By George Mansford

I watched as the young widow laid her wreath. I wanted to tell her I was with her husband shortly

In the mist of time, Jock’s fond familiar image reaches out Fleeting frames of determination, duty and a heart so

Born on the sands of Egypt, christened with rum, then issued 303s Your sacred Cloths now stitched with proud deeds

Can you hear the stirring sounds of band and drums? As ghosts of Two Squadron’s many generations march as one

With familiar sounds of whips cracking, Down Under led the Planet’s pack Visionary, bright, united and proud, we never ever looked back

Such a sacred oath to swear Of duty, discipline, and risk of life itself A proud flag to carry, and the nation’s cloth to wear.

No matter age or season, the God of War is never far away One small chink in a tribe’s armour,

Oh, how old soldiers remember past days with bayonet drill The shrieking orders; “on guard, thrust, parry, feint” “Go for

You, precious youth, are our nation’s future Look back beyond yesterday to unfold true history

We swore sacred vow for very good reason For love of country, not broken promise and false gold Ready to give all, many did in bloody season

A sub unit, without trial, has been struck from the order of battle, and with it a once-loyal and dedicated military family cast to the wind.