Today is ANZAC Day in Australia and New Zealand, our national day of remembrance. Today is the 95th anniversary of the landing of Allied troops, including the ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps), on the Gallipoli Peninsula in Turkey during World War 1, an ill-fated attempt by the Allies to secure access to the Black Sea. The invasion quickly became a stalemate, with Allied troops trapped on a narrow stretch of seaside-cliffs, and over the following eight months, heavy casualties were incurred by both Allied and Turkish troops, including the loss of over 10,000 Anzacs, before Allied troops were finally withdrawn.<\/p>\n
ANZAC Day was observed in both Australia and New Zealand from 1916 – the year following the landing – and now commemorates those lost in all the wars and military actions in the decades since then.<\/p>\n
In honour of the day, I bring you some poems by CJ Dennis, from The Moods of Ginger Mick<\/a>, a verse novel first published in 1916. Dennis’ highly successful The Sentimental Bloke<\/a>, published the year before, had introduced Ginger Mick, a rough, larrikin rabbit-seller from the back streets of Melbourne and good mate of The Sentimental Bloke, who narrates both books. The Moods of Ginger Mick was written in the early years of the War, and tells, through the Bloke’s eyes, of Mick’s somewhat reluctant volunteering as a soldier, and his experiences at Gallipoli. I’ve always loved it, and some of the poems still move me to tears every time I read them. Yes, there’s a strong current of patriotism and nationalistic pride throughout, but looking beyond that, there’s also an emotional honesty: Mick may become a hero, but he’s no shining, cultured knight, and The Bloke tells with heart-wrenching rawness of the costs of war on those left behind. One of the things I’ve always loved about CJ Dennis poems is that he is, at heart, a romantic – realistic and definitely male, but the rough, tough Bloke and Mick have feelings and struggle with them, and don’t shy away (much!) from admitting that to themselves.<\/p>\n For those interested, you can read all all of Mick’s story in the fourteen poems of The Moods of Ginger Mick here<\/a>. They’re very much written in Australian vernacular, but you can check the Glossary<\/a> for unfamiliar terms.<\/p>\n Below the fold, I’ve included excerpts from two poems. Extracts from The Call of Stoush<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n Wot price ole Ginger Mick? ‘E’s done a break – Ole Mick ‘e’s trainin’ up in Cairo now; A peb wus Mick; a leery bloke wus ‘e, ‘E wus a man uv vierlence, wus Mick, Wot for? gawstruth! ‘E wus no patriot …<\/p>\n Why did ‘e go? ‘E ‘ad a decent job, …<\/p>\n The call wot came to cave-men in the days The Call uv Stoush! … It’s older than the ‘ills. …<\/p>\n War ain’t no giddy garden feete – it’s war: Becos ‘e never ‘ad the chance to find …<\/p>\n Lovin’ an’ fightin’ . . . when the tale is told, So Ginger Mick ‘e’s mizzled to the war; Extracts from “A Gallant Gentleman”<\/a>:<\/strong><\/p>\n A month ago the world grew grey fer me; ‘Ow many times ‘ave I sat dreamin’ ‘ere …<\/p>\n An’ now – well, wot’s the odds? I’m only one: …<\/p>\n Trent tells ‘ow, when they found ‘im, near the end, ….<\/p>\n An’ so – Mafeesh! as Mick ‘ad learned to say. …<\/p>\n A gallant gentleman … Well, let it go. They fights; an’ orl the land is filled wiv cheers. A month ago, fer me the world grew grey; Today is ANZAC Day in Australia and New Zealand, our national day of remembrance. Today is the 95th anniversary of the landing of Allied troops, including the ANZACs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps), on the Gallipoli Peninsula in Turkey … Continue reading
\n<\/p>\n
\nGone to the flamin’ war to stoush the foe.
\nWus it fer glory, or a woman’s sake?
\nAr, arst me somethin’ easy! I dunno.
\n‘Is Kharki clobber set ‘im off a treat,
\nThat’s all I know; ‘is motive’s got me beat.<\/p>\n
\nAn’ all the cops in Spadger’s Lane is sad.
\nThey miss ‘is music in the midnight row
\nWot time the pushes mix it good an’ glad.
\nFer ‘e wus one o’ them, you understand,
\nWot “soils the soshul life uv this fair land.”<\/p>\n
\nLow down, an’ given to the brinnin’ cup;
\nThe sort o’ chap that coves like you an’ me
\nDon’t mix wiv, ‘cos of our strick bringin’s-up.
\nAn’ ‘e wus sich becos unseein’ Fate
\nLobbed ‘im in life a ‘undred years too late.<\/p>\n
\nCoarse wiv ‘is speech an’ in ‘is manner low,
\nSlick wiv ‘is ‘ands, an’ ‘andy wiv a brick
\nWhen bricks wus needful to defeat a foe.
\nAn’ now ‘e’s gone an’ mizzled to the war,
\nAn’ some blokes ‘as the nerve to arst “Wot for?”<\/p>\n
\nThat sits an’ brays advice in days uv strife;
\n‘E never flapped no flags nor sich like rot;
\n‘E never sung “Gawsave” in all ‘is life.
\n‘E wus dispised be them that make sich noise:
\nBut now – O strike! – ‘e’s “one uv our brave boys.”<\/p>\n
\n‘Is tart an’ ‘im they could ‘a’ made it right.
\nWhy does a wild bull fight to guard the mob?
\nWhy does a bloomin’ bull-ant look fer fight?
\nWhy does a rooster scrap an’ flap an’ crow?
\n‘E went becos ‘e dam well ‘ad to go.<\/p>\n
\nWhen rocks wus stylish in the scrappin’ line;
\nThe call wot knights ‘eard in the minstrel’s\u00a0lays,
\nThat sent ’em in tin soots to Palerstine;
\nThe call wot draws all fighters to the fray
\nIt come to Mick, an’ Mick ‘e must obey.<\/p>\n
\nLovin’ an’ fightin’ – there’s no more to tell
\nConcernin’ men. an’ when that feelin’ thrills
\nThe blood uv them ‘oo’s fathers mixed it well,
\nThey ‘ave to ‘eed it – bein’ ‘ow they’re built –
\nAs traders ‘ave to ‘eed the clink uv gilt.<\/p>\n
\nA game that calls up love an’ ‘atred both.
\nAn’ them that shudders at the sight o’ gore,
\nAn’ shrinks to ‘ear a drunken soljer’s oath,
\nMust ‘ide be’ind the man wot ‘eaves the bricks,
\nAn’ thank their Gawd for all their Ginger Micks.<\/p>\n
\nThe glory o’ the world by land an’ sea,
\nBecos the beauty ‘idin’ in ‘is mind
\nWus not writ plain fer blokes like you an’ me,
\nThey calls ‘im crook; but in ‘im I ‘ave found
\nWot makes a man a man the world around.<\/p>\n
\nThat’s all there is to it; an’ in their way
\nThem brave an’ noble ‘ero blokes uv old
\nWus Ginger Micks – the crook ‘uns uv their day.
\nJist let the Call uv Stoush give ‘im ‘is chance
\nAn’ Ginger Mick’s the ‘ero of Romance.<\/p>\n
\nJoy in ‘is ‘eart, an’ wild dreams in ‘is brain;
\nGawd ‘elp the foe that ‘e goes gunnin’ for
\nIf tales is true they tell in Spadger’s Lane –
\nTales that ud fairly freeze the gentle ‘earts
\nUv them ‘oo knits ‘is socks – the Culchered Tarts.<\/p>\n
\nA month ago the light went out fer Rose.
\nTo ‘er they broke it gentle as might be;
\nBut fer ‘is pal ‘twus one uv them swift blows
\nThat stops the ‘eart-beat; fer to me it came
\nJist, “Killed in Action,” an’ beneath ‘is name.<\/p>\n
\nAn’ seen the boys returnin’, gay an’ proud.
\nI’ve seen the greetin’s, ‘eard ‘is rousin’ cheer,
\nAn’ watched ole Mick come stridin’ thro’ the crowd.
\n‘Ow many times ‘ave I sat in this chair
\nAn’ seen ‘is ‘ard chiv grinnin’ over there.<\/p>\n
\nOne out uv many ‘oo ‘as lost a friend.
\nManlike, I’ll bounce again, an’ find me fun;
\nBut fer Poor Rose it seems the bitter end.
\nFer Rose, an’ sich as Rose, when one man dies
\nIt seems the world goes black before their eyes.<\/p>\n
\n‘E starts a fag an’ grins orl bright an’ gay.
\nAn’ when they arsts fer messages to send
\nTo friends, ‘is look goes dreamin’ far away.
\n“Look after Rose,” ‘e sez, “when I move on.
\nLook after … Rose … Mafeesh!” An’ ‘e wus gone.<\/p>\n
\n‘E’s finished; an’ there’s few ‘as marked ‘im go.
\nOnly one soljer, outed in the fray,
\n‘Oo took ‘is gamble, an’ ‘oo ‘a ‘is show.
\nThere’s few to mourn ‘im: an’ the less they leave,
\nThe less uv sorrer, fewer ‘earts to grieve.<\/p>\n
\nThey sez they’ve put them words above ‘is ‘ead,
\nOut there where lonely graves stretch in a row;
\nBut Mick ‘ell never mind it now ‘e’s dead.
\nAn’ where ‘e’s gone, when they weigh praise an’ blame,
\nP’raps gentlemen an’ men is much the same.<\/p>\n
\nThey dies; an’ ‘ere an’ there a ‘eart is broke.
\nAn’ when I weighs it orl – the shouts, the tears –
\nI sees it’s well Mick wus a lonely bloke.
\n‘E found a game ‘e knoo, an’ played it well;
\nAn’ now ‘e’s gone. Wot more is there to tell?<\/p>\n
\nA month ago the light went out fer Rose;
\nBecos one common soljer crossed the way,
\nLeavin’ a common message as ‘e goes.
\nBut ev’ry dyin’ soljer’s ‘ope lies there:
\n“Look after Rose. Mafeesh!” Gawd! It’s a pray’r!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"