Long but well worth a read.. I wandered thru a country town, cos I had some time to spare, And went into an antique shop to see what was in there. Old Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all, A photo of a soldier boy – an Anzac on the Wall. The Anzac have a name? I asked. The old man answered No. The ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago. The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale, The photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale. I asked around, the old man said, but no-one knows his face, Hes been on that wall twenty years... Deserves a better place. For some-one must have loved him, so it seems a shame somehow. I nodded in agreement and then said, Ill take him now. My nameless diggers photo, well it was a sorry sight A cracked glass pane and a broken frame - I had to make it right To prise the photo from its frame I took care just in case, Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place. I peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise, Two letters and a telegram appeared before my eyes The first reveals my Anzacs name, and regiment of course John Mathew Francis Stuart - of Australias own Light Horse. This letter written from the front... My interest now was keen This note was dated August seventh 1917 Dear Mum, Im at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red Sea They say its in the Bible - looks like a Billabong to me. My Kathy wrote Im in her prayers... shes still my bride to be I just cant wait to see you both, youre all the world to me. And Mum youll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him out I told him to call on you when hes up and about. That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funny He lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the COs dunny. I told you how he dragged me wounded, in from no mans land He stopped the bleeding, closed the wound, with only his bare hand. Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blast It was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldnt last. He woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mind Cause out there on the battlefield hed left one leg behind. Hes been in a bad way Mum, he knows hell ride no more Like me he loves a horses back, he was a champ before. So Please Mum can you take him in, hes been like my own brother Raised in a Queensland orphanage he s never known a mother. But Struth, I miss Australia Mum, and in my mind each day I am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away. Im mustering white-faced cattle, with no camels hump in sight And I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night I wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt down Ill always love you and please say hooroo to all in town. The second letter I could see, was in a ladys hand An answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land. Her copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and clean It bore the date, November 3rd 1917. Twas hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the war Id hoped you would be home by now - each day I miss you more Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been away To share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day. And Bluey has arrived - and what a godsend he has been We talked and laughed for days about the things youve done and seen He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm, I read the same hope in his eyes that you wont come to harm. McConnells kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed. We had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange. Last Wednesday, just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight, It raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright. It really spooked your Billy - and he screamed and bucked and reared And then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he cleared They brought him back next afternoon, but somethings changed I fear Its like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near. Remember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane? Now Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame, Thats why we need you home son - then the flow of ink went dry- This letter was unfinished, and I couldnt work out why. Until I started reading, the letter number three A yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy, Her son killed in action - oh - what pain that must have been The same date as her letter - 3rd November 1917 This letter which was never sent, became then one of three She sealed behind the photos face - the face she longed to see. And Johns home towns old timers - children when he went to war Would say no greater cattleman had left the town before. They knew his widowed mother well - and with respect did tell How when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well. She could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak My Johnnys at the war you know, hes coming home next week. They all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end. A younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend. And he would go and find her when she wandered old and weak And always softly say yes dear - John will be home next week. Then when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say. I tried to find out where he went, but dont know to this day. And Kathy never wed - a lonely spinster some found odd. She wouldnt set foot in a church - shed turned her back on God. Johns mother left no Will I learned on my detective trail. This explains my photos journey, of that clearance sale. So I continued digging, cause I wanted to know more. I found Johns name with thousands, in the records of the war. His last ride proved his courage - a ride you will acclaim The Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame. That last day in October, back in 1917 At 4pm our brave boys fell - that sad fact I did glean. Thats when Johns life was sacrificed, the records crystal clear But 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here...... So as Johns gallant spirit rose to cross the great divide, Were lightning bolts back home, a signal from the other side? Is that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain? Because hed never feel his master on his back again? Was it coincidental? same time - same day - same date? Some proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate? I think its more than that you know, as Ive heard wiser men, Acknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken Where craggy peaks guard secrets neath dark skies torn asunder, Where hoof-beats are companions to the rolling waves of thunder Where lightning cracks like 303s and ricochets again Where howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men. Some Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track, Theyve glimpsed a huge black stallion - Light Horseman on his back. Yes Sceptics say, its swirling clouds just forming apparitions Oh no, my friend you cant dismiss all this as superstition. The desert of Beersheba - or windswept Aussie range, John Stuart rides on forever there - Now I dont find that strange. Now some gaze upon this photo, and they often question me And I tell them a small white lie, and say hes family. You must be proud of him. they say - I tell them, one and all, Thats why he takes - the pride of place - my Anzac on the Wall. By Jim Brown
Posted on: Fri, 25 Apr 2014 10:25:44 +0000
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