Compulsory Hero (Once a Simple Man)

by Gypsymooncat

This is a rework of a previous poem. Please read notes.

How'd an Aussie Digger feel when he was under threat -

was the trigger held by shaking fingers, slick with sweat?

His legendary bravery and courage got him through,

but he was still a simple man, the same as me and you

To keep the peace we valued, he would risk or lose his life
and kill when he was called to, with a gun or with a knife
he stormed that Turkish beach along with numbers all too few
but even so, he was a simple man, like me and you

We've honoured him with medals, ticker tape and marching bands
with no idea of how it felt to lay his trembling hands
upon the bloodied chests of comrades dying in the dirt
Had we thought this simple man might wonder what it's worth?

We've even asked him to accept our praise and accolades,

and carry them with flags and medals, cheefully displayed

Yet who were we to force on him this glory once a year?
When bugle calls remind this simple man of death and fear

None of us will ever know this man come back from war
for he did not return the same as who he was, before
we’ll shake his hand and thank him, but will never understand
This proud, compuls'ry hero, who was once a simple man

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For those who don't know the legend of the Aussie Digger:

His story originates in Gallipolli. He was part of the ANZAC treaty, along with New Zealand soldiers, or Kiwi troops, hence "Australian and New Zealand Army Corp". They landed at dawn on Galipolli with very few numbers, and ran the gauntlet, knowing hope was they had. The numbers lost were high, but still the Aussie Digger, alongside his Kiwi counterparts, fought bravely on. The Aussie Digger is legendary for his calm and wit during times of battle and great duress. His sense of humour was the ingredient that kept him, and his troops, going. He was known for never acknowledging his own heroism; always attributing that title to his fallen comrades.

This poem is not only a tribute to our Aussie Diggers, but also to the Kiwi troops who fought bravely alongside them.

I also want to acknowledge how war changes a person. They go believing they're fighting for their country and families. They return not knowing why they're still alive when their mates are dead, or why they had to kill so many men. Guilt and nightmares plague them. Yet we can't help them. Are these glorified marches once a year the way to ease the pain of hellish memories? Do we care that they go to war an ordinary person, returning a "hero", but scarred for life from what they saw and had to do?

We can never understand.

THANKS FOR READING.

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Hero: a badgethese simple men might not've wanted

Compulsory Hero (Once a Simple Man)

by Gypsymooncat

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