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helmet-cloth may tarry seconds too long,
    When the very life of the front-line trench is staked on the beat of a gong;
    By the four you slew, by the case he smote, by the grey gas-cloud and the green,
    We pass your mate of the Endless Smoke and the beer of the free canteen.”
    In the lower hall of Valhalla, with the heroes of no renown,
    With our nameless dead of the Marne and the Aisne, of Mons and Wipers town,
    With the men who killed ’ere they died for us, sits Rifleman Joseph Brown.
    Gilbert Frankau
    39th Batt. AMF
    (AWM PR 83/34)



After the First Battle of Alamein
    Shaded by desert sand dunes,
    Lulled by the murmur of waves;
    Quickly we went back to nature,
    Forgetting Syria and old Tobruk’s caves.
    The roar of the guns at Tel Eisa
    Brought war and reality near;
    We soon had a big job before us,
    No time for reflection or fear.
    Then came the war-wounded weary,
    Shell-torn wounds covered in flies;
    Sick of the war and the desert,
    The reflection of hell in their eyes.
    There on the dunes of the desert,
    For many the war had its end;
    All they had they had given:
    Their life, Freedom’s cause to defend.
    Some the Grim Reaper defeated,
    Back from the shadow they came;
    Saved by the skill of a surgeon,
    Once again they’ve a number and name.
    Back they can go the furnace
    That is fed by man’s malice and hate;
    Given lease to a life full of sorrow,
    Mayhap Death were a kindlier fate.
    Some paid a price that was lighter,
    An arm, or a leg, or a hand.
    Back on the trail they were started
    That ends in dear Aussie land.
    We are leaving old ‘Figtree Alley’
    We are going up further they say;
    Does it mean that the blood wasn’t wasted?
    Does it mean we are nearer the Day?
    Epilogue
    Let us hope that the crosses which we leave behind, 
    Let us hope that the blood and the tears of our kind, 
    Will be ’membered when we reach our own sunny land, 
    May they serve to remind us: War isn’t grand!
    NX.8448
    2/11 Aust. Field Ambulance, MDS
    (AWM MSS 1221)
----
    An Airforce Guard, New Guinea 1942
    It’s dark like inky blackness,
    Your eyes just pierce the gloom,
    The palms like ghostly figures
    From out the jungle loom.
    Like weird and dancing phantoms
    They stand out in the night,
    The jungle all around you
    A dank and dismal sight.
    The rain drops pitter-patter,
    A tattoo on the kite,
    Like some prehistoric monster
    It stands there in the night.
    The muzzle of your rifle
    Is shining with storm,
    Beneath that dripping rain cape
    You feel your body warm.
    The wing gives slight protection
    From the beating jungle rain,
    Like a million phantom drummers
    It plays a haunting strain.
    Your mind is just attracted,
    It seems to catch the eye,
    A twinkling, hovering spectral,
    A drifting firefly.
    That tiny little creature
    With its body all alight
    Gives a fraction’s comfort
    In the long and dreary night.
    The breeze like devils’ voices
    Whispering out of space,
    Whistles round the main plane
    And fans your shining face.
    A light shines in the distance,
    Like some orb’d evil eye;
    It stabs the dark around you
    Casting shadows to the sky.
    Then as the light approaches
    It fades towards the hill,
    The darkness round you gathers
    The night is once more still.
    The rain has stopped its beating,
    Just a drizzle trickles down;
    You think of home and people
    In some far and distant town.
    Then as the night grows older,
    Comes the silver creeping dawn,
    The scene that stands around you
    Seems strange and much folorn.
    The birds around awaken;
    Their song is soft and sweet
    To the ears of a standing figure —
    A sentry on his beat.
    W. A. Dutton
    (AWM MSS 1481)
----
    His Dream Girl
    Jungle, jungle, jungle,
    Humid, wet and green.
    Entangled vines and creepers,
    Like some horrid, awful dream.
    The order it is given,
    The advance stops for a spell;
    You fall fatigued and tired,
    In this jaded jungle hell.
    As you sit there in the jungle,
    Your mind drifts into space;
    In a