August/22 Homework. THE FUTILITY
Posted: Tue Aug 23, 2022 4:16 pm
THE FUTILITY
©Ron Boughton 8/22
Conscription papers came; that time so easy to recall
And marked 'deferred', showed fortune, had favoured my marbles fall,
For many, not so lucky, in such unfair choice of fate,
Of facing bullets, chosen, by a lottery of birth date!
Though well prepared to do my bit, if country’s service called,
To see their treatment on return, was but to be appalled!
Where being victims, when marching, of disgraceful assault
By ratbags in delusion, stressing the war was their fault!
My Dad he’d opened the letter, he couldn’t wait for the news!
Then brought it to my worksite with a grin he didn’t excuse!
For he had been on the Burma railway, and so in kind
The thought of any war, would have weighed heavy on his mind!
And now I think of childhood days and his silent despair
For to ‘forget it happened’ was, that times therapy care!
Not easy though when hearing still, the beating of wars drum
That surfaced in nightmares and the solace offered in rum!
The ghosts of that hell railway they would carry to their graves
As skeletons etched on their souls, from shared mateship as slaves!
For it was only luck, and good mates, that pulled many through,
And superhuman efforts, of doctors on the line too!
Though Weary Dunlop was probably the most recognized,
There were quite a few others, whose life- saving skills were prized!
With improvisation they succeeded beyond all hope
Within adversities sphere of a life and death tightrope!
How deep can mans spirit, be trampled down and stomped on
Before all positive thoughts and hope, are forlorn and gone!
For once men gave up hope, they died, pretty much straight away,
But just a thread to cling to, could well buy another day!
Their Jap guards were nothing more, than barbarians most times,
And their atrocities! beyond description, of war crimes!
But humour still surfaced when the Jap flag went up the pole
For, was referred by Diggers as ‘The Flaming Red A…hole!’
A long time after Dad had passed, (the war had robbed his years)
I’d met old Jim, his good mate and, we stifled silent tears,
For they’d been mates on that railway, of histories dark page,
And once more, Jim blessed his luck, to have made it to old age!
And privileged, I was, to have yarned with him and I give thanks,
As spoken of more freely now he filled in many blanks!
Jim too, has passed on, and joined those never forgotten mates,
And Anzac Days draw the crowds …that their memory generates!
Now, Japan is a good friend in this topsy, turvy world
As generations move in peace, with compassion unfurled,
But other madmen around the globe rule by sword and gun
And are convinced they have the right to be the chosen one!
Let’s hope never again there’ll be conscription in the mail,
Or ever see a repeat of…blood on the Burma rail!
And Weary’s words that, “after the war he couldn’t hate,” were class!
And as wished, his ashes rejoined his men …at Hellfire Pass!
©Ron Boughton 8/22
Conscription papers came; that time so easy to recall
And marked 'deferred', showed fortune, had favoured my marbles fall,
For many, not so lucky, in such unfair choice of fate,
Of facing bullets, chosen, by a lottery of birth date!
Though well prepared to do my bit, if country’s service called,
To see their treatment on return, was but to be appalled!
Where being victims, when marching, of disgraceful assault
By ratbags in delusion, stressing the war was their fault!
My Dad he’d opened the letter, he couldn’t wait for the news!
Then brought it to my worksite with a grin he didn’t excuse!
For he had been on the Burma railway, and so in kind
The thought of any war, would have weighed heavy on his mind!
And now I think of childhood days and his silent despair
For to ‘forget it happened’ was, that times therapy care!
Not easy though when hearing still, the beating of wars drum
That surfaced in nightmares and the solace offered in rum!
The ghosts of that hell railway they would carry to their graves
As skeletons etched on their souls, from shared mateship as slaves!
For it was only luck, and good mates, that pulled many through,
And superhuman efforts, of doctors on the line too!
Though Weary Dunlop was probably the most recognized,
There were quite a few others, whose life- saving skills were prized!
With improvisation they succeeded beyond all hope
Within adversities sphere of a life and death tightrope!
How deep can mans spirit, be trampled down and stomped on
Before all positive thoughts and hope, are forlorn and gone!
For once men gave up hope, they died, pretty much straight away,
But just a thread to cling to, could well buy another day!
Their Jap guards were nothing more, than barbarians most times,
And their atrocities! beyond description, of war crimes!
But humour still surfaced when the Jap flag went up the pole
For, was referred by Diggers as ‘The Flaming Red A…hole!’
A long time after Dad had passed, (the war had robbed his years)
I’d met old Jim, his good mate and, we stifled silent tears,
For they’d been mates on that railway, of histories dark page,
And once more, Jim blessed his luck, to have made it to old age!
And privileged, I was, to have yarned with him and I give thanks,
As spoken of more freely now he filled in many blanks!
Jim too, has passed on, and joined those never forgotten mates,
And Anzac Days draw the crowds …that their memory generates!
Now, Japan is a good friend in this topsy, turvy world
As generations move in peace, with compassion unfurled,
But other madmen around the globe rule by sword and gun
And are convinced they have the right to be the chosen one!
Let’s hope never again there’ll be conscription in the mail,
Or ever see a repeat of…blood on the Burma rail!
And Weary’s words that, “after the war he couldn’t hate,” were class!
And as wished, his ashes rejoined his men …at Hellfire Pass!