Send her down Huey
Posted: Sat Nov 13, 2010 2:11 pm
SEND HER DOWN HUEY
Today it's raining heavily, my thoughts swing to my Dad
or actually my Father in Law, in his younger days a lad.
He fought on the Kokoda trail..who knew the things he saw.
He never spoke about the real atrocities of war.
A likable bloke, a proud Grandpa, besotted with my son.
He also had a taste for booze, some saw a drunk but some
looked deeper still into this man, with psyche scarred by war.
His wife remembered fondly the good man he was before.
His son thought him a coward, said he took the easy out
in a car down on the beach front, but my mind was full of doubt.
He could no longer cope with demons festering within
and decided that he'd had enough .. a gun put paid to him.
Dad never marched an Anzac day and the medals that he earned
lay hidden in a dresser drawer - Trophies of war he spurned.
But my son marched on Anzac days along with other Scouts
and asked Pa if he could wear them and so Dad took them out.
This tradition carried on for years until his Pa was gone
and then the medals hid again until one day someone
thought to ask what had become of them, though many years had passed;
seems his son had given them away and my son wasn't asked
if he would like to keep them, as the oldest Grandson should;
and I know he would have cherished them , for this boy understood.
But the youngest Grandson it appears he has the medals now
though he never knew his Grandpa . I think that sad somehow.
I offered to get replicas.. My son said 'it's not the same,
the ones I wore were Grandpa's and each one held his name.
I used to feel a closeness with his medals on my shirt.
A shared birthday is all I have of him..It seems sometimes to hurt.'
We spoke at length about his Pa, an Aussie larrikin,
he wondered why his Father saw him as a lesser man.
I said that all the men who fought up the Kokoda track
were Heroes and brave men .. only the lucky came back.
And we laughed a bit together as we remembered Dad
with a beer or two too many, full of jokes that were quite bad;
standing arms upraised to heaven, in the yard in pouring rain
yelling out 'Send her down Huey, when you're done, do it again.'
And today it's raining heavily, and I'm thinking of Dad .
A good looker in his younger days, an Aussie likely lad.
For it's blokes like him who made Australia the place we love today
and blokes like my son - who tomorrow will go on to lead the way.
Maureen Clifford ©
Written in Memory of my Father in Law - a great bloke - despite or perhaps because of his faults.
Today it's raining heavily, my thoughts swing to my Dad
or actually my Father in Law, in his younger days a lad.
He fought on the Kokoda trail..who knew the things he saw.
He never spoke about the real atrocities of war.
A likable bloke, a proud Grandpa, besotted with my son.
He also had a taste for booze, some saw a drunk but some
looked deeper still into this man, with psyche scarred by war.
His wife remembered fondly the good man he was before.
His son thought him a coward, said he took the easy out
in a car down on the beach front, but my mind was full of doubt.
He could no longer cope with demons festering within
and decided that he'd had enough .. a gun put paid to him.
Dad never marched an Anzac day and the medals that he earned
lay hidden in a dresser drawer - Trophies of war he spurned.
But my son marched on Anzac days along with other Scouts
and asked Pa if he could wear them and so Dad took them out.
This tradition carried on for years until his Pa was gone
and then the medals hid again until one day someone
thought to ask what had become of them, though many years had passed;
seems his son had given them away and my son wasn't asked
if he would like to keep them, as the oldest Grandson should;
and I know he would have cherished them , for this boy understood.
But the youngest Grandson it appears he has the medals now
though he never knew his Grandpa . I think that sad somehow.
I offered to get replicas.. My son said 'it's not the same,
the ones I wore were Grandpa's and each one held his name.
I used to feel a closeness with his medals on my shirt.
A shared birthday is all I have of him..It seems sometimes to hurt.'
We spoke at length about his Pa, an Aussie larrikin,
he wondered why his Father saw him as a lesser man.
I said that all the men who fought up the Kokoda track
were Heroes and brave men .. only the lucky came back.
And we laughed a bit together as we remembered Dad
with a beer or two too many, full of jokes that were quite bad;
standing arms upraised to heaven, in the yard in pouring rain
yelling out 'Send her down Huey, when you're done, do it again.'
And today it's raining heavily, and I'm thinking of Dad .
A good looker in his younger days, an Aussie likely lad.
For it's blokes like him who made Australia the place we love today
and blokes like my son - who tomorrow will go on to lead the way.
Maureen Clifford ©
Written in Memory of my Father in Law - a great bloke - despite or perhaps because of his faults.