General Chat

I finally got to see Eric Bogle at the Godiva Festival in Coventry last summer. He did No Mans Land and also The Band Played Waltzing Matilda (covered by the Pogues). I came out in floods of tears so it must have been a success. Well worth catching up with him when he's over here. Sheila

Hi Eileen, Eric is a folk singer and writer. He was born in Scotland but lives in Australia now. I agree his lyrics are very poetic. I have all his recordings and he writes movingly on many themes. This is one he wrote about Gallipoli - When I was a young man I carried my pack And I lived the free life of a rover From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback I waltzed my Matilda all over Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun And they sent me away to the war And the band played Waltzing Matilda As we sailed away from the quay And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers We sailed off to Gallipoli How well I remember that terrible day How the blood stained the sand and the water And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells 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 As we stopped to bury our slain We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs Then we started all over again Now those that were left, well we tried to survive In a mad world of blood, death and fire And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive But around me the corpses piled higher Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit And when I woke up in my hospital bed And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead Never knew there were worse things than dying For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda All around the green bush far and near For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs No more waltzing Matilda for me So they collected the cripples, 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 pulled into Circular Quay I looked at the place where my legs used to be And 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 But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared Then turned all their faces away And now every April I sit on my porch And I watch the parade pass before me And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march Reliving old dreams of past glory And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war And the young people ask, 'What are they marching for?' And I ask myself the same question And the band plays Waltzing Matilda And the old men answer to the call But year after year their numbers get fewer Some day 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 you pass the Billabong Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me? I would recommend his music and words to anyone, I love his work Gwynne

Wonderful poem Guinevere, where did you find it, who was the poet E. Bogle, i.e. was he recent, or was he a war poet. I have not heard of him. Eileen

R I P Mary in Spain

Lest we forget..... Elaine x

Done In memory of Great Uncle Frank, who I didn't know about this time last year and all the others I have yet to find. Sheila

N

No Man's Land Eric Bogle Well, how do you do, Private William McBride, Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside? And rest for awhile in the warm summer sun, I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done. And I see by your gravestone you were only 19 When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916, Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene? Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly? Did the rifles fir o'er you as they lowered you down? Did the bugles sound The Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined? And, though you died back in 1916, To that loyal heart are you forever 19? Or are you a stranger without even a name, Forever enshrined behind some glass pane, In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained, And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame? The sun's shining down on these green fields of France; The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance. The trenches have vanished long under the plow; No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now. But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land The countless white crosses in mute witness stand To man's blind indifference to his fellow man. And a whole generation who were butchered and damned. And I can't help but wonder, no Willie McBride, Do all those who lie here know why they died? Did you really believe them when they told you 'The Cause?' Did you really believe that this war would end wars? Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain, For Willie McBride, it all happened again, And again, and again, and again, and again.

Lest we forget