ANZAC DAY 2009

           Poem by Clyde Hamilton

The ANZAC Day march was over - the old Digger had done his

best.

His body ached from marching - it was time to sit and rest.

He made his way to a park bench and sat with lowered head.

A young boy passing saw him - approached and politely said,

“Please sir do you mind if I ask you what the medals you wear

are for?

Did you get them for being a hero, when fighting in a war?"

Startled, the old Digger moved over and beckoned the boy to sit.

Eagerly the lad accepted - he had not expected this!

"First of all I was not a hero," said the old Digger in solemn

tone,

"But I served with many heroes, the ones that never came home.

So when you talk o f heroes, it's important to understand,

The greatest of all heroes gave their lives defending this land.

'The medals are worn in their honour, as a symbol of respect.

All diggers wear them on ANZAC Day - it shows they don't

forget."

The old digger then climbed to his feet and asked the boy to

stand.

Carefully he removed the medals and placed them in his hand.

He told him he could keep them - to treasure throughout his life,

A legacy of a kind - left behind - paid for in sacrifice.

Overwhelmed the young boy was speechless - he couldn't find

words to say.

It was there the old Digger left him - going quietly on his way.

In the distance the young boy glimpsed him - saw him turn

and wave goodbye.

Saddened he sat alone on the bench - tears welled in his eyes.

He never again saw him ever - but still remembers with pride,

when the old Digger told him of Heroes and a young boy sat

and cried.

ANZAC DAY 2008

Anzac Day 2008 will be the same as previous years; we form up at 10 AM in Elizabeth Street opposite David Jones. After the march our reunion luncheon will be at City Tattersalls Club in Pitt Street Sydney. The cost of the lunch will be $40 per head and our ladies and friends are welcome. Bookings must be made and paid for by Sunday 1 April 2008 to our treasurer Larry Kovalevsky, Villa 3 23-25 Smalls Road Ryde NSW 2112. Phone (02) 9889 0575. The new committee would appreciate your support this year, as we have lost so many of our loyal supporters.

A SOLDIER DIED TODAY

He was getting old and paunchy

And his hair was falling fast,

And he sat around the RSL Club,

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 mates;

They were heroes, every one.

 

And 'tho sometimes to his neighbours

His tales became a joke,

All his mates listened quietly

For they knew whereof 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

Went to battle, but we still pine.

It was 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 honour

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."

~author unknown