By Tomas ‘Paddy’ Hamilton

The blood that flowed, on the Western Front, has long since ebbed its’ tide The dust of those who bravely fell, now part of our nation’s pride

I WATCHED THEM SAIL TO HOSTILE SHORES, TO GALIPPOLI’S BLOOD SOAKED SAND OR THE QUAGMIRE OF THE WESTERN FRONT AND

Born in a light house, by Cape Leeuwin’s salty spray, She became her father’s keeper, when her mother passed away.

At 11am the guns were mute, a calm was in the air. After four long years, the dogs of war, were banished from their lair.

I found them lying in the dust, they’d long since lost their glint. Who they had once belonged to, there was not the slightest hint.

They did what they were trained to do, without question or fuss, And the last thing they expected, was to be thrown under the bus

The stench of dope and castor oil, no longer smelt today As small fragile bi-planes, rose above Port Phillip Bay

To some we were the girl next door, a sister or a daughter Who nursed behind the Western Front, in the face of wholesale slaughter

One hundred years of service, our Air Force has achieved – Sometimes the butt of friendly jibes, but do not be deceived…

The Lord casts his net, both far and wide, to those who feel they’re lost When the ways of this

She posed no threat to anyone and sailed the seas in peace The weak were all placed in her, care,

We thought all wars were banished, when they dropped the mushroom bomb And peace would finally shroud the world, but we’d never been so wrong

THE HUNGRY AND THE WORLD’S OPPRESSED, WE WERE THEIR SONS AND DAUGHTERS TRAVELLING TO THIS LAND OF HOPE, FROM WARTIME’S

  Three heroes left to do their job. three did not return Every task cheating death, peril at every turn

WHEN YOU STRUGGLE WITH YOUR DEMONS TRYING TO HOLD YOUR FEARS AT BAY YOU HEAR THOSE WORDS OF COMFORT “HEY

My folks met before I was born, they served our nations’ cause Down through generations, our loyalty did not pause

We’re the parents who watched with pride, the day that you marched out But the ideals for which you stood,

Tread gently on this foreign field, for it lies soaked in blood, that flowed across this battlefield, a tragic crimson flood