For anyone who would like the short answer:
ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. The soldiers in those forces quickly became known as ANZACs, and the pride they soon took in that name endures to this day.
cyphercat wrote:Ohh, Lash, the awful punnery...
I just saw that one you cracked a while ago about the guy called bandung--"banned with reckless a ban dung"...You should be ashamed, missie, just ashamed.
If you loved me, you would have reported me, so I could repent and mend my hideous punditrification.. See what has become of me!!
The horror....
the horror....
Now when I was a young man I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,
Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said, "Son,
It's time you stop ramblin', there's work to be done."
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun,
And they marched me away to the war.
And the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
As the ship pulled away from the quay,
And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving, and tears,
We sailed off for Gallipoli.
And how well I remember that terrible day,
How our blood stained the sand and the water;
And of how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk, he was waitin', he primed himself well;
He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell --
And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell,
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
But the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
When we stopped to bury our slain,
Well, we buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again.
And those that were left, well, we tried to survive
In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
Though around me the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
And when I woke up in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead --
Never knew there was worse things than dying.
For I'll go no more "Waltzing Matilda,"
All around the green bush far and free --
To hump tents and pegs, a man needs both legs,
No more "Waltzing Matilda" for me.
So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,
And they shipped us back home to Australia.
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as our ship sailed into Circular Quay,
I looked at the place where me legs used to be,
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
To grieve, to mourn and to pity.
But the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
As they carried us down the gangway,
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
Then they turned all their faces away.
And so now every April, I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me.
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
Reviving old dreams of past glory,
And the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore,
They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
And I ask meself the same question.
But the band plays "Waltzing Matilda,"
And the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year, more old men disappear
Someday, no one will march there at all.
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong,
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?
But, in fact, Anzac Day has recently had a resurgence of meaning for young people, who stand awed by the horror these boys (most were not old enough to vote or drink, at that time) endured with courage......with their counterparts from the UK and elsewhere.
Not to mention the courage of the Turkish soldiers, who at one point, defended against the invasion with almost no troops, until reinforcements could be marched up.
I heard a Turkish war song on the radio the other day, fully as sad as the one by Eric Bogle reproduced above....mourning lost boyhood, amd describing being buried alive.
Accounts of the Anzac campaign include men speaking of the dead lying so thickly around them, that the only respect they could try and show was not to step on the FACES of the dead, if at all possible.
Deb, I once played Eric Bogle's beautiful song to a group of 16/17 year olds, in a class I was teaching. (We were investigating what war meant to different people, comparing experiences. My class also read Johnny Got his Gun, as I recall.) Anyway, we listened in complete silence to Eric's haunting song .... & when he'd finished singing, a number of us were reduced to tears ... including me.
Bloody devastating, innit?
It was great to hear the very similar Turkish song about the same campaign.
I don't know of the Turkish song you refer to, Deb. Do you have the words?
msolga wrote:I don't know of the Turkish song you refer to, Deb. Do you have the words?
No...it was on a radio program about the Gallipoli campaign, and they played it, then read out the translation.
Ah. But it sounds like the feelings about war were much the same.
Quote:There is a dawn service, and a veterans march. Then a lot of getting pissed (drunk) in pubs around the city by veterans and families and such.
sounds kinda like our Patriot's Day up heeyuh:
dawn service -- the red sox start @ 11:00am.
march -- the marathon... or the march by fans to catch the end of the marathon if the game ends on time... or the march to the nearest imbibery
All attempts to kill this thread should be put off until tomorrow.
We're supposed to remember that? Christ, I was only six years old at the time.
Intrepid wrote:All attempts to kill this thread should be put off until tomorrow.
Lol...it will be tomorrow here in one and a half hours time...one for Msolga and Margo....and later in WA.
You should be able to contain your assassinous and perverted desires until then.
gustavratzenhofer wrote:We're supposed to remember that? Christ, I was only six years old at the time.
Your mind is quite sharp for a 96 year old. :wink:
What would that be in bunny years?
Intrepid wrote:What would that be in bunny years?
Let's just say that age does not weary us, the years condemn, nor custom stale our infinite variety.
watch out for marauding coyotes though. We had a hellofascreeching fight in the back yard last night.
J_B wrote:watch out for marauding coyotes though. We had a hellofascreeching fight in the back yard last night.
So did we, but we made up by breakfast
J_B wrote:watch out for marauding coyotes though. We had a hellofascreeching fight in the back yard last night.
Why was I under the impression that J_B lived in the heart of Chicago, far from the meanderings of coyotes?
