Was it so long ago when we seemed immortal and soldiered together
Sent to train at Canungra in all sorts of miserable weather
Ambushing, attacking and defending by day and by night
Being toughened up by experts and learning how to fight
Running, jumping, shooting, yelling and always trying to be best
Preparing for Vietnam which would be our ultimate test
Then came the time, from our shores we did leave
Were we really that young, so innocent, sonaïve?
Soon we were in an arena of death for the very first time
Fleeting shadows, bunker systems, paddyfields and lots of mines
Tired, thirsty, hungry, filthy, stumbling and tangled in wait- a-while vines
An urgent jargon of “fire mission”, “bush ranger’, “dustoff’ and other call signs
Always the curses and the wry jokes when there was bad news
The constant yarns of when we went home and what we would do
The taunts, the jibes at those other units was all part of the rare fun
Seeking news of footy finals and which horse in the Melbourne Cup had won
The hovering chopper, the wounded and dead lifted and a final goodbye
Then back to the task at hand and no time to cry
Arriving back in Oz close to midnight and hustled away
Told not to wear uniform on leave forever and a day
Returning to a familiar city but finding a strange new race
Two legged sheep in cloth walking the streets at busy pace
Yesterday’s cheers now converted to glares and “why did you go?”
Noisy chanting protests and VC flags being waved to and fro
Now in today’s dawn, the silence is broken and the bugle does call
Its mournful moving sound is heard by all
Beyond the sea of mourning faces I see them once more
Ghostly images of youth never to return to their beloved shore
Weary, panting, going forward into certain danger to have another go
Few outside the brotherhood would understand what made them so
As the parade ends, I hate to admit it but after so many years, I’m old
Certainly much wiser and definitely not bold
Thankful to have been so fortunate for such a long life
Unlike dear comrades who perished so young in times of terrible strife
I know that tonight in restless sleep I’ll hear the night birds shriek and cry
A curse on that cruel ruthless bitch called war; dear God; why oh why
George Mansford©June 2011
Speak Your Mind