Fat
I have not yet begun to procrastinate!
Administrator
Hero Member
Posts: 8686
|
|
« on: April 26, 2010, 02:15:40 am » |
|
A Poem Worth Reading This arrived in my inbox from a friend a few minutes ago
He was getting old and paunchy And his hair was falling fast, And he sat around the RSL, 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 buddies; They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors His tales became a joke, All his mates listened quietly For they knew where of 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 and Johnnys, Went to battle, but we know,
It is 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 honor 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."
|
No. I'm not crazy, but I am a carrier!
|
|
|
|
Pim
|
|
« Reply #1 on: April 26, 2010, 02:34:36 am » |
|
Fat, you know what's really sad? I'd look at those geriatric doddering old diggers, WW1 veterans, back in the days when there still were doddering old WW1 veterans (no disrespect intended here btw). When did the last one die? Only a few years ago I think. But certainly back in the 1990s and 1980s there were still a few around. I lived in Canberra and you'd see them at the War Memorial for the Anzac service. They'd be there, looking at least 90 in the shade, dressed in their suits but wearing their medals and their slouch hats and sitting in their wheelchairs. What struck me was that here were these frail old men in the 1990s who'd been involved in events of 80 years previously, in their youth, and these events defined the next 80 years of their lives. The older they got and the longer they lived, the more they became public property and the more those events of their distant youth, the best part of a century in the past, defined who they were.
They were casualties of that war right up until the end.
I sometimes wonder that if we could hear their ghosts, what you'd hear would be something like: "Oh bloody hell, not another flamin' Anzac Day! For gorsakes give us some flamin' peace!"
Maybe the time is coming that "ne obliviscaris" should be changed to "requiescant in pace".
|
In the Trumpworld, it’s the stupidity, stupid! In the real world it’s “I’ll take the guy who’s 81 over the guy who has 91 felony counts.
|
|
|
Fat
I have not yet begun to procrastinate!
Administrator
Hero Member
Posts: 8686
|
|
« Reply #2 on: April 26, 2010, 05:16:07 am » |
|
I do not think we should ever forget the cost of war.
|
No. I'm not crazy, but I am a carrier!
|
|
|
Bender
|
|
« Reply #3 on: April 26, 2010, 11:22:49 am » |
|
If we didn't forget it we'd never get new kiddies to sign up Fat. War needs to be glorious, patriotic, a fight for our freedom, democracy and our way of life.
|
He won the lottery, when he was born A big hand slapped a white male miracle Trained like dogs, colour and smell Walks by me to get to him Policeman, Policeman
Do no wrong, so clean cut Dirty his hands it comes right off Policeman, Policeman
|
|
|
Tonto Wolftoke
Guest
|
|
« Reply #4 on: April 26, 2010, 11:53:37 am » |
|
When I was lad in cadets playing a snare drum in a band on ANZAC day in the Sydney march, some of us after the march went to a pub in Woolloomoloo, albeit well under age, and the Tom Uren came to our table being the only cadets there, and he said after customary greetings... "lads, forget the glory and don't ever forget what those bastards had done to good men"...didn't know who he was at the time but in his presence we all knew and agreed he was a honourable and distinguished gentleman of some notabilty, judging by the way other patrons/ex-servicemen greeted him.
|
|
|
|
Fat
I have not yet begun to procrastinate!
Administrator
Hero Member
Posts: 8686
|
|
« Reply #5 on: April 26, 2010, 01:26:34 pm » |
|
I found this peom some 30 years ago but it still moves me deeply
Lost in France
He had the ploughman's strength in the grasp of his hand; he could see a crow three miles away, and the trout beneath the stone. He could hear the green oats growing, and the south-west wind making rain. He could hear the wheel upon the hill when it left the level road. He could make a gate, and dig a pit, and plough as straight as stone can fall. And he is dead.
Ernest Rhys 1859-1946
|
No. I'm not crazy, but I am a carrier!
|
|
|
Bender
|
|
« Reply #6 on: April 26, 2010, 02:06:20 pm » |
|
Why didn't he stick to doing all those things which it appears he was extremely talented at instead of haring off overseas to become a part of the landscape?
We can always use more gates and pits here.....
|
He won the lottery, when he was born A big hand slapped a white male miracle Trained like dogs, colour and smell Walks by me to get to him Policeman, Policeman
Do no wrong, so clean cut Dirty his hands it comes right off Policeman, Policeman
|
|
|
|
|