3 Squadron POEMS

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By Drewson HUNTER.


I saw a boy a-marching, with medals on his chest,
He marched alongside Diggers, marching six abreast.
He knew that it was Anzac Day and marched along with pride,
And did his best to keep in step, with the Diggers by his side.

And when the march was over, the boy looked rather tired.
A Digger asked, “Whose medals, son?” to which the boy replied:

“They belonged to my Dad… but he didn’t come back,
He died in New Guinea… on a lonely jungle track.”

The boy looked rather sad – a tear came to his eye.
But the Digger said, “Don’t worry Son.  – And I’ll tell you why:
Your Old Man marched with us today, all the bloomin’ way.
All us Diggers knew he was here.  It’s like that - on Anzac Day.”

The boy was rather puzzled and he didn’t understand,
But the Digger went on talking, and started to wave his hand,
“For this great land we live in, there’s a price we have to pay,
To keep Australia free, and to fly our Flag today.

“Yes, we all love fun and merriment, in this country where we live,
But the price was that some Soldier… his precious life must give.
Your Old Man died for us, son, for all things good and true.
I hope that you can understand these words I’ve said to you.”

The boy looked to the Digger, and after a little while,
His face changed expression, and he said with a beautiful smile,
“I know my Dad marched here today.  This is our Anzac Day.
I know he did; I know he did.  All the bloomin’ way!


Original poem by D. HUNTER, VX105119, a veteran of Shaggy Ridge.  2/12 Battalion, WW2.
[Heading Photo by Dom O'DONNELL.]

3 Squadron POEMS

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