A Poem Worth Reading
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the RSL,
Telling stories of the past.

Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.

And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.

He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife..
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.

He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.

Papers tell of their life stories
>From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?

Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?

The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.

While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.

It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so many times
That our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys,
Went to battle, but we know,

It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?

Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.

He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.

For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days..

Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."

I hate to see the scruffy middle aged guys walking in the parade with there grandfathers medals, dressed in jeans, trainers and a daggy fleece and a few days stubble, sure the old fella's would not be impressed.

I think there should be some way of distinguishing between those who've won medals and those who've inherited them. I can see that people want to show their pride in their ancestor's deeds but it's not the equal of those who won the medals in the first place.

At the second service we went to today (number 1 son was playing in the band) they read out this poem by Banjo Patterson.

http://alldownunder.com/australian-a...alians-now.htm

I think it captures the mood of the time in which Australia stopped being a collection of states and became a nation.

There is. If you have won them they are worn on the left of the breast,inherited on the right.

I think they'd be chuffed to bits to know that their children or grandchildren are proud enough of them to want to get up at that time of day and spend time marching on their behalf. I don't think they'd give a monkey's what they wore.

Exactly, the fact they have bothered enough in the first place to turn up says it all really.

So why do you wear yers on yer forehead ???

Netty I loved the poem- moved me to tears.

That's good to know. Thanks

Great poem

Another ANZAC day over.

I attended the Martin Place dawn service – where the dawn service originated. Surprised at the number of young people. Even more surprised at how many of them fainted. Maybe the solemness of the occasion, maybe drink, or maybe young people can’t stand for 30 minutes any more. Either way they made the effort, and that effort was appreciated.

I watched the Sydney march from the sidelines. I don’t think I deserve to participate, no one ever shot at me, and I was paid for the work.

Later I caught up with old comrades in the bars. My bank account and my kidneys suffered for Queen and Country. I only see most of these guys on ANZAC day. It’s a ritual. I guess the original ANZACs knew the same ritual.

Highlight of the day was meeting Mick, 90 years old, quietly sitting in the Observer Hotel in the rocks late in the afternoon. He had fought in the Islands with the 5th Division. The Salamaua campaign in New Guinea, and later New Britain. These were hard battles. I took a photo of me with him.

One day soon guys like Mick will just be a memory, and another part of ANZAC day will be gone.

I love ANZAC day for a few reasons. I love the pride. I love the parades and I love the patronism. Most of all I love the pilgrimage to the MCG where there always a parade of diggers that make me blink away tears in my eyes. The bugle playing the last stand to 90,000 silent un capped footy fans followed by the minutes silence, every hair stands up. Then the national anthem is sung with real feeling...then the deafening roar of the thousands in the stands as the siren sounds for the impending "battle". Its bloody awesome!!!

Anzac Day is one of the things I missed most when I lived in the UK.