- Joined
- Apr 12, 2005
- Messages
- 302
- Points
- 28
Don't know who the author is but well worth the read... >
> I wanderer thru a country town, 'cos I had some time to spare,
> And went into an antique shop to see what was in there.
> Old Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all,
> A photo of a soldier boy - an Anzac on the Wall.
>
> 'The Anzac have a name?' I asked. The old man answered 'No,.
> The ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago.
> The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale,
> The photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale.
>
> 'I asked around,' the old man said, 'but no one knows his face,
> He's been on that wall twenty years... deserves a better place.
> For some one must have loved him, so it seems a shame somehow.'
> I nodded in agreement and then said, 'I'll take him now.'
>
> My nameless digger's photo, well it was a sorry sight
> A cracked glass pane and a broken frame - I had to make it right
> To prise the photo from its frame I took care just in case,
> Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place.
>
> I peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise,
> Two letters and a telegram appeared before my eyes
> The first reveals my Anzac's name, and regiment of course
> John Mathew Francis Stuart - of Australia 's own Light Horse.
>
> This letter written from the front... my interest now was keen
> This note was dated August seventh 1917
> 'Dear Mum, I'm at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red Sea
> They say it's in the Bible - looks like a Billabong to me.
>
> 'My Kathy wrote I'm in her prayers... she's still my bride to be
> I just cant wait to see you both, you're all the world to me.
> And Mum you'll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him out
> I told him to call on you when he's up and about.'
>
> 'That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funny
> He lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the Co's dunny.
> I told you how he dragged me wounded, in from no man's land
> He stopped the bleeding closed the wound with only his bare
> hand.'
>
> 'Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blast
> It was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldn't last.
> He woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mind
> Cause out there on the battlefield he'd left one leg behind.'
>
> 'He's been in a bad way Mum, he knows he'll ride no more
> Like me he loves a horse's back, he was a champ before.
> So Please Mum can you take him in, he's been like my own brother
> Raised in a Queensland orphanage he' s never known a mother.'
>
> But Struth, I miss Australia Mum, and in my mind each day
> I am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away.
> I'm mustering white-faced cattle, with no camel's hump in sight
> And I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night
>
> I wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt down
> I'll always love you and please say hooroo to all in town'.
> The second letter I could see, was in a lady's hand
> An answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land.
>
> Her copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and clean
> It bore the date, November 3rd 1917.
> 'T'was hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the war
> I'd hoped you would be home by now - each day I miss you more'
>
> 'Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been away
> To share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day.
> And Bluey has arrived - and what a godsend he has been
> We talked and laughed for days about the things you've done and
> seen'
>
> 'He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm,
> I read the same hope in his eyes that you won't come to harm.
> Mc Connell's kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed.
> We had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange.'
>
> 'Last Wednesday, just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight,
> It raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright.
> It really spooked your Billy - and he screamed and bucked and
> reared
> And then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he
> cleared'
>
> 'They brought him back next afternoon, but something's changed I
> fear
> It's like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near.
> Remember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane?
> Now Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame,'
>
> 'That's why we need you home son' - then the flow of ink went
> dry-
> This letter was unfinished, and I couldn't work out why.
> Until I started reading, the letter number three
> A yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy,
>
> Her son killed in action - oh - what pain that must have been
> The Same date as her letter - 3rd November 17
> This letter which was never sent, became then one of three
> She sealed behind the photo's face - the face she longed to see.
>
> And John's home town's old timers - children when he went to war
> Would say no greater cattleman had left the town before.
> They knew his widowed mother well - and with respect did tell
> How when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well.
>
> She could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak
> 'My Johnny's at the war you know, he's coming home next week.'
> They all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end.
> A younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend.
>
> And he would go and find her when she wandered old and weak
> And always softly say 'yes dear - John will be home next week.'
> Then when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say.
> I tried to find out where he went, but don't know to this day.
>
> And Kathy never wed - a lonely spinster some found odd.
> She wouldn't set foot in a church - she'd turned her back on God.
> John's mother left no Will I learned on my detective trail.
> This explains my photo's journey, of that clearance sale.
>
> So I continued digging, cause I wanted to know more.
> I found John's name with thousands, in the records of the war.
> His last ride proved his courage - a ride you will acclaim
> The Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame.
> That last day in October back in 1917
> At 4pm our brave boys fell - that sad fact I did glean.
> That's when John's life was sacrificed, the record's crystal
> clear
> But 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here......
>
> So as John's gallant sprit rose to cross the great divide,
> Were lightning bolts back home, a signal from the other side?
> Is that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain?
> Because he'd never feel his master on his back again?
>
> Was it coincidental? same time - same day - same date?
> Some proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate?
> I think it's more than that you know, as I've heard wiser men,
> Acknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken
>
> Where craggy peaks guard secrets neath dark skies torn asunder,
> Where hoofbeats are companions to the rolling waves of thunder
> Where lightning cracks like 303's and ricochets again
> Where howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men
>
> Some Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track,
> They've glimpsed a huge black stallion - Light Horseman on his
> back.
> Yes Sceptics say, it's swirling clouds just forming apparitions
> Oh no, my friend you can't dismiss all this as superstition.
>
> The desert of Beersheba - or windswept Aussie range,
> John Stuart rides on forever there - Now I don't find that all
> strange.
> Now some gaze upon this photo, and they often question me
> And I tell them a small white lie, and say he's family.
>
> 'You must be proud of him.' they say - I tell them, one and all,
> That's why he takes - the pride of place - my Anzac on the Wall.
>
>
>
The Anzac on the Wall
> I wanderer thru a country town, 'cos I had some time to spare,
> And went into an antique shop to see what was in there.
> Old Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all,
> A photo of a soldier boy - an Anzac on the Wall.
>
> 'The Anzac have a name?' I asked. The old man answered 'No,.
> The ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago.
> The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale,
> The photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale.
>
> 'I asked around,' the old man said, 'but no one knows his face,
> He's been on that wall twenty years... deserves a better place.
> For some one must have loved him, so it seems a shame somehow.'
> I nodded in agreement and then said, 'I'll take him now.'
>
> My nameless digger's photo, well it was a sorry sight
> A cracked glass pane and a broken frame - I had to make it right
> To prise the photo from its frame I took care just in case,
> Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place.
>
> I peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise,
> Two letters and a telegram appeared before my eyes
> The first reveals my Anzac's name, and regiment of course
> John Mathew Francis Stuart - of Australia 's own Light Horse.
>
> This letter written from the front... my interest now was keen
> This note was dated August seventh 1917
> 'Dear Mum, I'm at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red Sea
> They say it's in the Bible - looks like a Billabong to me.
>
> 'My Kathy wrote I'm in her prayers... she's still my bride to be
> I just cant wait to see you both, you're all the world to me.
> And Mum you'll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him out
> I told him to call on you when he's up and about.'
>
> 'That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funny
> He lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the Co's dunny.
> I told you how he dragged me wounded, in from no man's land
> He stopped the bleeding closed the wound with only his bare
> hand.'
>
> 'Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blast
> It was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldn't last.
> He woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mind
> Cause out there on the battlefield he'd left one leg behind.'
>
> 'He's been in a bad way Mum, he knows he'll ride no more
> Like me he loves a horse's back, he was a champ before.
> So Please Mum can you take him in, he's been like my own brother
> Raised in a Queensland orphanage he' s never known a mother.'
>
> But Struth, I miss Australia Mum, and in my mind each day
> I am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away.
> I'm mustering white-faced cattle, with no camel's hump in sight
> And I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night
>
> I wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt down
> I'll always love you and please say hooroo to all in town'.
> The second letter I could see, was in a lady's hand
> An answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land.
>
> Her copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and clean
> It bore the date, November 3rd 1917.
> 'T'was hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the war
> I'd hoped you would be home by now - each day I miss you more'
>
> 'Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been away
> To share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day.
> And Bluey has arrived - and what a godsend he has been
> We talked and laughed for days about the things you've done and
> seen'
>
> 'He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm,
> I read the same hope in his eyes that you won't come to harm.
> Mc Connell's kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed.
> We had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange.'
>
> 'Last Wednesday, just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight,
> It raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright.
> It really spooked your Billy - and he screamed and bucked and
> reared
> And then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he
> cleared'
>
> 'They brought him back next afternoon, but something's changed I
> fear
> It's like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near.
> Remember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane?
> Now Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame,'
>
> 'That's why we need you home son' - then the flow of ink went
> dry-
> This letter was unfinished, and I couldn't work out why.
> Until I started reading, the letter number three
> A yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy,
>
> Her son killed in action - oh - what pain that must have been
> The Same date as her letter - 3rd November 17
> This letter which was never sent, became then one of three
> She sealed behind the photo's face - the face she longed to see.
>
> And John's home town's old timers - children when he went to war
> Would say no greater cattleman had left the town before.
> They knew his widowed mother well - and with respect did tell
> How when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well.
>
> She could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak
> 'My Johnny's at the war you know, he's coming home next week.'
> They all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end.
> A younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend.
>
> And he would go and find her when she wandered old and weak
> And always softly say 'yes dear - John will be home next week.'
> Then when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say.
> I tried to find out where he went, but don't know to this day.
>
> And Kathy never wed - a lonely spinster some found odd.
> She wouldn't set foot in a church - she'd turned her back on God.
> John's mother left no Will I learned on my detective trail.
> This explains my photo's journey, of that clearance sale.
>
> So I continued digging, cause I wanted to know more.
> I found John's name with thousands, in the records of the war.
> His last ride proved his courage - a ride you will acclaim
> The Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame.
> That last day in October back in 1917
> At 4pm our brave boys fell - that sad fact I did glean.
> That's when John's life was sacrificed, the record's crystal
> clear
> But 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here......
>
> So as John's gallant sprit rose to cross the great divide,
> Were lightning bolts back home, a signal from the other side?
> Is that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain?
> Because he'd never feel his master on his back again?
>
> Was it coincidental? same time - same day - same date?
> Some proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate?
> I think it's more than that you know, as I've heard wiser men,
> Acknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken
>
> Where craggy peaks guard secrets neath dark skies torn asunder,
> Where hoofbeats are companions to the rolling waves of thunder
> Where lightning cracks like 303's and ricochets again
> Where howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men
>
> Some Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track,
> They've glimpsed a huge black stallion - Light Horseman on his
> back.
> Yes Sceptics say, it's swirling clouds just forming apparitions
> Oh no, my friend you can't dismiss all this as superstition.
>
> The desert of Beersheba - or windswept Aussie range,
> John Stuart rides on forever there - Now I don't find that all
> strange.
> Now some gaze upon this photo, and they often question me
> And I tell them a small white lie, and say he's family.
>
> 'You must be proud of him.' they say - I tell them, one and all,
> That's why he takes - the pride of place - my Anzac on the Wall.
>
>
>
