bush musketeer
Active member
A fav poem of mine
THE REAL ANZACS
There are plenty of slouch-hatted soldiers in town,
Doughty and debonair, stalwart and brown;
Some are from weymouth or sailsbury plain,
Others have "pushed" in the western campaign;
Call them "overseas soldiers" or "downunder men"
Declare that each is as daring as ten;
Call them cornstalks or fernleaves all out for a fight,
But dont call them ANZACS, for that isn't right.
The ANZACS, their ranks are scanty but all told,
Have a seperate record illuminated in gold;
Their blood on Gallipoli's ridges they poured,
Their souls with the scars of that struggle are scored,
Not many are left, and not many are sound,
And thousands lie buried in Turkish ground,
These are the ANZACS; the others may claim,
Their zeal and their spirit, but never their name.
by an unknown Aussie soldier
THE REAL ANZACS
There are plenty of slouch-hatted soldiers in town,
Doughty and debonair, stalwart and brown;
Some are from weymouth or sailsbury plain,
Others have "pushed" in the western campaign;
Call them "overseas soldiers" or "downunder men"
Declare that each is as daring as ten;
Call them cornstalks or fernleaves all out for a fight,
But dont call them ANZACS, for that isn't right.
The ANZACS, their ranks are scanty but all told,
Have a seperate record illuminated in gold;
Their blood on Gallipoli's ridges they poured,
Their souls with the scars of that struggle are scored,
Not many are left, and not many are sound,
And thousands lie buried in Turkish ground,
These are the ANZACS; the others may claim,
Their zeal and their spirit, but never their name.
by an unknown Aussie soldier