webfact Posted April 25, 2016 Share Posted April 25, 2016 Phuket remembers Anzac DayThe Phuket NewsAustralian Ambassador to Thailand Paul Robilliard (2nd from right) attended the Dawn Service at Hellfire Pass in Kanchanaburi this morning (Apr 25). Photo: Paul Robilliard / TwitterPHUKET: -- An informal gathering of Australians and New Zealanders will be held in Phuket this evening to mark Anzac Day, the renowned day for remembering the soldiers from those two nations who have died in war, inspired by the landing at Gallipoli in World War I.As dawn broke around the world today (April 25), Australians and New Zealanders attended dawn services on the anniversary of the ill-fated 1915 campaign of the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (Anzac) that left 11,500 of them dead in what is now Turkey during World War I.In France, some 5,000 Australians attended a dawn service in northern France to honour their forebears who fought in the Battle of the Somme a century ago, reports AFP.“It puts it all in perspective to come here,” said Peter Crowle, 69, whose grandfather died in the battle. “The conditions they were subjected to were hell on earth.”The Governor-General of Australia, Sir Peter John Cosgrove, was among the dignitaries on hand for the ceremonies in the town of Villers-Bretonneux recalling the nearly five-month battle in 1916, which saw more than a million casualties on both the Allied and German sides.It is “an opportunity to remember more than 102,000 who have given their lives for our nation,” Major General Dave Chalmers of Australia’s veterans affairs department.Full story: http://www.thephuketnews.com/phuket-remembers-anzac-day-57162.php-- Phuket News 2016-04-25 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
toloman Posted April 25, 2016 Share Posted April 25, 2016 In commemoration of ANZAC Day I would like to share this poem written about a young ANZAC soldier who lost his life in battle near Gallipoli in the fall of 1917. Godspeed to all my Aussie and New Zealander friends., on this momentous memorial day. I wandered thru a country town, ‘cos I had some time to spare,And went into an antique shop to see what was in there.Old Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all,A photo of a soldier boy – an Anzac on the Wall. ‘The Anzac have a name?’ I asked. The old man answered ‘No’.The ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago.The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale,The photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale. ‘I asked around’, the old man said, ‘but no-one knows his face,He’s been on that wall twenty years… Deserves a better place.For some-one must have loved him, so it seems a shame somehow.’I nodded in agreement and then said, ‘I’ll take him now.’ My nameless digger’s photo, well it was a sorry sightA cracked glass pane and a broken frame – I had to make it rightTo prise the photo from its frame I took care just in case,Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place. I peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise,Two letters and a telegram appeared before my eyesThe first reveals my Anzac’s name, and regiment of courseJohn Mathew Francis Stuart – of Australia’s own Light Horse. This letter written from the front… My interest now was keenThis note was dated August seventh 1917‘Dear Mum, I’m at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red SeaThey say it’s in the Bible – looks like a Billabong to me. ‘My Kathy wrote I’m in her prayers… she’s still my bride to beI just can’t wait to see you both, you’re all the world to me.And Mum you’ll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him outI told him to call on you when he’s up and about.’ ‘That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funnyHe lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the CO’s dunny.I told you how he dragged me wounded, in from no man’s landHe stopped the bleeding, closed the wound, with only his bare hand.’ ‘Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blastIt was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldn’t last.He woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mindCause out there on the battlefield he’d left one leg behind.’ ‘He’s been in a bad way Mum, he knows he’ll ride no moreLike me he loves a horse’s back, he was a champ before.So Please Mum can you take him in, he’s been like my own brotherRaised in a Queensland orphanage he’ s never known a mother.’ But Struth, I miss Australia Mum, and in my mind each dayI am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away.I’m mustering white-faced cattle, with no camel’s hump in sightAnd I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night I wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt downI’ll always love you and please say hooroo to all in town’.The second letter I could see, was in a lady’s handAn answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land. Her copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and cleanIt bore the date, November 3rd 1917.‘T’was hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the warI’d hoped you would be home by now – each day I miss you more’ ‘Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been awayTo share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day.And Bluey has arrived – and what a godsend he has beenWe talked and laughed for days about the things you’ve done and seen’ ‘He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm,I read the same hope in his eyes that you won’t come to harm.McConnell’s kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed.We had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange.’ ‘Last Wednesday, just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight,It raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright.It really spooked your Billy – and he screamed and bucked and rearedAnd then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he cleared’ ‘They brought him back next afternoon, but something’s changed I fearIt’s like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near.Remember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane?Now Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame,’ ‘That’s why we need you home son’ – then the flow of ink went dry-This letter was unfinished, and I couldn’t work out why.Until I started reading, the letter number threeA yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy, Her son killed in action – oh – what pain that must have beenThe same date as her letter – 3rd November 1917This letter which was never sent, became then one of threeShe sealed behind the photo’s face – the face she longed to see. And John’s home town’s old timers – children when he went to warWould say no greater cattleman had left the town before.They knew his widowed mother well – and with respect did tellHow when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well. She could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak‘My Johnny’s at the war you know, he’s coming home next week.’They all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end.A younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend. And he would go and find her when she wandered old and weakAnd always softly say ‘yes dear – John will be home next week.’Then when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say.I tried to find out where he went, but don’t know to this day. And Kathy never wed – a lonely spinster some found odd.She wouldn’t set foot in a church – she’d turned her back on God.John’s mother left no Will I learned on my detective trail.This explains my photo’s journey, of that clearance sale. So I continued digging, cause I wanted to know more.I found John’s name with thousands, in the records of the war.His last ride proved his courage – a ride you will acclaimThe Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame. That last day in October, back in 1917At 4pm our brave boys fell – that sad fact I did glean.That’s when John’s life was sacrificed, the record’s crystal clearBut 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here…… So as John’s gallant spirit rose to cross the great divide,Were lightning bolts back home, a signal from the other side?Is that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain?Because he’d never feel his master on his back again? Was it coincidental? same time – same day – same date?Some proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate?I think it’s more than that you know, as I’ve heard wiser men,Acknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken Where craggy peaks guard secrets ‘neath dark skies torn asunder,Where hoof-beats are companions to the rolling waves of thunderWhere lightning cracks like 303’s and ricochets againWhere howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men. Some Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track,They’ve glimpsed a huge black stallion – Light Horseman on his back.Yes Sceptics say, it’s swirling clouds just forming apparitionsOh no, my friend you can’t dismiss all this as superstition. The desert of Beersheba – or windswept Aussie range,John Stuart rides on forever there – Now I don’t find that strange.Now some gaze upon this photo, and they often question meAnd I tell them a small white lie, and say he’s family. ‘You must be proud of him.’ they say – I tell them, one and all,That’s why he takes – the pride of place – my Anzac on the Wall. By Jm Brown Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Somtamnication Posted April 25, 2016 Share Posted April 25, 2016 Heroes all of them. RIP and thank you. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
maingmoom Posted April 26, 2016 Share Posted April 26, 2016 A great poem brought me to tears. Thanks for sharing Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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