Poem - Frank ‘Viv’ Searle

To the Memory of a Dead Comrade

By Frank ‘Viv’ Searle

Somewhere out in old Tasmania,

Where the gums and apples grow,

There’s a mother sadly waiting day by day.

She is waiting for her darling boy,

Who was her chief support.

How it wrung her heart the day he went away.

Well may his mother mourn for him,

Well may his sister weep,

For their boy who proudly marched away to war.

For now he’s lying stiff and cold,

Beneath Egyptian soil.

He’ll return to dear old Tassie never more.

He was one of the finest men,

Who left Australia’s shores.

A crack shot, and he stood full six feet high,

But the grim pneumonia struck him down,

And now he lies asleep.

One of the best, and yet the first to die.

He was not killed by bullet,

Or by the bayonet slain,

And on the field of battle made no name.

Though he fought not in the firing line

And never won a cross,

Yet he gave his life for England just the same.

He is gone but not forgotten

By his comrades who remain.

We will think of him wherever we may go.

We will wish that he were with us,

When we’re fighting on the plain,

For his rifle would be handy then I know.

His end may have been easier

Than ours will be – who knows?

But God who orders all things for the best,

Though his body lies in Cairo,

May his soul triumphant rise,

Where the weary soldier shall find perfect rest.