The Anzacs

kevr

kevr

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May 2, 2010
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Location
Kaiapoi, New Zealand
“We Shall Keep the Faith”


Oh! You who sleep in Flanders Fields,
Sleep sweet-to rise anew!
We caught the torch you threw
And holding high, we keep the Faith
With all who died.


We cherish, too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valour led;
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders Fields.


And now the Torch and Poppy red
We wear in honour of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We’ll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.


Miss Moina Michael (1869-1944),


anzac-poppy.gif
 
Lest we forget.

For the first time in 10 years the kids are not marching (wife and son have to work), and I wont be going due to work as well.
 
They went with songs to the battle,
they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes,
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.

LEST WE FORGET
 
Diggers Lament

It was with great sadness, that we saw
a dusty old digger, turned from the door
for a century he and his mates had drunk
and laughed and cried, and lived through war

But now it seems, he is not the right class
No suit, no tie, no belt of brass
To him it was all a tragic mystery
Who were these Australians, who had forgotten their own history?

Somewhat in shock, we skulled our beers
and rushed to join, our aging peer
hey cobber, we yelled, knowing his tounge
he turned and stared, eyeing us one by one

We built this bloody country, said he
with our bloody hands
we spilt our blood, we gave our youth
and this is the thanks we have

In our day the pub was for one and all
a place for laugh and cheer
at the very least, an honest bloke
could find an honest beer

Now noone wants to know us
they throw us on the street
sometimes I wonder why we bothered
getting butchered, like raw meat

the fair dinkums we were known as
as we fought the war of hate
but most of all, we aussie blokes
fought for one another - as good mates

Now I look around at Sydney
Well, it just ain't the same
the crowds - they aren't my people
what they are is just a shame

they shove, they push, they toot their horns
they speak american if you're lucky
the dinkum aussies, my cobbers and I
we're disappearing in a hurry

there's no shouting, mateship or blokeyness
and 'bloody oath' is considered crude
they think they are all winners
I just think they're bloody rude

they carry on, throughout their lives
chasing the almighty zac
but they know no joy, they have no mates
they'll die alone - for moneys sake

and what's worse, he sighed, is not here and now
but where we're going to be
and I ask myself, as I slowly die
what happened to my country.

David Downie, 2000

Lest we Forget
 
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