(“The only thing stronger than my hatred of war is my admiration of soldiers.” – Eric Bogle)
Both my grandfathers and my father are veterans. One lost his legs, another lost a wife, and the third said, “It was the most awful thing I’ve ever done.”
When I was a young man I carried a pack,
And I lived the free life of a rover,
From the Murray’s green banks to the dusty outback,
I waltzed me Matilda all over.
Then in 1915 the country said “Son,
no time for roving there’s work to be done.”
And they gave me a tin hat and gave me a gun,
And they sent me away to the war.
And the band played “Waltzing Matilda”,
As our ship pulled away from the quay,
And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving and tears,
We sailed off for Gallipoli.
How well I remember that terrible day,
When our blood stained the sands and the water,
And how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay,
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnnie Turk, he was waiting, he’d primed himself well,
Showered us with bullets and rained us with shells,
And in ten minutes flat he’d blown us to hell,
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
And the band played “Waltzing Matilda”,
As we stopped to bury the slain,
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.
They collected the crippled, the wounded and maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The armless, the legless, the blind and insane
All the brave wounded heroes of Suvla.
And when our ship pulled into Circular Quay
And I looked at the place where me legs used to be
I thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity.
And the band played “Waltzing Matilda”,
As they carried us down the gangway
Nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared
And then turned their faces away
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
Reliving old dreams and past glory
But the old men march slowly, their bones stiff and sore
Tired old men from the tired old war
And the young people ask, “What are they marching for?”
And I ask meself the same question.
But the band played “Waltzing Matilda”
And the old men, they answer the call
But year by year those old men disappear
Soon no-one will march there at all.
— Eric Bogle
(You can download and listen to the song here: