At the battlefield monument,

To Johnny and Mehmet

³Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their livesŠ
You are now lying in the soil of a friend.
Therefore rest in peace, there is no difference between the Johnnies
and the Mehmets to us where they lay side by side, here in this country
of oursŠ
You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe
away your tears;
Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace.
After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons
as well²

Ataturk, 1934

Oh, yes, I love that song too! Here are the very moving lyrics:

The Band Played Waltzing Mathilda
(c) Eric Bogle

When I was a young man, I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Mathilda all over

Then in nineteen fifteen my country said: "Son,
It's time to stop ramblin', there's work to be done"
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war

Chorus:
And the band played Waltzing Mathilda
As the ship moved away from the quay
And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving and tears
We sailed off for Gallipoli

And how well I remember that terrible day
When the blood stained the sand and the water
And of how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk, he was waiting, he'd primed himself well
He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia

But the band played Waltzing Mathilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs
Then we started all over again

And those that were left, well we tried to survive
In that mad world of death, blood and fire
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive
Though around me, the corpses piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head
And when I woke up in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done... well, I wished I was dead
Never knew there was worse things than dying

For I'll go no more Waltzing Mathilda
All around the green bush far and free
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs
No more Waltzing Mathilda for me

So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The legless, the armless, the blind, the insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where me legs used to be
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve, and to mourn, and to pity

And the band played Waltzing Mathilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
And they turned all their faces away

And so now every April, I sit on me porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reviving old dreams of past glories
And the old men march slowly, old bones stiff and sore
They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question

But the band plays Waltzing Mathilda
And the old men still answer the call
But as year follows year, more old men disappear
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda
Who'll come a-waltzing Mathilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by that billabong
Who'll come a-waltzing Mathilda with me?

Joyce

This morning when listening to the Auckland broadcast of the Dawn Parade
which takes place in every city and most towns in New Zealand I heard the
commentator calling for a doctor.   I know that many a frail old soldier
braved the rain this morning to march with their comrades and I pray that
all made it home.

Bev