The Happy Warrior

by Kerry B Collison

  On the Breaking up of 116 AGT. Company, Marrickville

  (With apologies to Banjo Paterson)

  There was movement in the unit, for the word had passed around

  That the 116 GT was moving out,

  And the rumours spread like wildfire, from the cookhouse to the ‘shop’

  ’Til no-one really knew just what was what.

  The Sections all were grounded, not a truck was allowed out,

  The transport office quiet like the grave,

  But ‘Workshops’ kept on working, true, with very little zest,

  Each man concerned with thoughts his skin to save.

  “We’re going all to Burma,” was the first thing that we heard,

  Then each one came his little tale to tell.

  “I heard this from the Major,” or, “Up in the orderly room,”

  But the truth is, no one is allowed to tell.

  The men stood ’round in batches, each one speaking, quiet like,

  Like mourners speaking of a friend just gone,

  And so it was in figure, for the unit really had

  Ceased to exist in name, though not in form.

  The Workshops trucks were ready for their journey further north,

  With all the inside nicely fitted up,

  By Sgt Oby and young Dave, with Monty looking on,

  And S. M. Griffo dodging in and out.

  The ‘Moresby limp’ was evident amongst quite a number there,

  Myself and Bill Grey both had it bad.

  Old Stanley Noakes was suffering from ‘Central Aussie cramp’,

  While others tried to make out they were glad.

  Old George Nerney did not care at all where he was sent,

  As long as it was somewhere near a pub,

  While Alfie Weymark sure would die away from smallgoods shop

  Because he couldn’t stomach Army grub.

  The ‘Pommy Lout’ was shoutin’ out and making lots of fun,

  Well, so were all the rest of us, for that,

  Each one concerned with covering his feelings from the rest

  And hoping that the move was not to come.

  Our Storeman ‘Drumstick Baker’ managed to get very ill,

  And to the hospital was straightway sent,

  But fitter ‘Billy Gibson’ had to stand a lot of things,

  Wondering where his last two bob had gone and went.

  One consolation was that we had not much work to do,

  A very rare thing for us,

  It gave us time to get our foreign orders all cleaned up,

  With no one spotting us to make a fuss.

  Old Jake got out to Salvage just in time, the lucky cow,

  Although I don’t suppose we’ll need him where

  We’re going, cos it never rains out in that dry old desert land,

  So windscreen wipers are not needed there.

  Billy Mose the Welder is sure to like it over there,

  No rain to spoil his days off, so to speak,

  But Bollins, well I don’t know how he’ll manage without Mum,

  Not seeing her for weeks and weeks and weeks.

  There’s ‘Happy’ Howard, Ronnie ‘Hot’, and Jimmy Latham too,

  And ‘Draughty’ Bill from Section 25,

  And not forgetting ‘Aussie’, he’s the dreamy Sergeant man,

  On bottled stuff he mostly seems to thrive.

  Then there’s ‘Champion J.’ and Godden, writing letters by the score

  And ‘Ding Dong’ Bell and ‘Bunny’ Guerin too,

  And silly Carrapiett fooling ‘round the whole day through,

  ’Tho’ better mate one never need wish for.

  A few more names and then the list is just about complete,

  With Raymond Ford, the carpentering man,

  And ‘Bluey’ Atkinson and ‘Kingy’ Clem the Storeman Sarge

  And ‘Tinny’ Wetzler, Poker playing fan.

  Of course there’s ‘Mother’ Evans, we must never forget him,

  Though often through the day he is unseen,

  And ‘Mac’ who’s always reading, and his Sergeant ‘Bricky’ Brad,

  And Harry Douglas — not a bad old bean.

  The ‘Staff ’ — we’ll ne’er forget him, like he often forgets us,

  I mean when jobs are being handed out,

  And D. M. Dunk and ‘Gilly’, who seem really very keen

  And Bruce and ‘Robbo’, both just marching out.

  There’s Sgt King who is away just now in Melbourne town,

  But will be back again with us some day

  To show us how to time a Ford, or fix a gearbox up,

  Or change a plug the right and proper way.

  Then there’s those of whom we’ll often think, who are not with us now,

  Like old Ralph Haken, ‘five minutes to go’,

  And ‘Scotty’ Duncan, good old toiler, not a bad old stick,

  And not forgetting poor old cranky Joe.

  There’s one thing that we’ll ne’er forget, no matter where we be,

  On desert sands or South Pacific isle,

  When we are tired and hungry, or resting in the shade

  Or playing cards, or idle for awhile,

  And that’s the ladies — regular as clockwork did they come

  Each Sunday with their loads of scones and cakes,

  With smiles and pleasant words of cheer to help us on our way,

  And army life monotony to break.

  Pte Jim Baker NX139320

  30 January 1943

  * * *

  The Salvage

  On active service not dismayed,

  Who is this Unit on parade?

  None other than the Salvage crowd,

  Shoulders back and heads unbowed.

  “Attention there!” “Stand at ease!”

  Your gallant ‘Fuhrer’, you must please.

  He stands commanding your regard,

  His gun attached, “On guard!” “On guard!”

  ‘Note book’ Hall looks slightly hurt,

  ‘Gas’ Cunningham is on the alert.

  ‘Shields’ wants to put you on the peg,

  ‘Barrett’ is immovable — don’t pull his leg.

  And there’s dark Durack full of sin,

  With P. T. Gatherer so still and grim.

  A post for Walker would be a small cost;

  Skinner and Hampton appear to be lost.

  Dalton and Plummer sometimes run the show.

  Maclean as far as words has a wonderful flow;

  There’s young ‘Tich’ Wilson the Unit’s noise

  And criminal Smith, one of the boys.

  The ‘Woorooloo Ram’ with his short arm is there,

  And ‘Transfer Charlton’ so fat and fair.

  ‘Megaphone’ Foley can sometimes be heard;

  The ‘Limping Scuttler’ is a bit of a bird.

  There’s Private Plant of the ‘Wailing Wall’

  And Lanky ‘Fields’ with his nobs and all;

  The Dunlops brothers can give you a pain,

  Gabell looks on in sarcastic vein.

  There is also our youthful ‘Bantam Howard’

  And overrated Ovens who looks a bit soured.

  Rudkin there our spoiler of food,

  ‘Whispering’ Willis stands in pensive mood.

  There’s ‘Gambler’ Power small and hairy,

  And ‘Little’ Fitch the Unit’s fairy.

  Plus little Kent who talks with beer,

  Of steady Iredell you never hear.

  There’s ‘Two-Ton Tony’ with all his might,

  Lench, Hartnett and Phillips are pretty quiet

  ‘Goggle Eyed Merry’ stares with defiance,

  Collins and ‘Two Up’ have sworn an alliance.

  McDonald looks glum, his temper is short;

  McKenzie, junior recruit, has come to report;

  Summers the card fiend, is going to the dogs;

  James looks ashamed of his
friends the ‘Wogs’

  “Attention! Attention!” “Stand at ease! Stand at ease!”

  ’Tis the call of the Salvage, a sort of disease.

  “Will you take my punishment, or have a Court martial?”

  You must say the Fuhrer is fairly impartial.

  Sgt John Patrick Hampton

  9th Aust. Div. Salvage Section

  (AWM PR 00759)

  * * *

  Song of Tobruk

  They brought us, from Australia to fight the Nazi Hun,

  Who’re once more on the Warpath, well equipped with tanks and guns.

  They shoved us into Libya where, the guide book says, it’s grand,

  But forgets to mention little things, like flies and fleas and sand,

  Tobruk was chosen as the place for us to ‘Strut our Stuff ’.

  Old Jerry soon besieged it and began to treat us rough;

  He dropped a kindly hint or two as to how we soon would cop it

  Advising us to turn it in, forget the war and hop it.

  Now being mad Australians we just didn’t take the drum,

  So he sent his diving Stukas and made things dam well hum;

  A few blokes took the final count, and some joints got knocked about,

  But the damage done, as Tommies say, was really “Bleeding nowt!”

  He keeps on raiding with his planes, drops bombs and booby traps,

  His soldiers sometimes make a move, and the lads have front line scraps,

  But months have passed, he must admit, it seems we’re here to stay

  Till the Springboks come to join us, marching up from Bardia way.

  And when we’re back at home again and all this strife is o’er,

  Some silly is sure to ask, “How did you win the War?”

  You can look the bloke right in the face and pat the baby’s curls,

  Say “We defended old Tobruk, where there wasn’t any girls.”

  Of all the Units we have here, there’s one we’d like to toast,

  They’re always up to something, but you never hear them boast.

  It’s good to hear them working, with reverberating crack.

  We dip our lid sincerely to — the boys of the Ack Ack.

  Sgt John Patrick Hampton

  9 Aust. Div. Salvage Section

  (AWM PR 00759)

  * * *

  Never Beaten

  The following verses were written by Cpl Manning of B Company while his company was in occupation of the forward post during the period when they suffered heavy casualties from enemy shellfire. The Latin, Nunquain Victus or ‘Never Beaten’ is the motto of the old 48th Battalion of the first AIF.

  They were drawn together by some master hand,

  Who chose them somehow throughout the land

  And flung them into the melting pot,

  Where for a time they were as men forgot.

  Now some there were who knew quite clear

  They were there for all they held most dear.

  Others had come for what they’d see,

  And others after some wild spree.

  Then came a time when tempers were tried.

  We were mucked about ’til we could have cried,

  And we mocked and jeered at Esprit de corps,

  Saying, “What the hell do they take us for?”

  At last we heard of the blue and white

  And what it meant in the world of fight;

  Tales were told of the men who’d worn it

  And with what pride and glory they bore it.

  We listened to men who had gone before

  Of the tales they told of the last great war,

  Wondering how we could stand the test

  Of measuring up to the Nation’s best.

  Then was the time we got the idea

  Of something that rose above mere fear

  And felt the stir of a strange new pride

  In things we used once to deride.

  Then came the day we were waiting for,

  When we saw the last of Australia’s shore!

  But still we were a polyglot crew

  And what we’d do well — no one knew

  We landed at last, in Palestine,

  And if all thoughts were the same as mine

  We had the idea we were a garrison mob,

  Not thought worthy of a real man’s job.

  Then came orders. We were due for a shift,

  And you could feel our spirit begin to lift

  For the news got round we were moving west

  Going, perhaps, to our first big test.

  We finished up on the Libyan plain

  And thought once more we had to train,

  And then they found us jobs to do,

  Which could have been done by an infant crew.

  At last we were moved by the powers-that-be

  From a resting place by the still blue sea;

  We had camped, for a breathing space,

  In what, to us, was a damned good place.

  Then rumours came: Things weren’t so hot

  For-our ancient foe had us on the trot.

  We were moving back — or so they said —

  Though then we thought the war was dead

  Back we were going, and going quick,

  For Jerry’s tanks were pretty slick;

  This was the time we’d been waiting for,

  “At last,” we said, “We’re in the war!”

  Back and back and still back we went,

  ’Til we wondered what our bosses meant,

  And strength and endurance were needed now

  For sleep was a thing that was snatched somehow.

  Although we went through a little hell,

  There was something born which repaid us well,

  For we learnt what mateship really meant

  And knew ’twould last where e’er we went.

  The backward rush was stopped at last.

  Outside Tobruk we were told, “Stand fast!”

  And there we were — untried men

  Waiting for something beyond our ken.

  We lay all day under the torrid sun,

  There was our baptism of fire begun.

  We learnt the whine of the screaming shell

  And some suffered more than they will tell.

  But to cut and run never entered a head

  Although we saw our mates lie dead,

  And all of us made a determined vow,

  We’d avenge their deaths on the Hun somehow

  For a week or more there we stood,

  Although he flung at us all he could,

  And flat we lay on the stoney earth,

  While his planes and bombs tested our worth.

  Then came the day when his plunging tanks

  Charged up and down our meagre ranks,

  And we knew when they had passed

  We’d take all he’d give and still stand fast

  But best of all, there in my heart,

  The feeling that I was at last a part

  Of a band who knew that they were a crowd

  Of whom their Fathers might well be proud.

  Cpl Manning

  * * *

  You Have Served Us Well

  DDG 38 you entered my life

  in Boston USA;

  Thirty-four years ago I joined you

  on your commissioning day.

  We were proud young sons of Australia

  Three-hundred-and-thirty-three strong,

  And as the band played Waltzing Matilda

  we embarked from the dockside throng.

  They named you Perth after another

  who now rests in a watery grave,

  You had a proud tradition to follow

  established by men so brave.

  I recall your baptism of fire

  when we were called to that Asian war,

  Of how your guns thundered in anger

  toward a troubled shore.

  San Som, Dong Hoi and Cu
a Sat

  are names that drift in from the past,

  In those northern ‘Sea Dragon’ waters

  you forged a reputation that was to last.

  You still carry the scars of that conflict

  from the hot metal that punctured your skin,

  Old shipmates on their chests wear coloured ribbon

  but tend to hold those memories within.

  I knew I could not serve in you forever

  and in life’s journey we ventured apart,

  Many thousands subsequently joined you

  and maintained you as ‘State of the Art’.

  You have nurtured a number of heroes

  and there were larrikins that I knew,

  You’ve been a source of pride and frustration

  to the twenty-seven who skippered you.

  I have returned for your last voyage

  as your remaining days are but few;

  Soon you will enter your final harbour

  and they will take your name from you.

  The wind plays a sad tune in the halyards

  but your heart beats strong through the deck,

  And I sense the presence of your old sailors

  as I spend this quiet moment to reflect.

  Soon the wake will not surge from your quarter

  nor your routines be run to the bell;

  It’s now time to say “Stand easy old friend!”

  for I know you have served us well.

  Jack Aaron

  (Ex POQMG)

  * * *

  HMAS. Warramunga

  For grace and speed she had no par

  Across the oceans deep

  And on her we, who traveled far,

  Adored her striding sweep.

  From flaring stem to thrusting screws

  And every plate between,

  Her purpose spread its warlike news

  Wherever she was seen.

  A gentle shepherd she indeed

  Or fearsome as a lion,

  A friendly sight to all in need

  Those others of her scion.

  Seen from above, her clean slim lines

  Was target made to miss,

  Well worthy to those slanting eyes

  Of anticipat’ry ‘Hiss-s-s-s’.

  With agile swerve and greyhound speed

  Her crew all well prepared,

  She welcomed each assailant’s deeds

  With snarling fangs all bared.

  Her bristling weapons aimed on high

  Defied their birds of war,

  Hurling skyward flak and fire

  A deadly reaching claw.