He stood there in the distance,
A lonely silhouette...
Who was this strange old man,
Who I have never met...
As he came a little closer,
I saw his old grey hair...
His tough and wrinkled skin,
And his face full of despair...
Could you spare a dollar,
It’s been a while since I’ve had a feed...
Only just a dollar mate,
Is all I really need...
This old bloke seemed quite harmless,
So I gave him what he asked...
I wondered why he begged,
Then told me of his past...
Once I was a shearer,
But things have changed since then...
So I went and joined the army
With ninety other men...
We went to fight the Turks,
At place called Anzac cove...
As we landed on the beach,
And into those Turks we strove...
There was gunfire all around me,
Bullets whistling past my head...
I tried to get a shore,
Wading through a sea of red...
Trampling over those mates of mine,
Who never made it to the beach...
Their bodies lay there to rot,
As they were just too hard to reach...
But I made it to the trenches,
And soon took up my post...
Amongst the dead and wounded,
I was better off than most...
As the days and months passed by,
I saw my share of death...
My mates sacrificed themselves,
Until their dying breath...
And when I finally left that place,
It had taken away my soul...
I was never able to forget my mates,
Who died there in that hole....
My life was not the same,
I drove myself to drink...
I didn’t care how I looked,
Or what other people think...
So that’s my little story,
I thank you for the cash...
I’m off to get a feed now mate,
I’ve really got to dash….
Then vanished out of site,
This old digger I had met...
His stories and his face,
Is something I won't forget...
Len Newey