Lest We Forget

Penned by Penny

Old Blue On Anzac Day.



Me old mate Blue’s a veteran – a sacrificial lamb -

He won the ‘Birthday Lottery’ and went to Vietnam’

He doesn’t talk about it much – too painful still I fear.

He lost a few good mates there, but he honours them each year.

Every twenty fifth of April, Blue puts on his Sunday best,

Rubs up his service medals and displays them on his chest.

Then acknowledging his duty and respect that must be paid,

He salutes his fallen comrades in the Anzac Day parade.



This year, alas, there’ll be no march. We’re all in isolation,

Commemorations have been cancelled right across the nation.

And the first thing that occurred to me when this sad news came through

Was the devastating impact it would have on poor old Blue.

I called on him at once. But when he met me at the door,

“It’s OK, mate,” he said, “I should have let you know before.

I was really feeling down but now I think I’ve found a way

To do the right thing by me mates this coming Anzac Day.



I’ve spoken to a bloke I know who’s in the RSL

And he reckons I can manage it, though only time will tell,

He’s explained the fundamentals and he’s coached me on the phone,

But the rest of it is up to me - all on me Pat Malone.

I’ll be like that lizard drinkin' for the coming week or two -

Flat out with all me practisin’ to see this project through;

And I don’t want to offend you, mate, but really there’s no way,

I’ll have time for any visitors till after Anzac Day.



Concerned and rather puzzled, I walked back towards my car.

The way Old Blue was acting: it was really quite bizarre.

I was wondering if I should return and do some serious talking,

When my eardrums were assaulted by a sudden dreadful squawking.

It sounded like a rusty gate or, even worse than that,

As if someone in Old Blue’s house was strangling a cat;

And all at once I understood without a shred of doubt,

Exactly what this masterplan of his was all about.



I left him to his practise as I’d promised him I would,

I didn’t even call him – though I wished like hell I could.

But I sat at home and worried as the days went slowly by;

Old Blue had set his heart on this. I knew how hard he’d try,

But how would the poor b*gger feel if in the end he failed?

And then, triumphantly he rang. Persistence had prevailed!

” I’ve nailed it, mate,” he boasted “It was tough, but never fear,

Old Blue will do his duty by his fallen mates this year”



So if, you’re out this Anzac Day around the crack of dawn,

And you see a shadowy figure standing on Old Bluey’s lawn,

And you think you hear a bugle and that bugle’s plaintive note,

Brings tears into your eyes and a big lump into your throat.

And you feel a sad and solemn kind of presence in the air.

That makes you want to bow your head and offer up prayer.

It won’t be a dream you’re having, nor some lonely Anzac ghost.

But Blue, remembering his dead and sounding the last post.

no thank you - its a touching poem

Thanks Pepe and Kay. I worked really hard on that one. I've grown rather fond of Old Blue and I didn't want to let him down with something flippant or maudlin.