The band played "Waltzing Matilda"

Catholic New Times, Nov 16, 2003 by Eric Bogle

Matilda" was the name given to a pack of Australian Bushmen or Swagmen in World War 1. To "Waltz Matilda" was to carry your pack around the bush. Fifty thousand soldiers from Australia died at Gallipoli in a stupid and pointless campaign, which was a lot for a small country like Australia. About the only thing they achieved was a belated recognition that Australia was "growing up" She was becoming a nation in her own right.

Every April, a march is held on ANZAC DAY to commemorate the Gallipoli landings during the War, and the dead of the other wars. Australia takes this day so seriously that the pubs are dosed, the only day in the year this happens. As in all memorial parades, it is moving and yet somewhat pointless and pathetic. The jingoism remains the same. This song was written after observing one such parade.

   Now when I was a young man I carried me pack
   And I lived the free life of the rover.
   From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,
   Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
   Then in 1915, my country said, "Son",
   So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun,
   And they marched me away to the war.

   And the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
   As the ship pulled away from the quay,
   And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving, and tears,
   We sailed off for Gallipoli.

   And how well I remember that terrible day,
   How our blood stained the sand and the water;
   And of how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
   We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
   Johnny Turk, he was waitin', he primed himself well;
   He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell--And
   in five.minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell,
   Nearly blew us right back to Australia.

   But the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
   When we stopped to bury our slain,
   Well, we buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
   Then we started all over again.

   And those that were left, well, we tried to survive
   In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
   And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
   Though around me the corpses piled higher.
   Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
   And when I woke up in me hospital bed
   And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead--Never
   knew there was worse things than dying.

   Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?
   For I'll go no more "Waltzing Matilda,"
   All around the green bush far and free--To
   To hump tents and pegs, a man needs both legs,
   No name "Waltzing Matilda" for me.

   So they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,
   And they shipped us back home to Australia.
   The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,
   Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
   And as our ship sailed into Circular Quay,
   I looked at the place where me legs used to be,
   And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
   To grieve, to mourn and to pity.

   But the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
   As they carried us down the gangway,
   But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
   Then they turned all their faces away.

   And so now every April, I sit on my porch
   And I watch the parade pass before me.
   And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
   Reviving old dreams of past glory,
   And the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore,
   They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
   And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"
   And I ask meself the same question.

   But the band plays "Waltzing Matilda,"
   And the old men still answer the call,
   But as year follows year, more old men disappear
   Someday, no one will march there at all.