There is a memorial, just a brown stone,
with a bronze plaque inscribed,
"They didn't come home".
It sits without signs to show where it is;
It's mostly in long grass and it's easy to miss.
It's about the width of a tin billy lid
about as high as my shins; so it's really not big.
No names are inscribed; no theatre of war;
no real or clear signs to tell what it's for.
Not even rating a line in a book,
and very few people know just where to look.
It's a lonely and sad place as I sit all alone
with my back to a tree while I stare at that stone
remembering the reason I put the stone there;
to honour my friends and to show that I care.
The stone's in my heart; the plaque's in my mind.
The grass is the growth of the cobwebs of time.
It's the width of my dread and the height of my pain
and I keep it inside me where it will remain.
Nobody but me knows just where it's kept
but oft in my solitude sadly I've wept
recalling my friends who died for our gain
and of those who've succumb to life's grievous pain.
�Anthony W. Pahl
24th May 2000
A poem by John Lyle
Our soldiers true blue fought world wars one and two;
in Korea as well dodging shot and shell;
Even in Malaya our soldiers saw hell;
But it was Vietnam when the people stopped caring.
Welcome home from the war they would say;
You've done a good job and were proud of you on this day;
For your effort and sacrifice will not be unknown;
On each Anzac day our respect you will be shown.
The Vietnam conflict over the troops have come home;
In one's and two's a few at time;
No welcome home not hero's are we;
But losers today, we lost the war or so they say.
Some even killed babies old people too;
We shamed our nation could all this be true;
Not Bloody likely No Bloody way;
It was the politicians who lost the flaming day.
You can't fight here; You can't do this and that;
The World is watching and we must be seen;
To fight this war fair and very, very clean.
What of our wounded;
What of our dead:
And what of our lost;
With the war still in their head.
The price for this war will never be known;
We all died a little;
And still more each day;
Betrayed by our country in this most dastardly way.
Shunned by the people;
Treated like dirt;
If only they knew how much we hurt.