[SOC] [OT] Anzac Day

[Ian C. Purdie]

     A friend drew my attention to this poem:



                   When I was a young man I carried my pack,
                     And I lived the free life of a rover,
              From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,
                        I waltzed my Matilda all over,
                      Then in 1915 my country said "Son,
           it's time to stop rambling for there's work to be done."
               So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun,
                       And they sent me away to the war.

                    And the band played "Waltzing Matilda",
                       As we sailed away from the quay,
            And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers,
                         We sailed off for Gallipoli.

                    How well I remember that terrible day,
                When the blood stained the sand and the water,
                And how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay,
                We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter,
             Johnnie Turk, he was ready, he'd primed himself well,
           He showered us with bullets and he rained us with shells,
              And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell,
                    Nearly blew us right back to Australia.

                    And the band played "Waltzing Matilda",
                       As we stopped to bury our slain,
                And we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs,
                        And it started all over again.

              Now those who were living did our best to survive,
                  In that mad world of death, blood and fire,
                 And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive,
                  Though the corpses around me piled higher,
              Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit,
                     And when I awoke in my hospital bed,
            And saw what it had done, Christ, I wished I was dead,
                Never knew there were worse things than dying.

                    And no more I'll go "Waltzing Matilda",
                     To the green bushes so far and near,
                          For to hang tents and pegs,
                             A man needs two legs,
                       No more waltzing matilda for me.


                     Author unknown - but war is stupid...


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