Frozen to the bone, they could but wait.

Five thousand men, knowing not their fate.

At 4.45 before the dawn, all heard the dreaded whistles shrill.

"1000 yards" they said, "Just a stroll up the hill."

 

Four lines of young men began their advance,

Not knowing only one in three had a chance.

All clad in Khaki, all knew their objective,

and Private Mac McLachan grew introspective.

 

"What am I doing?" thought old Mac, "I am bloody forty four!"

The young lads all were with him were barely a score.

But Fourteenth Battalion, Gallipoli veterans all,

except for new chums who had answered the call.

 

Old Mac was a wharfie and hailed from Geelong,

with his wife and family was where he belonged.

Tough for sure, but still, he had to do his bit,

but back to reality as those in front got hit.

 

They were told they had a dozen monster Tanks,

to crush the wire and defend the flanks,

but of the twelve, only four arrived.

Four went forward but none survived.

 

Mac tightened the scarf his wife had made.

To stoush without it she had forebade.

He could feel the rush of passing lead,

but onward, onward over the fallen dead.

 

Brave men approached the coiled barbed wire,

With many falling from murderous enfilade fire.

Into the trench quickly, it's better hand to hand,

than facing machine guns in open land.

 

No longer cold from the thrill of the fight,

the men moved quickly in the days dawning light.

The second trench was easier to take,

and a breather for Mac and his thirst to slake.

 

Old Mac did not hear the hun's rifle crack,

as his head fell back against his pack.

All he felt was the slightest sting,

before he heard the Herald Angels sing.

 

"Missing In Action" was all the letter said,

but he was just one of eleven hundred dead.

"Tell me why?" old Mac's wife repeatably pleaded,

but her sorrowful pleas went totally unheeded.

 

Finally she was told what happened that fateful day

in the French town of Bullecourt, nearly half a world away

And on every April 11, she would perceive the scene

Where her Mac and the boys had perished, in 1917

 

They sent a bronze plaque to the families aggrieved ,

a 'Dead Man's Penny' as payment for the generation thieved.

And Old Mac's wife felt her sorrow rise upon her,

reading the words, ..."He died ... for freedom ... and Honour".

 

Mortus est... pro liberatate ... et honore!