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Quotes about digger, page 2

A Message: Armistice Day 1936

I got dreamin' that a message come in some mysterious way
From one ole pal of mine, gone West this many an' many a day,
A bloke the name of Ginger Mick, a fightin' cove I knoo.
(But 'e's Digger Corporal Mick Esquire, late A.I.F., to you)
'E got 'is on Gallipoli, an' sleeps there with the best,
Not leavin' very much be'ind, excep' one small request.
'Look after things,' was all 'e said, when 'e was mortal 'urt.
Dead sure 'is mates - that's me an' you - would never do 'im dirt.

(Think of it in the Silence, with yer 'eads bowed low:
Do we keep the unspoke compact with the men we used to know?)

For I dreams it in the silence of a dark Remembrance Eve;
An' the message seems to tell me it is gettin' late to grieve.
'But if you seem to miss us still, then get the sob-stuff o'er,
An' think about the things wot we went an' fought a war.
Send up a pray`r an' dropp a tear an' bend a reverent knee -
(Says Digger Corporal Ginger Mick, A.I.F., says 'e)
But is them things we fought for still the things most dear to you:
The honor an' the glory an' the mateship that we knew?'

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The Sword

There's a sword affixed in a glass case,
There on a western wall.
There's a photo there of a soldier
Who answered his country's call.
There's of the sword, a story to tell;
And of men - how the dice may fall.

In the east ‘neath the rising sun,
With his family gazing on,
In a uniform smartly fitting,
Stood an officer of Nippon.
At his side swung his sword - katana,
And to war he would soon be gone.

From his people were gifts bestowed:
A small book of prayers to take,
And a camera to record
The conquests their son would make;
So his family's photo he took;
In the book he would keep the keepsake.

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Quart Pot Creek

On an evening ramble lately, as I wandered on sedately,
Linking curious fancies, modern, mediaeval, and antique—
Suddenly the sun descended, and a radiance ruby-splendid,
With the gleam of water blended, thrilled my sensitive physique—
Thrilled me, filled me with emotion to the tips of my physique,
Fired my eye, and flushed my cheek.

Heeding not where I was going, I had wandered, all unknowing,
Where a river gently flowing caught the radiant ruby-streak;
And this new-found stream beguiling my sedateness into smiling,
Set me classically styling it with Latin names and Greek,
Names Idalian and Castalian, such as lovers of the Greek
Roll like quids within their cheek.

On its marge was many a burrow, many a mound, and many a furrow,
Where the fossickers of fortune play at Nature's hide-and-seek;
And instead of bridge to span it, there were stepping-stones of granite,
And where'er the river ran, it seemed of hidden wealth to speak.
Presently my soul grew stronger, and I, too, was fain to speak:—
I assumed a pose plastique.

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Out West

'I've seen so much uv dirt an' grime
I'm mad to 'ave things clean.
I've seen so much uv death,' 'e said
'So many cobbers lyin' dead
You won't know wot I mean;
But, lad, I've 'ad so much uv strife
I want things straightened in my life.

'I've seen so much uv 'ate,' 'e said
'Mad 'ate an' silly rage
I'm yearnin' for clear thoughts,' said 'e.
'Kindness an' love seem good to me.
I want a new, white page
To start all over, clean an' good,
An' live me life as reel men should.'

We're sittin' talkin' by the fence,
The sun's jist going' down,
Paintin' the sky all gold an' pink.
Said 'e, 'When it's like that, I think -'

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West

'I've seen so much uv dirt an' grime
I'm mad to 'ave things clean.
I've seen so much uv death,' 'e said --
'So many cobbers lyin' dead --
You won't know wot I mean;
But, lad, I've 'ad so much uv strife
I want things straightened in my life.

'I've seen so much uv 'ate,' 'e said --
'Mad 'ate an' silly rage --
I'm yearnin' for clear thoughts,' said 'e.
'Kindness an' love seem good to me.
I want a new, white page
To start all over, clean an' good,
An' live me life as reel men should.'

We're sittin' talkin' by the fence,
The sun's jist going' down,
Paintin' the sky all gold an' pink.
Said 'e, 'When it's like that, I think --'

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The Boys Out There

'Why do they do it? I dunno,'
Sez Digger Smith. 'Yeh got me beat.
Some uv the yarns yeh 'ear is true,
An' some is rather umptydoo,
An' some is - indiscreet.
But them that don't get to the crowd,
Them is the ones would make you proud.'

With Digger Smith an' other blokes
'Oo 'ave returned it's much the same:
They'll talk uv wot they've seen an' done
When they've been out to 'ave their fun;
But no word uv the game.
On fights an' all the tale uv blood
Their talk, as they remark, is dud.

It's so with soldiers, I 'ave 'eard,
All times. The things they 'ave done,
War-mad, with blood before their eyes,
An' their ears wild fightin' cries,

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Jim's Girl

''Oo is that girl,' sez Digger Smith,
That never seems to bother with
No blokes: the bint with curly 'air?
I've often seen 'er over there
Talkin' to Missus Flood, an' she
Seems like a reel ripe peach to me.

'Not that I'm askin'' ... 'Ere 'is eyes
Goes sort uv swiv'ly, an' 'e sighs.
'Not that I'm askin' with idears
Uv love an' marridge; 'ave no fears.
I've chucked the matrimony plan,'
'E sez. 'I'm only 'arf a man.'

This Digger Smith 'as fairly got
Me rampin' with 'is ''arf a man' rot.
'E 'as a timber leg, it's true;
But 'e can do the work uv two.
Besides, the things 'e's done Out There
Makes 'im one man an' some to spare.

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The Fight at Eureka Stockade

"Was I at Eureka?" His figure was drawn to a youthful height,
And a flood of proud recollections made the fire in his grey eyes bright;
With pleasure they lighted and glisten'd, tho' the digger was grizzled and old,
And we gathered about him and listen'd while the tale of Eureka he told.

"Ah, those were the days," said the digger, "twas a glorious life that we led,
When fortunes were dug up and lost in a day in the whirl of the years that are dead.
But there's many a veteran now in the land - old knights of the pick and the spade,
Who could tell you in language far stronger than mine 'bout the fight at Eureka Stockade.

"We were all of us young on the diggings in days when the nation had birth -
Light-hearted, and careless, and happy, and the flower of all nations on earth;
But we would have been peaceful an' quiet if the law had but let us alone;
And the fight - let them call it a riot - was due to no fault of our own.

"The creed of our rulers was narrow - they ruled with a merciless hand,
For the mark of the cursed broad arrow was deep in the heart of the land.
They treated us worse than the negroes were treated in slavery's day -
And justice was not for the diggers, as shown by the Bently affray.

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The Cambaroora Star

So you're writing for a paper? Well, it's nothing very new
To be writing yards of drivel for a tidy little screw;
You are young and educated, and a clever chap you are,
But you'll never run a paper like the CAMBAROORA STAR.
Though in point of education I am nothing but a dunce,
I myself -- you mayn't believe it -- helped to run a paper once
With a chap on Cambaroora, by the name of Charlie Brown,
And I'll tell you all about it if you'll take the story down.

On a golden day in summer, when the sunrays were aslant,
Brown arrived in Cambaroora with a little printing plant
And his worldly goods and chattels -- rather damaged on the way --
And a weary-looking woman who was following the dray.
He had bought an empty humpy, and, instead of getting tight,
Why, the diggers heard him working like a lunatic all night:
And next day a sign of canvas, writ in characters of tar,
Claimed the humpy as the office of the CAMBAROORA STAR.

Well, I cannot read, that's honest, but I had a digger friend
Who would read the paper to me from the title to the end;

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Ballarat

The digger's cultured daughter:
Her youth was wildly free.
Now by the placid water
Of tree-girt Wendouree
She walks, a gracious lady,
Where sculptured beauty gleams
By verdant paths and shady,
And dreams her golden dreams.

Her father was a digger,
Bearded and blunt and crude,
His hand quick to the trigger
Should tyranny intrude.
With lifts of sudden riches
He heaped his hoyden lass,
Whose flowering new bewitches
With beauty all who pass.

For she has sown her gardens
To hide the scars of greed,

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