I’ve become a little time poor for regular blogging in the last year or so and as both of my readers probably know I’ve moved over to Twitter, recently the scene of the kind of free speech battleground that’s made me miss the blogging lark quite a lot even though I wasn’t on the receiving end. I would certainly have made time for this blog’s traditional ANZAC Day post anyway, but considering how fragile are the freedoms paid for with the blood of men and women it feels more important than ever that such sacrifices are marked.

This year, despite my complete and utter lack of religious conviction, I intend to pop along to the Dawn Service – and if you’re in Australia please consider doing the same and visit for locations and times – and at the time this blog post is scheduled to hit the web I should be on the way. I won’t be praying or singing hymns, but I shall be standing quietly at the back somewhere, sacrificing by choice a tiny bit of my time to commemorate those who’ve given up years of healthy life or use of limbs or their last breath.

And as every year I’ve also spent a little time this evening looking for a suitable poem. Think on this.

Campfire Thoughts


Sitting by the campfire glow
do you drift in silent thought
think of diggers young and brave
and countries where they fought

Resting in their compound safe
did they stare at lucent flame
then imagine if they could
they were back home again

Fighting Boers in Africa
on the hills or open plains
did they circle late night fires
and miss their home town rains

Middle eastern deserts bare
under mesmerising stars,
did they stand around a fire
and talk of eastern bars

Near the battle fields of France
where so many gave their lives,
did they sit by warming fire
share photos of their wives

Once again in world war two
resting on Kokoda’s track,
did our boys group round a fire
and think they’d not come back

Inside deathly prison camps
endless cruelty brave men bore
did the weak surround a fire
dream of Australia’s shore

Hillsides bare, now in Korea
called the forgotten war
did our diggers make a fire
pray for their full withdraw

Troops were called up-on again
now Vietnam’s jungle dense
did they drink by campfire’s glow
say, “this does not make sense”

Serving now on foreign shores
tropic nights or winter sun
do they sit by campfire warm
glad when their tour is done

Next time you’re by campfire glow
drifting into silent thought
think of diggers young or old
remember why they fought.

David J Delaney
14 July 2009 ©

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Posted on April 25, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Did wonder what had happened to you. Thought you’d overdone the anger bit and exploded.

    You’re right, of course, about how fragile our freedoms have so suddenly become. With new UK government snooping computers now starting up which have massive capacity for spying on ‘the people’ it is dues to get much worse. It’s being done for our protection – of course. They really do think that we all have shit for brains don’t they?

    The poetry concerning ‘diggers’ and their incredible sacrifices will soon include a verse on the fight to save England. Let’s hope that when it come to pass, it tells of battles won and the unwelcome invaders driven out.

    On this side of the world the politicians are getting so bad that it’s become funny. You made one smart move when you left.

    Perhaps you should stop doing angry anyway, at least for a while. Go back to being funny. You do funny even better than angry. Suits my sense of humour perfectly anyway.

    For instance and being really serious. What do you think about the Arabian adventures of a chap called Abu’s Qatada and an English maiden he calls Theresa who May? All the rage over here. She’s wanting to have him on a plane. Apparently. But what the fuck do I know?

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