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Here's
a health to the Old Forty-second
And
the members we trusted and knew.
To
the comrades we miss who are many,
And
to those whom we meet, who are few.
While
we're present at this, our Reunion,
Let
us pass in the briefest review,
Some
scenes that we witnessed together
In
that fierce Trial-by-fire we went through.
Let
us trifle with Time for a moment
As
we put back the clock to "La Guerre,"
Ere
the years graved their lines on our faces
And
our backs became rounded with care.
Can't
you see the Battalion paraded?
With
the long khaki ranks in the snow,
And
the bodies erect at "Attention"
It's
the Old Forty-second on show.
Can
you say that your pulses don't quicken
As
in fancy you see them once more?
Youthful,
strong, full of hope, congregated,
Proud
to fight in the war to end war.
Now
the band's striking up Colonel Bogey
As
we form into column of route
And
we wonder what Fortune will bring us
As
we swing down the road to Dranoutre.
It
is March, and the foe is advancing.
He
is sweeping along like a flood.
There's
a thin crumbling line of resistance.
It's
for us to cement it. With blood.
We
detrain. But how great is the contrast
Of
our greetings, our jokes and our songs,
When
compared with the air of dejection
That
we meet in the town of Doullens.
We
rejoice in our strength, in our manhood.
We
are soldiers and spoiling for fight.
There
is darkness, despair, all around us
Whilst
ahead there is glory and light.
Through
a murk of defeat and disaster
Duty
shines, like the rays of the sun
Through
the clouds that attend on the tempest
When
its noise and its fury are done.
Do
we pause to consider the danger?
Do
we dread what the Future may hold?
Not
at all. We are treading a highway
That
has oft led to Battles of Old.
Let
the enemy gloat o'er his progress
We
are here, and we take up his gage.
We
are proud of a lead in the Drama
To
be played with The Somme for the stage.
Many
times have these hills and these valleys
Echoed
back to the warrior's call,
When
the Legions of Rome met and conquered
The
undisciplined ranks of the Gaul.
Do
the spirits of soldiers departed,
0f
Romans, of Gauls and of Franks
Gather
round at the promise of battle
To
welcome recruits from our ranks?
Are
we cheered on our way by their presence
As
we trudge towards the Foe and the fight?
For
our journey is free from complaining
And
fatigue is unheeded tonight.
As
the fingers of day are withdrawing
The
curtains concealing the sun,
We
are placed in our prearranged stations.
We
have gambled with Time. And we've won.
'Tis
not long ere our mettle is tested
And
the guns wake the day with their roar.
The
grey-coats surge forward then backward
Like
the waves driven back from the shore.
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The
foeman's artillery thunders
Till
the fumes of the shells catch our breath.
Then
our Lewis and Vickers guns answer
And
they carry the whisper of Death.
Every
thrust on our line is defeated
And
we block every move of the Foe.
At
the cost of our best and our bravest
As
the little white crosses can show.
Roles
reverse now. WE take the offensive
Ours
to thrust. His to stay, if he can.
All
attempts at resistance are futile
Though
they force us to honour "the man."
On
from Bray. Past Peronne, to Cartigny
Costly
work, but not once do we fail.
Then
we pause to take breath for a moment
Ere
The Hindenburg Line we assail.
As
our numbers get sadly depleted
Comes
an order we greatly deplore.
We're
to go to another Battalion
And
our own's to be heard of no more.
But
our leaders can fathom our feelings
And
they grant us a little respite.
One
more fight as the Old Forty-second.
A
concession, we know. Not a right.
The
task that's before us is heavy
But
we're still "The Battalion." What's more.
We've
the faith in ourselves, and our Unit
That's
been tested and tested before.
We
perform what we're asked to do gladly
And
we reek not the cost, nor repine.
One
more name we can add to our Honours
"The
Assault on the Hindenburg Line."
Now
we're resting in billets at Vergies.
Once
again comes the order we hate.
We're
absorbed by a sister Battalion
And
we grumble and growl at our fate.
Did
we know it, our fighting is finished.
Soon
the Armistice closes the War,
Our
thoughts turn again to Australia
And
the loved ones, we'll soon see once more.
We
return to our Land of the Wattle,
There
are laughter, and greetings, and cheers.
But
we pause in our joy to remember
There
are widows and orphans and tears.
*************
Well.
Here we are, twenty years after,
There
are some of us battered and sore.
But
we each have a priceless possession
In
the friendship we tested in War.
And
though Peace brought to some of us failure
(If
possession of money's the goal)
No
power can ever deny us
The
triumph of manhood. Of soul.
For
we triumphed over weak human nature
Over
fears that are common to all.
And
we forced shrinking flesh to obey us
Although
suffering and death might befall.
So
what wealth we may have matters little
Nor
the pittance we earn when we can.
We
aspire to a loftier standard
Wherein
Gold doesn't count, it's the Man.
So
to meet with the men of our Unit
Will
ensure we shall never forget.
For
come weal, or come woe, we'll remember
We
were comrades in arms. WE ARE YET.
Graham
BELL. 1939.
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