easily see

Any movement that could be caused by brushing a tree;

For the foliage above would then shiver and shake;

The command went back, “Be careful, for goodness sake!”

So with head bent low, dodging trees, protruding vines,

They passed a dead Jap, and on the right were sure signs

Of tracks and Jap doovers, with the nauseous stench

That pollutes the air in the region of their trench;

A muttered curse, with those softly whispered words;

“Death is too good for you, you mongrel yellow curs!”

Cautiously forward, yard by yard, with bated breath

Past those doovers they crept in defiance of death;

Then the sound of a bolt with that metallic click

Swung them 'round with a speed undeniably quick,

Searching for the danger that made its presence felt —

But on they must go, so in the shadows they melt.

Looking forwards and sideways they managed to go,

Keeping to shadows, till within nearly a stone's throw

Of Japs digging doovers and jabbering aloud,

(There's one thing about them. they make plenty of sound),

Their job is now completed, they silently withdraw

To report their success and all the things they saw.

So with joy and light hearts they wended their way back

Past those concealed doovers by the side of the track,

Side-stepping the Jap corpse that was gruesome and stark,

For this was the last phase, the last reminding mark

Of the fingers of Death, and the fingers of Fate,

That had waited to grasp them with relentless hate.

Love, Life and Joy once more seemed to seep through their veins,

These feelings they had curbed while the danger had reigned;

But now they were themselves, laughing again once more,

Throwing off this cloak, this terrible cloak of war.

They lay back and reclined, resting their weary minds,

Looking upward to where their future path would wind.

G Bowles

The Night Patrol

It's zero hour, there's a hushed command

As out of the shadows move a band,

Each man knows of the task ahead

As he moves to the wire with a stealthy tread.

There isn't a sound or glimmer of light,

Only the stars to guide them right;

A thousand yards to reach their goal,

A race ere the rising moon unfolds.

To hesitate would be too late,

For the moon-lit rays seal their fate;

So on through booby traps and mines

On 'til they reach the enemy's lines.

A clattering stone someone spoke,

A burst of fire from the stillness broke

As the shadowy forms of a dozen men

Sprayed hot lead from rifle and Bren.

Forward they rush, like men insane,

To take and hold all they can gain.

They won't face steel is the Aussies' boast

And they find it so when they reach that post.

There's a quick check up, a note or two,

Then back to their lines for some warmed up stew,

A dixie of tea or a noggin of rum,

A smile from their mates for a job well done.

Then down in the dust of their holes they creep

Like desert rats, they are soon asleep

And dream of parties and folks at home,

Of the girls they have loved — or a mutton bone.

The sun is up, there's a harsh command,

It's five hundred hours don't be alarmed!

Yesterday's gone. Now call the roll.

I want twelve men for tonight's patrol.

Anon

Isle of Tarakan

From afar I saw this lovely isle,

It looked a romantic, exotic pile,

And I thought I'd like to stay awhile,

On lovely Tarakan.

But the longer I live upon its shore,

My interest decreases more and more

And I long for the good old days of yore —

To hell with Tarakan!

As the rain pours down, my temper sours,

It's the dinkum stuff, not April showers,

And I'm up to my ruddy neck for hours,

In mud on Tarakan.

When the clouds roll on and the day is fine,

With an azure sky and bright sunshine,

The sweat will cascade from my spine,

On humid Tarakan.

But when I walk it makes me boil,

I'm up to my blinking knees in oil,

And I can't thrive on the oily soil,

On greasy Tarakan.

I even tried to learn Malay,

But I find my efforts do not pay,

The dumb cows dunno what I say,

On ignorant Tarakan.

I've stood the sight of hill and glade,

And I've heard the sound of the war's tirade,

But when the Japs start crashing a mess parade,

I give you away, Tarakan.

If I had five hooks on my sleeve,

I tell you straight, and you must believe,

That I would neither howl nor grieve,

On leaving Tarakan.

Anon

Souvenir Poem

We are nearing the end of our journey,

A trip we were eager to take,

For a chance of a joust in the journey,

For our own and the Motherland's sake.

We know nought of what may be lurking

Ahead and we care not a damn —

We'll just take the chance without shirking

Any job we're assigned in the jam.

So here's to what may be before us,

Whatever the cost we will gain,

The deeds of our Dads will immure us

To hardship and physical pain.

And our wives and sweethearts and Mothers,

In their worry and sorrow and pride,

Will reverence the memory of ‘others',

Who are left on the other side.

Anon

“Sayeeda”

When first we landed on these shores

To do our bit and help the cause,

In busy street and passing throng

We heard one word, most all day long,

“Sayeeda”

It followed us where'er we went,

And seemed for every purpose meant,

“Good day!!”, “Good night!” and “How are you?”

Upon our tongues it almost grew:

“Sayeeda”

Through dust and heat and burning sun,

Through pelting rains and work and fun,

At every hour of day and night,

It came to haunt us like a blight —

“Sayeeda”

And when we leave this foreign land,

With parting shout on every hand,

This word I'm sure above the noise,

Will still be heard by all the boys:

“Sayeeda”

Anon

To a Wooden Cross

No thought to win a medal, no chance to gain real fame,

But just to save your comrades — that's why we sing your name.

Your riddled coat stands witness, four buried Huns lie near,

And here's to you in Glory, for death you had no fear.

You stormed alone this gun-pit and alone you fell,

You taught them all a lesson their nearby graves now tell.

Your Dear Ones must have knowledge, that you did not die in vain,

For by such deeds of valour, our troops have won this plain.

Anon

A Tribute

Dedicated to those who fell whilst holding the “Hill of Jesus” on 22nd July 1942

To desert desolation has been given

A sacred symbol, where brave men have striven,

In sight of Tel el Eisa stand the crosses

That speak of greater gains that come through losses.

And He, whose name on yon hill is inscribed,

He spake of love, greater than which is none,

Where man forfeited his life in death lay down.

By those immutable and universal laws

That bind humanity as one, and thereby cause

The clash and strife, when greed and selfishness

Exclude from view the vaster world, where stress

On things that make us petty and secluded,

(By little dreams of paltry gains deluded)

Is but a relic of a passing phase

That leads onward to more glorious days.

By those same universal laws, perchance

We faced a foe, so eager to enhance

Advantages won in recent rapid rush

Eastward, and thereby his opponent crush,

That dreams of domination of the world

Might to fulfilment be brought nearer, and unfurled

O'er Egypt and the East the banner borne

By host whose loyalty to Fatherland was sworn.

The sudden bursting forth of morning violence

That July day in nineteen forty two,

That twenty-second day! Now pride in silence

Honors. Sorrows doth our pride subdue

The boom of gun, the whine and crash of shell.

The crush of mortars, rifles spitting hell,

Machine guns pouring death on every crest

Did brave men face, and facing them could jest.

Though willing be the flesh of gallant men,

The strongest, bravest spirit is subdued,

And overwhelming weight of force and fire

Batters and blasts, as wounded rise again

To reach a comrade's side to render aid

Or to press on in desert's heat, where shade

And water are but things to torment those

Who think and suffer lying near their foes.

Oft victory comes to us in some disguise

That mocked faint hearts, perceived but by the wise

Who perseveres with courage to endure

And make the fruits of victory secure.

Awhile the outcome of the awful night

Seems doubtful, but with break of morning light

The verdict o'er the conduct could be given —

Our enemy once more was backward driven.

The price? Men in the pride and strength of youth

Preferring death, with loyalty to truth,

Is that the price must be, which faint heart chills,

Accept the hazards of their own free wills;

No cheap bravadoes but a deep sincerity

Called them from distant shores and homes and love,

And Tel el Eisa's crosses of eternity,

And forgotten as our deed shall prove.

Chaplain B. C. Archbold

2/48th Aust. Inf. Batt.

The Rats of Tobruk

“Good morning Rats!” The donkey brayed,

“Rats at the end of your tether,

I heard your nerves are somewhat frayed,

Shall I snap them altogether?”

And he called to his birds of prey:

“Swoop low on the British Rats,

They're afraid of the light of day,

They live in caves like bats.”

So the vultures flocked to the kill

And they dived on the hospital ships

And the hospital high on the hill

And they blew all the wards to bits.

Full gorged with easy game,

The vultures flocked once more,

A hundred plus they came,

And dived on the shattered shore.

“Crash!” went the big Ack-Ack.

“Bang!” went the Bofors guns —

And the Rats stood back

And shot lead at the hated Huns.

Anon

The Wounded from Tobruk

You come limping down the gangplank,

Or you're carried down instead,

Carried in a blanket with a boot beneath your head,

And you look all lean and hungry

Beneath your good old Aussie grin,

Sick of bully beef and biscuits

But the sort that won't give in.

You're smiled at by a bearer,

Who's muscular and big

Fishing fags out from his pocket

With a “Better have one, Dig!”

And you take it as he lights it,

And return a wiry grin,

Making little of your trouble,

Though there's no one taken in.

For they know that you've been through it,

And there's nothing much to say,

You're a base-job or a blighty,

And they'll help you on your way,

For the skies were full of zoomers,

And the sand bags fairly shook,

Like the good old Bondi boomers

When you stopped one at Tobruk.

And I'm proud that I'm Australian,

When I look at men like these;

They're the men who marched beside me,