I wandered thru a country town ‘cos I had time to spare,
\nAnd went into an antique shop to see what was in there.
\nOld Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all,
\nA photo of a soldier boy – an Anzac on the Wall.
\n“The Anzac have a name?” I asked. The old man answered “No,
\nThe ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago.
\nThe old man kept on talking and, according to his tale,
\nThe photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale.
\n“I asked around,” the old man said, “but no one knows his face,
\nHe’s been on that wall twenty years, deserves a better place.
\nFor some one must have loved him so, it seems a shame somehow.”
\nI nodded in agreement and then said, “I’ll take him now.”
\nMy nameless digger’s photo, well it was a sorry sight
\nA cracked glass pane and a broken frame – I had to make it right
\nTo prise the photo from its frame I took care just in case,
\n‘Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place.
\nI peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise,
\nTwo letters and a telegram appeared before my eyes.
\nThe first reveals my Anzac’s name, and regiment of course
\nJohn Mathew Francis Stuart – of Australia’s own Light Horse.
\nThis letter written from the front, my interest now was keen
\nThis note was dated August seventh 1917.
\n“Dear Mum, I’m at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red Sea
\nThey say it’s in the Bible – looks like Billabong to me.
\n“My Kathy wrote I’m in her prayers she’s still my bride to be
\nI just cant wait to see you both you’re all the world to me.
\nAnd Mum you’ll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him out
\nI told him to call on you when he’s up and about.”
\n“That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funny
\nHe lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the Co’s dunny.
\nI told you how he dragged me wounded in from no man’s land
\nHe stopped the bleeding closed the wound with only his bare hand.”
\n“Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blast
\nIt was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldn’t last
\nHe woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mind
\nCause out there on the battlefield he’d left one leg behind.”
\n“He’s been in a bad way mum, he knows he’ll ride no more
\nLike me he loves a horse’s back he was a champ before.
\nSo Please Mum can you take him in, he’s been like my brother
\nRaised in a Queensland orphanage he’s never known a mother.”
\nBut Struth, I miss Australia mum, and in my mind each day
\nI am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away
\nI’m mustering white-faced cattle, with no camel’s hump in sight
\nAnd I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night
\nI wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt down
\nI’ll always love you and please say hooroo to all in town”.
\nThe second letter I could see was in a lady’s hand
\nAn answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land
\nHer copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and clean
\nIt bore the date November 3rd 1917.
\n“T’was hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the war
\nI’d hoped you would be home by now – each day I miss you more”
\n“Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been away
\nTo share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day
\nAnd Bluey has arrived – and what a godsend he has been
\nWe talked and laughed for days about the things you’ve done and seen”
\n“He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm,
\nI read the same hope in his eyes that you wont come to harm.
\nMc Connell’s kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed
\nWe had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange.”
\n“Last Wednesday just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight
\nIt raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright
\nIt really spooked your Billy – and he screamed and bucked and reared
\nAnd then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he cleared”
\n“They brought him back next afternoon, but something’s changed I fear
\nIt’s like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near
\nRemember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane?
\nNow Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame,”
\n“That’s why we need you home son” – then the flow of ink went dry-
\nThis letter was unfinished, and I couldn’t work out why.
\nUntil I started reading the letter number three
\nA yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy
\nHer son killed in action – oh – what pain that must have been
\nThe Same date as her letter – 3rd November 17.
\nThis letter which was never sent, became then one of three
\nShe sealed behind the photo’s face – the face she longed to see.
\nAnd John’s home town’s old timers -children when he went to war
\nWould say no greater cattleman had left the town before.
\nThey knew his widowed mother well – and with respect did tell
\nHow when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well.
\nShe could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak
\n“My Johnny’s at the war you know, he’s coming home next week.”
\nThey all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end
\nA younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend
\nAnd he would go and find her when she wandered old and weak
\nAnd always softly say “yes dear – John will be home next week.”
\nThen when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say
\nI tried to find out where he went, but don’t know to this day
\nAnd Kathy never wed – a lonely spinster some found odd
\nShe wouldn’t set foot in a church – she’d turned her back on God
\nJohn’s mother left no will I learned on my detective trail
\nThis explains my photo’s journey, that clearance sale
\nSo I continued digging cause I wanted to know more
\nI found John’s name with thousands in the records of the war
\nHis last ride proved his courage – a ride you will acclaim
\nThe Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame
\nThat last day in October back in 1917
\nAt 4pm our brave boys fell – that sad fact I did glean
\nThat’s when John’s life was sacrificed, the record’s crystal clear
\nBut 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here…….
\nSo as John’s gallant sprit rose to cross the great divide
\nWere lightning bolts back home a signal from the other side?
\nIs that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain?
\nBecause he’d never feel his master on his back again?
\nWas it coincidental? same time – same day – same date?
\nSome proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate?
\nI think it’s more than that, you know, as I’ve heard wiser men,
\nAcknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken
\nWhere craggy peaks guard secrets neath dark skies torn asunder
\nWhere hoofbeats are companions to the rolling waves of thunder
\nWhere lightning cracks like 303’s and ricochets again
\nWhere howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men
\nSome Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track
\nThey’ve glimpsed a huge black stallion – Light Horseman on his back.
\nYes Sceptics say, it’s swirling clouds just forming apparitions
\nOh no, my friend you cant dismiss all this as superstition
\nThe desert of Beersheba – or windswept Aussie range
\nJohn Stuart rides forever there – now I don’t find that strange.
\nNow some gaze at this photo, and they often question me
\nAnd I tell them a small white lie, and say he’s family.
\n“You must be proud of him.” they say – I tell them, one and all,
\nThat’s why he takes the pride of place – my Anzac on the Wall.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I wandered thru a country town ‘cos I had 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. … <\/p>\n