BACK TO BASE
Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2011 8:59 am
BACK TO BASE
As a kid life was full of popcorn and paper chains
playing tricks and just having a lark.
No dark shadows loomed – life was simple an sweet
every day was a walk in the park.
Where did they go? When did life get so hard?
Myriad questions now ran through his head,
with no answers given for nobody heard.
Who knows best? Can’t ask Tom, Dick or Fred.
Tom lies in deep silence in the dirt of home
they flew him back only last week.
He remembered weekends idyllic and hot
spend canoeing down in Logan’s creek .
He recalled young Richard, just Dick to his mates
declaring open season on girls.
His dancing shoes knew all of Jacko’s moves
for they moon danced, and jittered and whirled.
And Fred was the quiet bloke, a softy some thought
who kept his thoughts all to himself.
A big, bluff freckled ranga who hated to fight
whose Mum feared he would end on the shelf.
And his thoughts now were dark and invaded his head.
Stagnant water that puddled and pooled.
As he recalled their innocent carefree young days
and wondered if in fact they’d been fooled.
They were promised adventure, and travel and more
Good wages, a trade. An illusion.
Well a smart bloke would realize a high price might be paid
and that price was a foregone conclusion.
There were no broken promises – all knew the score
and the role they’d be called on to play.
But today it hit home like it hadn’t before
that of four only one’s left today.
And as he packed his gear for the long flight back home
far removed from these cold desert sands.
His memories like empty coat hangers hung
and he felt his three mates take his hand.
He thought of the laughing waters of the creek,
smelt the smoke of the canes cleansing fires,
recalled clicking shutters of the local reporters
photographing the towns four young flyers.
But he was the only one of them returning
and of them such stories he’d tell.
He’d tell of their bravery whilst under fire
and downplay that it was living hell.
Those sweet days of popcorn and paper chains gone
‘twas a man now who stood in that place
recalling his fallen mates, brothers in arms.
He was taking two home – back to base.
Maureen Clifford © 11/11
As a kid life was full of popcorn and paper chains
playing tricks and just having a lark.
No dark shadows loomed – life was simple an sweet
every day was a walk in the park.
Where did they go? When did life get so hard?
Myriad questions now ran through his head,
with no answers given for nobody heard.
Who knows best? Can’t ask Tom, Dick or Fred.
Tom lies in deep silence in the dirt of home
they flew him back only last week.
He remembered weekends idyllic and hot
spend canoeing down in Logan’s creek .
He recalled young Richard, just Dick to his mates
declaring open season on girls.
His dancing shoes knew all of Jacko’s moves
for they moon danced, and jittered and whirled.
And Fred was the quiet bloke, a softy some thought
who kept his thoughts all to himself.
A big, bluff freckled ranga who hated to fight
whose Mum feared he would end on the shelf.
And his thoughts now were dark and invaded his head.
Stagnant water that puddled and pooled.
As he recalled their innocent carefree young days
and wondered if in fact they’d been fooled.
They were promised adventure, and travel and more
Good wages, a trade. An illusion.
Well a smart bloke would realize a high price might be paid
and that price was a foregone conclusion.
There were no broken promises – all knew the score
and the role they’d be called on to play.
But today it hit home like it hadn’t before
that of four only one’s left today.
And as he packed his gear for the long flight back home
far removed from these cold desert sands.
His memories like empty coat hangers hung
and he felt his three mates take his hand.
He thought of the laughing waters of the creek,
smelt the smoke of the canes cleansing fires,
recalled clicking shutters of the local reporters
photographing the towns four young flyers.
But he was the only one of them returning
and of them such stories he’d tell.
He’d tell of their bravery whilst under fire
and downplay that it was living hell.
Those sweet days of popcorn and paper chains gone
‘twas a man now who stood in that place
recalling his fallen mates, brothers in arms.
He was taking two home – back to base.
Maureen Clifford © 11/11
