The Happy Warrior Read online

  Published by: Sid Harta Publishers Pty Ltd

  23 Stirling Crescent, Glen Waverley,

  Victoria 3150 Australia

  Email [email protected]

  Telephone: + 61 3 9560 9920

  Facsimile: + 61 3 9545 1742

  ABN: 46 119 415 842

  for

  “The Happy Warrior Trust”

  45 Strickland Drive

  Wheelers Hill, Vic 3150

  Australian Internet site:

  http://www.anzac.sidharta.com

  First Published: April 2001

  This edition: June 2015

  Copyright: Kerry B. Collison and Paul Barrett

  Cover Design: Mario Cicivelli

  Design, Typesetting, Graphics: Chameleon Print Design

  Photographs courtesy of the Australian War Memorial

  © This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any person without the written permission of the copyright owner.

  Collison, Kerry B. and Barrett, Paul

  ISBN: 9781925280623 (eBook)

  Copyright

  Approximately half of the poems contained herein were provided by members of the military and ex-military, and the general public. The remainder were collected through researching the Private Records Database at the Australian War Memorial. Many of these poems were unsigned or untitled, making it impossible to identify the author. In other cases the contact details provided by the donor to the AWM were no longer current.

  Every effort to identify the author and copyright holder of each poem has been made and where successful, the appropriate permissions sought and acknowledgements made. However, there are some poems where we have been unable to contact the author or copyright holder.

  If we have included a poem that you wrote or for which you are the copyright holder and your permission has not been obtained, we apologize and trust that you are not offended by its inclusion in this compilation. If you contact the publisher, an acknowledgement will be made in future reprints or second editions.

  Paul Barrett & Kerry B. Collison

  Digital edition distributed by

  Port Campbell Press

  www.portcampbellpress.com.au

  eBook Conversion by Winking Billy

  CONTENTS

  ‘In Flanders Fields’

  ‘For the Fallen’

  Foreword: Lieutenant General P. J. Cosgrove, AC, MC

  Compilers’ Note: Warrant Officer Paul Barrett & Kerry B. Collison

  ‘Character of the Happy Warrior’ - William Wordsworth

  Chapter One: The Boer War

  Chapter Two: World War I

  Chapter Three: World War II

  Chapter Four: Other Conflicts

  Chapter Five: Prisoners of War

  Chapter Six: Peacekeeping

  Chapter Seven: Training, Ops & Exercises

  Chapter Eight: Units

  Chapter Nine: Comrades

  Chapter Ten: On Reflection

  Chapter Eleven: Dreams of Home

  Chapter Twelve: The Lighter Side

  Chapter Thirteen: Other Characters

  Chapter Fourteen: ‘Those Left Behind’

  Chapter Fifteen: Social Comment

  Chapter Sixteen: ANZAC Day

  Chapter Seventeen: Prayers

  Ranks and Glossary

  ‘We Shall Keep the Faith’

  In Flanders Fields

  In Flanders fields the poppies grow

  Between the crosses, row on row,

  That mark our place; and in the sky

  The larks, still bravely singing fly

  Scarce heard amid the guns below.

  We are the dead. Short days ago

  We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

  Loved and were loved, and now we lie

  In Flanders fields.

  Take up our quarrel with the foe;

  To you from failing hands we throw

  The torch; be yours to hold it high.

  If ye break faith with us who die

  We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

  In Flanders fields.

  The red poppy, the Flanders poppy, was first described as the ‘flower of remembrance’ by Colonel John McCrae, who was Professor of Medicine at McGill University of Canada before World War I. Colonel McCrae had served as a gunner in the Boer War, and went to France in World War I as a medical officer with the first Canadian contingent.

  At the second battle of Ypres in 1915, when in charge of a small first aid post, he wrote the poem above in pencil on a page torn from his dispatch book.

  The verses were apparently sent anonymously to the English magazine, ‘Punch’, which published them under the title ‘In Flanders Fields’.

  Colonel McCrae was wounded in May 1918 and died three days later in a military hospital on the French coast. On the eve of his death he allegedly said to his doctor: “Tell them this, If ye break faith with us who die we shall not sleep.”

  For the Fallen

  With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

  England mourns for her dead across the sea.

  Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

  Fallen in the cause of the free.

  Solemn in drums thrill: Death august and royal

  Signs sorrow up into immortal spheres.

  There is music in the midst of desolation

  And a glory that shines upon our tears.

  They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

  Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

  They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

  They fell with their faces to the foe.

  They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;

  Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

  At the going down of the sun and in the morning

  We will remember them.

  They mingle not with their laughing comrades again:

  They sit no more at familiar tables at home;

  They have no lot in our labour of the daytime;

  They sleep beyond England’s foam.

  But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

  Felt as a wellspring that is hidden from sight,

  To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

  As the stars that are known to the night.

  As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

  Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,

  As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

  To the end, to the end, they remain.

  Laurence Binyon

  (1869 — 1943)

  The RSL Ode is taken from the elegy ‘For The Fallen’, by English poet and writer Laurence Binyon, and was published in London in ‘The Winnowing Fan; Poems of the Great War’ in 1914. The verse, which became the Returned Servicemen’s League Ode, was already used in association with commemoration services in Australia in 1921 and not only adorns war memorials throughout the British Commonwealth but is also at the heart of all rites of the RSL.

  Foreword

  Acknowledgements

  The Happy Warrior Trustees wish to thank the following donors for their financial support in the production of ‘The Happy Warrior’.

  * * *

  Mitsubishi Motors Australia Limited

  Mincom Limited

  Independent Building Products Limited

  Rio Tinto

  Adacel Technologies Limited

  Safe Air Limited

  Total Logistics Management Pty Ltd

  Bill Sutton

  Compilers’ Note

/>   Paul Barrett, Warrant Officer Class 2 and Kerry B. Collison

  This anthology of poems about the military is by members and ex-members of the Australian Defence Force and others, including some by our Kiwi cousins. They span the whole of the twentieth century, from the Boer War to peacekeeping in East Timor. The title ‘The Happy Warrior’ is taken from ‘Character of the Happy Warrior’, by William Wordsworth. Although this poem was written about 200 years ago, its uplifting message is just as appropriate today, with Australians adding their own unique ‘character’.

  In making our selection, we searched far and wide for words from ‘unsung heroes’ who had responded to the touch of the Bard. Many of the poems are courtesy the Australian War Memorial, Canberra. Others came to us by word of mouth as news of our project spread. In some cases we had to choose from several versions of a poem. Many were not signed or dated. The writers of these verses are not professional or established poets. They are straight from the war zones, the training grounds, the home front or somewhere in between. Some went to ‘the front’ in their tender years, or for other reasons had little education. So much the richer, then, are these verses, which show so many skills of the seasoned poet: rhyme and rhythm or free verse in robust narrative or quiet reflection; imagery and ‘Aussie talk’ galore; pathos and hyperbole, heroic and mock heroic styles. At times imperfect, of course (beware the purist!), but all with undeniable soul, spirit and ‘character’.

  The people within these pages represent the thousands who have given of themselves so generously towards Australia’s heritage, our traditions and our hope for the future. So this anthology is of a special kind, with a special purpose. It is partly to entertain. It is also partly to provide insight into the minds and hearts of soldiers, sailors and airmen and women who have served or are still serving their country, thus to reach those little aware of their effort and sacrifice.

  Editing has been minimal, retaining the original ‘text’ (at times no more than a scribble) and adding an extra word only where it appears to have been missed by mistake. Remember while reading that most of these poems were written at a time when there was no such thing as ‘political correctness’! Punctuation, where non-existent, has been inserted; where confusing, amended as far as possible to honour the intention of the individual poet. Verse and line struc-ture have been arranged for visual variation according to the era and style of poem. Ranks are given as written at the time.

  If you buy this book: thank you! The poems for the anthology have been given free of charge and proceeds from its sale will help ex-service personnel. Or you might pick the book up in a library, or see it on the desk or bookshelf of a friend. If so, and if you feel moved, you can make a donation to the Returned and Services League or Legacy office, or the Regular Defence Force Welfare Association in Canberra. To reassure you, there are no administration costs: all moneys will go straight to the point of need.

  By the way, if you recognise a poem by ‘Anon’, and know its author or anything about it, we would be grateful if you would contact us with the information. Enjoy (and weep over) this book — we did!

  Character of the Happy Warrior

  Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he

  That every man in arms should wish to be?

  – It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought

  Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought

  Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:

  Whose high endeavours are an inward light

  That makes the path before him always bright:

  Who, with a natural instinct to discern

  What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;

  Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,

  But makes his moral being his prime care;

  Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,

  And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train!

  Turns his necessity to glorious gain;

  In face of these doth exercise a power

  Which is our human nature’s highest dower;

  Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves

  Of their bad influence, and their good receives:

  By objects, which might force the soul to abate

  Her feeling, rendered more compassionate;

  Is placable — because occasions rise

  So often that demand such sacrifice;

  More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,

  As tempted more; more able to endure,

  As more exposed to suffering and distress;

  Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.

  ’Tis he whose law is reason; who depends

  Upon that law as on the best of friends;

  Whence, in a state where men are tempted still

  To evil for a guard against worse ill,

  And what in quality or act is best

  Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,

  He labours good on good to fix, and owes

  To virtue every triumph that he knows:

  Who, if he rise to station of command,

  Rises by open means; and there will stand

  On honourable terms, or else retire,

  And in himself possess his own desire;

  Who comprehends his trust, and to the same

  Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;

  And therefore does not stoop or lie in wait

  For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;

  Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,

  Like showers of manna, if they come at all:

  Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,

  Or mild concerns of ordinary life,

  A constant influence, a peculiar grace;

  But who, if he be called upon to face

  Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined

  Great issues, good or bad for human kind,

  Is happy as a Lover; and attired

  With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;

  And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law

  In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;

  Or if an unexpected call succeed,

  Come when it will, is equal to the need:

  He who, though thus endued as with a sense

  And faculty for storm and turbulence,

  Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans

  To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes;

  Sweet images! which, wheresoe’er he be

  Are at his heart; and such fidelity

  It is his darling passion to approve;

  More brave for this that he hath much to love: —

  ’Tis, finally, the Man, Who, lifted high,

  Conspicuous object in a Nation’s eye,

  Or left unthought-of in obscurity, —

  Who, with a toward or untoward lot,

  Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not—

  Plays, in the many games of life, that one

  Where what he most doth value must be won:

  Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,

  Nor thought of tender happiness betray;

  Who, not content that former worth stand fast,

  Looks forward, persevering to the last,

  From well to better, daily self-surpast:

  Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth

  For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,

  Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,

  And leave a dead unprofitable name —

  Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;

  And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws

  His breath in confidence of Heaven’s applause:

  This is the happy Warrior; this is He

  That every Man in arms should wish to be.

  William Wordsworth

  (1770 – 1850)

  En Avant

  (“Let us be going”)

  There’s a voice from ’way down under,

  Ringing ’round the circling foam, />
  And it says, in tones of thunder —

  “Send, at once, my Bushmen home!”

  ’Tis Australia that’s calling,

  And we echo, everyone,

  Sick of this ignoble brawling —

  “Send us home; our work is done!”

  In the hour of Britain’s trial,

  When successful foes assailed,

  And the noblest self-denial

  And heroic courage failed,

  Never one did flinch or falter,

  But we bared our bosoms leal

  On the sacrificial altar

  Of our nation’s common weal.

  Through the marches, fever haunted,

  Whence pale Death chill arrows drew,

  And his ghostly banner flaunted

  Ever on our straining view;

  Onward, where the straight neck rested

  Far below each frowning height,

  We have hewn a path and wrested

  Vict’ry in our foes’ despite.

  And the brown veld knows us, passing,

  And our foeman know us too,

  On their rocky kopjes massing,

  For our bullets travel true.

  So they greet us when they meet us,

  Along the distant way,

  [Missing Line]

  Is that they’ve found that it will pay.

  On our native hills and sandy plains,

  In peaceful lands afar,

  We learned things that come in handy

  In the deadly game of war.

  For in tracking, dodging, feinting —

  Tricks which every huntsman knows —

  Lies the art of circumventing

  Still more cunning human foes.

  Well enough for child or zeny

  To be dumbly, blindly, led,

  Governed like a tossed-up penny —

  Tail, defeat; a victory, head.

  Independent thought and action,

  Trending to a given goal,

  Bind together sum and fraction

  In a strong, cohesive whole.

  Strange that, for these vital factors,