BLOOD PACT
Posted: Sun Aug 12, 2012 7:48 am
BLOOD PACT
Two larrikin lads from the outback near Bourke
one a ringer and one a gun shearer,
both shared the same mother but had different dads,
Get Mums ire up – they’d reason to fear her.
Two brothers, best mates, both were good in a stoush
pick on one be prepared to fight two.
Thick as thieves and like shadows this tearaway pair
were good blokes to have there in a blue.
The worst blue of all then came here to their country
and word went out over the land.
We need the strong young blokes to answer the call
to sign up and give a helping hand.
They came from the cities, the outback and scrub.
From the farms and the hamlets and towns.
All were willing to don uniforms of khaki
and head overseas, for Europe bound.
No prizes for guessing that Joe and Frank went
and both left Bourke with their Mother’s blessing,
She knew that her boys would not refuse the call
and would go anyway – no use stressing.
They sailed on the Aeneas from Circular Quay
on the twentieth day of December,
all full of high spirits and brave bonhomie
‘twas a day Aussie Mums would remember.
They’d been there a month in the thick of the fight
when one day Frank laconically said
“It’s not the adventure we thought it would be,
there’s a fair chance we might end up dead.
I’ll make a pact with you – you’ll know what I mean
when I say that should push turn to shove
we should do the right thing Joe – not suffer in pain;
meet our maker, the bloke up above.
I’ll do it for you. Will you do it for me
if we know there’s no cards left to play?”
Young Joe looked hard at him, gave a nod and winked
then said ‘‘ Mate you read my mind today”
So a pact was settled – no more need be said
they got on with the fighting and war.
Boys heartily sickened by what they both did
and the stench and the blood and the gore.
The cold was relentless, the rats and flies thick,
endless nights loud with onslaught of war
The Very light flares lit the battleground there
and it looked like a slaughterhouse floor.
Up and over the top, brother Frank led the charge
to the wire through the guns enfilade;
as round them men screamed, a harsh discordant sound
as they ran and they fell and died hard.
There was no time to falter, no time to look back
and no time to console fallen mates.
It was mayhem and murder and madness as well,
and each man there resigned to his fate.
But somehow despite all the carnage they saw
the two boys survived it, both unharmed.
They’d suffered from trench foot, were riddled with lice
but it seems that their lives were still charmed.
They never spoke much of the things they had seen
‘twas a picture that both men would bear
in silence, though both fought with their devils inside
and both men sought for solace in prayer.
They lived a good life in their country of birth
and married two sisters so I heard.
Both bought property somewhere outback near Louth
a quiet place where the wind barely stirred.
A trunk in an attic held letters to home,
faded photos of good looking blokes
in khaki and spit polished boots and slouch hats,
posed on camels, enjoying a joke.
A diary was found and the story within
bought a tear to the finders blue eyes
as he read of the war his Great Grandfather fought
and no words could his horror disguise.
He read of the slaughter, the terror, the fear,
of whole villages razed to the ground.
The shortage of food and medical supplies
and the mass graves for those that they found.
He read of the wire that cruelly entrapped men,
how they sometimes lay caught there for days,
with their cries getting quieter as weakened they died.
Each man fought his own battle malaise.
The clock now had moved on full circle it seems
ninety years have passed by - come and gone,
once more there were two lads from somewhere near Bourke
and one of those young lads was his son,
who wore the khaki and would follow the flag
to a country across foreign seas
Two cousins – best mates, who were good in a stoush.
Keep them safe God he prayed, on his knees
Maureen Clifford © 08/12
Two larrikin lads from the outback near Bourke
one a ringer and one a gun shearer,
both shared the same mother but had different dads,
Get Mums ire up – they’d reason to fear her.
Two brothers, best mates, both were good in a stoush
pick on one be prepared to fight two.
Thick as thieves and like shadows this tearaway pair
were good blokes to have there in a blue.
The worst blue of all then came here to their country
and word went out over the land.
We need the strong young blokes to answer the call
to sign up and give a helping hand.
They came from the cities, the outback and scrub.
From the farms and the hamlets and towns.
All were willing to don uniforms of khaki
and head overseas, for Europe bound.
No prizes for guessing that Joe and Frank went
and both left Bourke with their Mother’s blessing,
She knew that her boys would not refuse the call
and would go anyway – no use stressing.
They sailed on the Aeneas from Circular Quay
on the twentieth day of December,
all full of high spirits and brave bonhomie
‘twas a day Aussie Mums would remember.
They’d been there a month in the thick of the fight
when one day Frank laconically said
“It’s not the adventure we thought it would be,
there’s a fair chance we might end up dead.
I’ll make a pact with you – you’ll know what I mean
when I say that should push turn to shove
we should do the right thing Joe – not suffer in pain;
meet our maker, the bloke up above.
I’ll do it for you. Will you do it for me
if we know there’s no cards left to play?”
Young Joe looked hard at him, gave a nod and winked
then said ‘‘ Mate you read my mind today”
So a pact was settled – no more need be said
they got on with the fighting and war.
Boys heartily sickened by what they both did
and the stench and the blood and the gore.
The cold was relentless, the rats and flies thick,
endless nights loud with onslaught of war
The Very light flares lit the battleground there
and it looked like a slaughterhouse floor.
Up and over the top, brother Frank led the charge
to the wire through the guns enfilade;
as round them men screamed, a harsh discordant sound
as they ran and they fell and died hard.
There was no time to falter, no time to look back
and no time to console fallen mates.
It was mayhem and murder and madness as well,
and each man there resigned to his fate.
But somehow despite all the carnage they saw
the two boys survived it, both unharmed.
They’d suffered from trench foot, were riddled with lice
but it seems that their lives were still charmed.
They never spoke much of the things they had seen
‘twas a picture that both men would bear
in silence, though both fought with their devils inside
and both men sought for solace in prayer.
They lived a good life in their country of birth
and married two sisters so I heard.
Both bought property somewhere outback near Louth
a quiet place where the wind barely stirred.
A trunk in an attic held letters to home,
faded photos of good looking blokes
in khaki and spit polished boots and slouch hats,
posed on camels, enjoying a joke.
A diary was found and the story within
bought a tear to the finders blue eyes
as he read of the war his Great Grandfather fought
and no words could his horror disguise.
He read of the slaughter, the terror, the fear,
of whole villages razed to the ground.
The shortage of food and medical supplies
and the mass graves for those that they found.
He read of the wire that cruelly entrapped men,
how they sometimes lay caught there for days,
with their cries getting quieter as weakened they died.
Each man fought his own battle malaise.
The clock now had moved on full circle it seems
ninety years have passed by - come and gone,
once more there were two lads from somewhere near Bourke
and one of those young lads was his son,
who wore the khaki and would follow the flag
to a country across foreign seas
Two cousins – best mates, who were good in a stoush.
Keep them safe God he prayed, on his knees
Maureen Clifford © 08/12
Take yourself along to the famous Louth race day and you'll find out. 
U would suspect that pacts to end a mate's suffering were made in those dreadful war torn days. After all we put an animal out of its misery when suffering - it is our duty of care to do so, could we do less for a loved one or mate in similar circumstances when help to save them was not available, or the injuries so bad that you knew they weren't going to make it?
