A Poem for ANZAC DAY.
A Poem Worth Reading
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the RSL,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife..
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories
>From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so many times
That our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys,
Went to battle, but we know,
It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days..
Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER or a SAILOR DIED TODAY."
Pass On The Patriotism!
YOU can make a difference
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life,
wrote a blank check made payable to 'Australia', 'New Zealand', 'Canada'
'The United States' or any other God fearing country for an amount "up to and including my life".
That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this WORLD who no longer understand it.
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the RSL,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife..
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories
>From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so many times
That our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys,
Went to battle, but we know,
It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days..
Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER or a SAILOR DIED TODAY."
Pass On The Patriotism!
YOU can make a difference
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life,
wrote a blank check made payable to 'Australia', 'New Zealand', 'Canada'
'The United States' or any other God fearing country for an amount "up to and including my life".
That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this WORLD who no longer understand it.
Comments
A 96 year old WW2 veteran was pushed from his wheelchair and robbed near the eve of Anzac Day.
the veteran had left a tavern at Werribbee in western Melbourne about 7.30 pm on Wednesday and was heading home on his motorised wheelchair.
"As he turned into his driveway, a man and woman grabbed him and dragged him from his wheelchair and on to the ground" a police spokesperson said.
The pair took a small amount of cash and left the man lying on the ground.
We are still hearing every day of our troops losing their lives fighting for their country and they must never be forgotten, we owe them everything.
Regards,
Chris
Thanks for your recent e mail to us with updates on yours and Auntis Rose's health, I hope all goes well in June for you and your waterworks problem.
I haven't spent much time on here lately, there always seems so much to do, roll on retirement, yes I do mean it.
The weather is warming up nicely although it's still a bit cool out of the sun and there's a bit of a stiff breeze but good for getting the washing dry.
Dad has been busy spending his money on a new suite and carpet for his living room, I'll ring him later today for a chat, I think Nigel is there.
It will be lovely if you do come over in July, it's always good to see you and you know you are very welcome, will Chris come too?
Must go now, I don't know if you've e mailed Dad at all but his laptop very rarely comes out, he's struggling with it to be honest, you'll have to give him a few lessons when you see him.
Take care of yourselves,
Love and hugs,
Christine xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
---- Daily Gaggle | Vest wrote:
>
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: saby dasouza
> To: Daily Gaggle | Vest ; Chandrshekhar Bhat ; Mahendra Anandpara
> Sent: Friday, April 23, 2010 10:33 PM
> Subject: Fwd: FW: Iceland's disruptive volcano.
verry NICE
unfortunately we cant use this for u
u pompous ass
Saby is a person of Portuguese -Indian extraction, as in Anglo or Euro Indian, I get a feeling he lives in southern India and was probably born in the ex Portuguese - Goa enclave due to his surname being Dasouza.
Saby has aproximately 40 sites that he posts on, most portray a high content of unseemly to down right rank filth.
Saby also has the following alter ego's, Jim, Julia,Dawana, Keshi, Richard Cranium and others that I shall mention sooner or later,
after many months of antagonism on the 'Michelle' blog site, Michelle has fled the scene all due to the non stop harangue by Sahib Saby Dasouza, whose mind fluctuates from insane insanitary statements to those of calm unctious civility.
I have tried giving him a hard serve in return, being polite, comment moderation and deletion.
I have even descended to the point of evil in my thoughts when thinking of devious ways to eliminate this noxtious parasite.
So in desperation I shall welcome any legal practical suggestion which would help the cause.
-Vest
PROFILE
Best Features:Gosh...at 58 is there one? I guess you might say my sense of humor.
What I'm into:Music...collecting.....and anything new people turn me on to that is enjoyable and legal.
My Dreams:Short term...to make it through the day.
Long term...I would like to have a female friend that is my best friend...and lover. I still think that is possibe.
After that...all things will fit into place.
My only succsess with Jimmy has been to have him comment on this blog without swearing. or else.
u just cant better perfection
Great poem
Waited 20 mins to catch a glimpse of the southern cross, no such luck, the wind just wouldnt blow.
Nice to see the salvation army was there. Edward jones. Watts 1945 - 1949 sturdee division.
DONT !
mail me
I'll tell u why
I was ten years and five months old when I received my first seven cuts with a fout feet long rattan cane, for absconding.
The gymnasium at Watts
There is no doubt that the Barnados sea schools were very good and very successful. On the discipline front the procedure at Russell Cotes and then Parkstone as it became was the usual defaulters' report and then between three and six 'cuts' in the gymnasium over the horse, in private but with the inflicting Petty Officer plus three officers. No ritual or special dress and executed very formally and properly. At Watts up to 1926 it was done with trousers off and the boy strapped over a four-legged horse and biting on a lump of cloth, and always with either the entire school or the defaulter's division mustered to witness it. Afterwards in my case,it was over either naval shorts or P.E. shorts in the gym. Cdr 'Flogger' Campbell was in charge between 1934 and 1940, and then back again in 1943 following a war wound. The wound did not appear to impede the movement of his right arm! He usually meted out the canings himself in his own study, and there were reported instances of it being on the bare. Campbell was dismissed in 1946 . The reason was the result of 37 boys enjoying a mass absconding, which was more for devilry and a bit of apple-scrumping than anything else. The less resolute came back within an hour or so and were locked in a basement cellar. It took two days for the remainder to be brought back. It seems that Campbell held the equivalent of a court martial and every boy was sentenced to 12 cuts of the cane. The canings took over two hours to complete, done in the basement cellar with the vaulting horse taken there complete with canvas strappings. The boys were caned on their bare backsides and it was said that their yelps could be heard in the classrooms. Two boys, on being released, ran off again and when caught by the police one of them revealed the state of his buttocks. A police doctor was brought in and then a complaint went to Barnados. Campbell retired on grounds of 'ill health' shortly afterwards. That is the only known instance of abuse at Watts, otherwise the discipline was very strict but fairly imposed.
Two boys, on being released, ran off again and when caught by the police one of them revealed the state of his buttocks.
A police doctor was brought in and then a complaint went to Barnados.
Campbell retired on grounds of 'ill health' shortly afterwards.
That is the only known instance of abuse at Watts, otherwise the discipline was very strict but fairly imposed.
Ernie and I were in serious trouble. Having only been at this place for six days, I was to get six cuts of the cane. Having no one to turn to for help, I was wretchedly homesick. It was suggested by a few
teachers that because it was so close to Christmas we should be forgiven, but our Capt. Superintendent replied, Peace on earth and goodwill to all men applies only on Christmas day.
The remaining population of the school gathered to witness our
punishment. A box horse for us to bend over was produced, plus the
biggest rattan cane even bigger than the one at Charlham School. Ernie went first. It seemed like a bloody execution minus the knitting hags,
the French National Anthem, and a basket for our heads. Ernie was brave but white as a sheet after his six, and had to go to the sickbay. I later learned he had received a testicular injury.
Ernie going first made little difference, as another instructor, Gunner Marten was to be my tormentor. I felt bloody awful. My thin trousers barely hid the bleeding welts across my buttocks. After the six strokes, I shouted in agonising pain, I hope you die, you rotten cruel sod! and
got number seven. Gunner Marten died during the war about four years later. I was unmoved.
hahahahaha