Pilgrimage!

PILGRIMAGE!

And is it nearly a hundred years since I died at Gallipoli?

And is it nearly a hundred years that they've been remembering me?

The waters of the Aegean gleam like crystal way below,

The jagged cliffs are wattle-strewn as they were so long ago.

My spirit hovers peacefully, my bones are buried deep;

Quietly, we young boys lie; undisturbed we sleep.

When first he came to visit us, when the carnage was still new,

The bugler stood alone and sad, sad were the notes he blew.

A handful of mourners stood about, despondent in their grief,

The atmosphere was reverent, painful beyond belief.

But now the bugler brings with him those on 'The Pilgrimage';

They mass on every promontory; they cluster on every ridge.

Thousands of 'Pilgrims' in green and gold, many, young men like me,

Travel across the ocean to see what they can see.

The prayers I'm sure are heartfelt, the patriotism fine,

But does  their Anzac Cove, today, remotely resemble mine?

The blood, the guts, the screams, the cries, the bodies strewn around;

The horses in their agony lying on the ground.

The stench, the filth, the pain, the grief, the crying out for 'Mother!'

Australia gaining nationhood in a war that was like no other?

Now they come in their T-shirts, some saying 'I'VE BEEN THERE!'

The rowdy Aussie slogans are ringing through the air.

The shishkebabs are on the stalls, sold by wily Turkish vendors!

'Boy meets girl at Galipolli'! Parties and midnight 'benders' !


I was about your age, way back, longing to sow wild oats,
But I ended up being shot at, and cutting peoples' throats!
And you sweethearts, will you ever know the waiting and the pain?
They say mine died of a broken heart.... my sweetheart..... her name was Jane.

The Lone Pine Cemetery sacred lies, and there the mood is calm,

The atmosphere is reverent, the prayers fall like a balm.

But outside the gates they're partying, thousands on a spree.

Enjoy yourselves, young gentlemen.

It's all the same to me.