The Happy Warrior Read online

  In our measure of success,

  Academical detractors

  Condemnation strong express.

  True, we don’t go ‘Nap’ on polish-,

  Soldiers’ business is to kill,

  And we’d cheerfully abolish

  Half the service form and drill.

  Though the vile ‘by numbers’ racket

  I may aptly use in rhyme,

  Plain horse-sense, with pluck to back it,

  Suits the Bushmen every time.

  Of mere regimental antics

  We are wearied, and would fain

  Quit these senseless corybantics

  And take to the bush again.

  Pleased for once, we’ll do a double

  To the stations in the west,

  Where the non-coms cease to trouble

  And a fellow gets a rest

  Bosses there don’t care a (blessing)

  Whether Smith keep step with Jones,

  And there’s no ‘eyes right’ and dressing

  Heelpegs, nosebags, saddles, stones.

  We can sit the war-horse fairly

  When we’re out ‘upon our own’,

  And a ‘want of training’ rarely

  Proves the ‘power behind the thrown’;

  But we’re bound to take a tumble

  When red tape replaces brains

  And some military bumble

  Comes and takes away the reins.

  Not so much we blame the person

  When official acts annoy;

  What we stop to heave a curse on

  Is the system they employ,

  With its hidebound regulations,

  And its blind obedience rules —

  Well designed abominations

  For the stock-in-trade of fools.

  True, the starred, an ill-starred Johnny,

  Dollars many, gumption ‘nix’,

  Though in drill book lore a Don,

  He caps the blessed bag of tricks.

  For these embryo tacticians

  Humbug hath attractions rare

  And the ‘Army’s best traditions’

  Find their best exponents there.

  Such may form a theme for joking,

  But the humour’s not so gay

  When we find John Bull revoking

  As to our Rhodesian pay.

  Things are crooked with an Empire

  Upon which the sun never sets

  When the military vampire

  Cannot pay its lawful debts.

  I’ve no wish to pose as mentor

  In respect to shady modes

  Shown by that financial centaur

  Johnny Ball and Cecil Rhodes,

  But his paper credit’s riddled

  Since he broke his bond to pay,

  And we’re dished and jerry diddled

  Out of sixty pence a day.

  Thus, we’re ‘fed up’. Others phrase it

  In a manner less polite,

  Which, being the sad case, it

  Wouldn’t do for me to write.

  So I’ll wind up with a chorus,

  And all hands will join the strain —

  We have other work before us:

  Kindly send us home again!

  Epilogue

  Away, my bush-bred Pegasus! My nimble brumby go!

  Let’s spread aboard the joyful news all Bushmen long to know: For fourteen months we’ve battled with the drill book and the Boer, And which has been our direst foe I cannot tell, I’m sure; At all event we’ve knocked both out and now, our troubles past, Fling up your hat and kick it, boys —

  We’re going home at last!

  Trooper Fred H. Wyse

  1st Australian Bushmen

  (AWM 3 DRL 6070A)

  * * *

  When Other Lips and Other Hearts

  When other lips and other hearts their tales of love shall tell

  In language whose excess imparts the power they feel so well,

  There maybe perhaps in such a scene

  Some recollection of days that have happy been;

  And you’ll remember me, and you’ll remember me.

  When coldness of deceit shall slight the beauty now they prize

  And deem it but a faded light which beams within your eyes,

  Then you will remember me.

  When hollow hearts shall wear a mask

  T’will break your own to see in such a moment —

  I but ask, that you’ll remember me.

  C. T. Mealing

  14 August 1900

  (AWM PR 00752)

  * * *

  Oh, Give Me Back the Days…

  Oh, give me back the days of long ago,

  When life was one long glad and everlasting dream

  When things that were less than things that seem

  No thought of sorrow then no thought of woe;

  Oh give me back, give me back the days of long ago!

  Oh give me back the days of long ago

  When first fresh breezes breathed from far away,

  When morning’s splendour lingered through the day,

  No thought of sorrow then no thought of woe;

  Oh give me back, give me back the days of long ago!

  Oh give me back the days of long ago,

  When life with flashing power was all agleam

  And love took up and changed it to a dream

  No whisper then of heartbreak nor of pain;

  Oh give me back the good old days of long ago!

  C. T. Mealing

  14 August 1900

  (AWM PR 00752)

  * * *

  Ah, He Kissed Me When He Left Me

  Ah, he kissed me when he left me

  And he told me to be brave,

  “For I go,” he whispered, “Darling

  All that’s dear to me on earth to save.”

  So I stifled down my sobbing

  And I listened with a smile

  For I knew his country called him

  Though my heart should break the while

  Chorus: Ah he kissed me when he left me,

  His parting words remain

  Deep within my bosom, “Dearest

  We shall meet again.”

  Oh, the sun shines just as brightly

  And the world looks just as gay

  As on that fatal morning

  Which bore my love away

  Now, alas, the dust is resting

  On that bold and manly brow,

  And the heart that beat so proudly

  Lieth still and quiet now.

  Yes, he fell, his clear voice ringing

  Loud to cheer his comrades on,

  But now much of you and gladness

  Is with him forever gone.

  Where now the pine tree rustles

  And the southern branches wave,

  There my own true love is lying

  Low within a soldier’s grave.

  C. T. Mealing

  18 August 1900

  (AWM PR 00752)

  * * *

  Untitled

  Oh, are she dead and be her gone

  And is I left here all alone?

  Oh cruel fate you is unkind

  To take the fort and leave I behind;

  Her never will come home to we

  But we will surely go to she!

  C. T. Mealing

  10 August 1900

  (AWM PR 00752)

  * * *

  A Love Poem

  ’Tis you I love and shall forever

  You may change but I shall never

  Let separation be our lot,

  Dearest Ethel forget me not.

  Take this little bunch of flowers

  And the ribbon that is around them,

  Take them to cheer your lonely heart

  And take the boy that bound them.

  When rocks and hills divide us

  And you no more I see,

  Remember dearest Ethyl

  ’Twas Chris
ty that sent this to thee.

  C. T. Mealin

  19 December 1900

  (AWM PR 00752)

  * * *

  A Love Poem

  My dearest Dear my heart’s delight,

  Don’t fret because I am out of sight,

  But bear me in your mind for what I write I am sincere

  I am still in love [with] you my dear

  And as the sand lies on the shore

  It’s you I love and no one more.

  Written by a loving hand and sealed with a kiss

  Think of me, Darling, when you are reading this;

  Think of me [as] the miles between us lay,

  Think of me when far away;

  Think of me and love me true

  When I am far away from you.

  When distance rolls between us shall I forgotten be

  Or will you, when far away, fondly remember me?

  C. T. Mealing

  19 December1900

  (AWM PR 00752)

  * * *

  In the Starlight

  In the starlight, in the starlight, I am dreaming of the past,

  While the soft breezes fan me gently and the time is speeding fast;

  I am dreaming of my darling and all thou art to me,

  I am longing, I am dreaming, in the starlight by the sea.

  In the starlight, in the starlight, once you promised to be true

  And my heart is broken for all its faith was placed in you;

  Oh, thou false forgetting cruel maiden! Dost thou think of me,

  And all the vows we uttered in the starlight by the sea?

  C. T. Mealing

  27 September1900

  (AWM PR 00752)

  Untitled

  This poem was annotated with the following: – “This poem was put together by a mate of mine and not long after he finished it - he got killed. (signed) Bob”

  The Turks thought the Australians

  Did not know how to fight

  But we soon taught them a lesson

  On that awful Sunday night.

  We drove them from the ridges

  Midst shrapnel, shot and shell,

  Our officers were falling

  And for us they made it hell;

  And on that Monday morning

  The sun shone on our heads,

  Saw the stretcher-bearers busy

  With the wounded and the dead.

  They were as thick as rabbits

  And so we took a deadly aim,

  For the men there in our trenches

  Will keep Australia’s name.

  They fought and fell like heroes

  And our rifles getting hot,

  For they plainly burnt our fingers

  As we fired every shot.

  They were using their artillery

  But we never had a gun

  And the odds they were against us

  Yes, they numbered us four to one;

  From hill to hill we bounded

  And before us they were driven;

  There was not a bugle sounded

  And not an order given.

  Our officers — there’s very few

  Left in the first, our Brigade —

  They fought and fell with hearts so true,

  ’Twas a gallant charge we made

  It’s the old British saying

  What we’ve got we’ll hold,

  And the Turks we still keep slaying

  For this country dearly sold.

  And when the battle ended

  And a roll-call has begun,

  And a lot of our young comrades

  Lie bleaching in the sun,

  There will be some anxious faces

  Waiting on Australia’s shore,

  Watching as the troops come home

  For a face they’ll see no more.

  When they turn away sad-hearted

  They all will think the same,

  That men that died in Turkey

  Helped to make Australia’s name.

  Pte R. Thompson 1191

  D Company 2nd Batt

  (AWM PR 85 273)

  * * *

  At Sea

  ’Tis night.

  Across the sea the silver crescent moon

  Is slowly sinking, following to rest

  Her sister orb. The high-arch’d dome above

  Glows with a myriad lesser lights that shine

  Upon the track we follow. All is peace

  In this our little world, while far away

  On Europe’s bloody shores Australia’s sons

  Are giving of their best amid the lust

  and tragedy of war. How strange it is

  That very soon we too perhaps may be

  Enveloped in this dreadful sickening strife!

  God knows what’s held in store for us, and yet

  On such a night as this the joy of life

  And love of home and friends, enwrap the heart

  In such tranquillity that only those

  Who know the Saviour Christ can hope to keep

  Throughout these troubled, storm-tossed years of woe.

  The agony will pass, thank God, and then

  Humanity will rise from out the mire

  To better, finer things and thus will come

  The glorious kingdom of the Lord, our God.

  So we have offered all we have and are

  That by our sacrifice mankind shall learn

  To live for others is the highest life,

  And truest peace is born of truest love.

  Sgt Alan J. Kerr

  24th Battalion AIF

  SS Euripides May 1915

  (AWM 1 DRL 397)

  * * *

  Adieu!

  O ye who live

  Beneath the splendour of the Southern Cross

  In peace we mourn with you the awful loss

  Of thousands of our brothers who have shed

  Their lifeblood in the world war’s stream of red,

  A humbler cross its vigil sad now keeps

  O’er many a spot where some brave hero sleeps

  O ye who love

  The beautiful, the true, the pure and sweet

  Let not a madman crush beneath his feet

  All you hold dear, the music and the art

  Of centuries. Be strong and play your part

  And show the world that he who will not give

  A helping hand has lost the right to live.

  O ye who see

  Beyond this turmoil and chaotic strife

  Beyond this sinful waste of human life

  An age of gold wherein mankind shall dwell

  In highest heaven instead of deepest hell,

  Be not afraid to spread your faith abroad,

  But trust to God for strength — He is the Lord.

  Sgt Alan J. Kerr

  Gallipoli, 16 December 1915

  (AWM 1 DRL 397)

  * * *

  Christmas, 1915

  ’Tis Christmas Eve. In all the camps

  There gleam a host of tiny lamps

  That make the hill on which I stand

  A veritable fairyland.

  For friends at home and far away

  Have helped us celebrate the day

  By sending each and every man

  A present of a billycan

  Crammed full of wondrous things inside,

  You couldn’t guess them if you tried.

  Tobacco, socks and butterscotch,

  And for some lucky chap, a watch;

  Tinned cheese, and ham, and bloater-paste,

  Sweet biscuits (which we will not waste)

  Toothbrushes, chocolate, lanoline,

  Bootlaces, cocoa, vaseline,

  Stewed fruit, cigars, a Christmas cake,

  And writing pad all helped to make

  A gift as pleasant to receive

  On service as it was to give.

  Now the first excitement o’er

  And as I listen from the
shore,

  A wave of song towards me floats

  From fairy choirs in fairy boats

  Bearing the message of love and praise

  And a prayer for purer, better days.

  The Spirit of God is hovering there

  In the wondrous calm of the still night air,

  For the roughest heart has seen again

  A vision of peace and goodwill to men.

  So here’s to you, good friends and true,

  And ‘hands across the oceans blue’;

  We wish you all both far and near:

  A happy Christmas, a prosperous New Year!

  Sgt Alan J. Kerr

  (AWM 1 DRL 397)

  * * *

  The Dardanelles

  A Tribute to Our Boys at the Front

  Who said our boys were laggards?

  Who called Australia black,

  The home of sports and spielers,

  From Sydney and way back?

  Who taunted us with wanting

  Discipline, courage, go?

  Who said we were not soldiers,

  But just an idle show?

  Not Kitchener or Joffre,

  Not Hamilton or French;

  Not Uncle Sam or Poincaire —

  But critics at the bench.

  They judged us as rough bushmen,

  Who gape like gawking fools

  At every bloomin’ hustler,

  Too raw for rods or schools.

  They passed us by as stockmen,

  Forgot we learnt to ride

  The toughest mounts with hoofs on

  When school boys, with a pride

  That equalled any leader

  Of dauntless cavalry;

  Forgot, too, that our shots were

  More than ABC

  We never missed a target,

  Nor failed a pal when down;

  For hearts are warm in our land —

  What matters to a crown?

  Our fathers’ blood is in us

  The British pioneer!

  And those who scorn Australians;

  Old Britain’s sons must sneer.

  Let ev’ry tongue defame us,

  Let braggarts scoff and scorn,

  We’ve made a page for history

  That never dare be torn.

  We’ve shown our pluck and courage,

  We’ve rung the grim death knells,

  At Turkey’s gates we thundered

  In the famous Dardanelles.

  At school we learnt that Turkey

  Had built her forts supreme,

  And nations looked upon her strength