In times of great adversity, when backed against a wall.
When soldier’s lives are on the line, there’s someone you should call.
When obstacles become too great, do not give in to fear.
Get on your two-way radio and call an Engineer.
They find a way to overcome all problems in their way.
Their skills of ingenuity will always save the day.
They’re soldiers with ability to think outside the square.
They’ll do the jobs that have the risks, which others wouldn’t dare.
They have a mind for making things that sets them from the rest.
And when it comes to breaking things, they’ve proved they are the best.
In battles past they’ve shown their worth - they’re cunning as a fox.
The way they overcome their tasks is quite unorthodox.
Their soldier skills are dinky-di - as good as any grunt.
When battle starts, they know their place – they’re always at the front.
So if you need a helping hand, there’s one you should implore.
The soldier from that canny place – the Engineer Corps.
And if you need a real good mate to join you for a beer.
You know the man to call upon - that’s right, the Engineer.
Australia has a canny son – his skills are world renowned
When tensions on the globe erupt, he’s first upon the ground
He’s the lion of the army – to this most would agree.
He’s the fully rounded soldier that many want to be.
Though many seek selection - few ever make the grade.
The sandy beret signifies: a master of his trade.
He’s a military specialist – an expert with his tools.
He’s quick to speak what’s on his mind and doesn’t suffer fools.
He’s a stubborn sort of fellow who seems without a care.
His motto’s not for cowards - to win he has to dare.
You’ll find him in the jungles, the deserts and the snow.
But ask him where he’ll be next week; he’ll say he doesn’t know.
He moves freely in the daytime, but always out of sight.
He appears where least expected – a phantom in the night.
He’ll face extreme conditions with minimum supply.
His body may be soaking, but his humour’s always dry.
He pays the price for liberty – far from the warmth of home.
His family pays a price as well, through endless months alone.
In public celebrations, we never see his face.
In times of recognition, he feels quite out of place.
He says - it’s just his duty, the service that he vowed.
But Australia thanks you anyway; you’ve done this country proud.
The Colours of Duntroon
By Ian Coate
To take the path of leadership is not an easy thing.
It takes more than academics and skills of managing.
You need a greater character that shines both clear and bright.
A beacon for men to follow, through times of fear and plight.
When you can show great self control with what you say and do.
You never malign and gossip or say a word untrue.
When you can face and overcome the failures of your past.
In times of great adversity, be strong, stand tall, hold fast.
When you know the stirrings of fear, but not give into fear.
Never thinking with emotion, through pressures staying clear.
When your wisdom is advancing from gathering all the facts.
When you're prompt to hear, slow to speak and mentally relaxed.
When you can firmly stand your ground by a right decision.
And not bow down to politics or uncontrolled ambition.
When you have got authority, still knowing you should learn.
That one must keep humility to be able to discern.
When you can admire people, but never imitate.
When you're comfortable with self and not give into hate.
When you're content and stabilised, wherever you may be.
When you're sensitive to others, though you may disagree.
When you can lead without bias and never out of spite.
Neither favouring or thwarting, but dealing fair and right.
Then you've learnt the officer's code and respect will follow soon.
For soldiers will see your honour and the Colours of Duntroon.
Stand fast our Aussie Diggers; we need you at the front.
Our freedoms demand maintenance, which you must bear the brunt.
We don’t always appreciate the freedoms that you’ve won.
We soon forget in peacetime the duties that you’ve done.
But do your job in spite of us; ignore our ignorance.
Defend us in our time of need with constant vigilance.
For without you there, to bar the pass, enemies will get through.
And on that day, we’ll wish we had, maintained support for you.
Spirit of the Light Horseman
By Ian Coate
Australia has a legend that through her sons lives on.
Born from amidst the colonies; a horseman thereupon.
He derives from hardy stockmen; a yeoman cavalier.
He’s been tested under fire; a man with little fear.
To most countries he has traveled; through many wars he’s been.
He’s by far the strangest soldier the world has ever seen.
He’s a rider; he’s a fighter; a rogue; a gentleman.
He’s the devil with mobility; our greatest guardian.
With loyalty beyond reproach that one should never spurn.
This man’s respect is not a thing that you may easily earn.
He’s always unpredictable and lives the life of whim.
He doesn’t take it seriously; it’s all a game to him.
He’s a reckless man, a braggart, but in truth he’s earned his due.
There is little that he says that he can’t ever do.
While time has changed the horsemen’s job to a different art.
And years have passed since last they charged; he’s still the same at heart.
Even though his steed has altered, he knows when things get grim.
The spirit of the Light Horseman will always ride with him.
For Freedoms sake we've been to war, on duty's principal
Since Vietnam back to the Boer we've paid the price in full.
We've fought in countries far and near over land seas and sky.
For longer than a hundred years we've waved our friends goodbye.
We've done our bit, our duties done. It's time we had some leave.
Relax and have eternal fun is all we will achieve.
What a reunion it will be. So many mates to meet.
The finest Digger's jubilee united and complete.
So remember and pay homage, honour the price we paid.
Enjoy your freedom to old age is how we'll be repaid.
Digger Jack from Donnybrook was a downright lazy chap,
he never helped a mate out in his life.
When hearing any signs of work, he’d go and take a nap,
and hide away to kip through all the strife.
At the daily call to march, the soldiers grabbed their kit,
they’d carry all the things upon their back.
But the last thing that they want is to drag along a twit,
who’s gone asleep again upon his pack.
No matter how they begged and yelled, Jack wouldn’t understand.
He’d skulk away and kip against a tree.
Jack was last to volunteer and last to lend a hand,
but always first in line for lunch and tea.
But then as often happens to those who will not work
came a day that Digger Jack will long regret.
He crept up Swagman’s Hill to hide away and shirk,
he hunted for a place that was not wet.
The cemetery he found it, a bed without a crowd
a cozy little grave to rest his head.
He stretched himself and yawned and started snoring loud,
loud enough to even wake the dead.
At camp the call was given; the troops were on the run,
they were busy with the things they had to pack.
Soon everyone was gone, except of cause for one,
the good for nothing, lazy, Digger Jack
Beneath the grave on which he slept his snores had woke a ghost,
the sort of one to fill a man with dread.
The meanest, toughest RSM the world could ever boast,
had risen mad and now was seeing red.
The ghost gave a mighty yell then poked Jack in the chest,
‘You shiftless good for nothing little flea.
It’s time you learnt a lesson and learnt it from the best,
about the things a soldier ought to be.’
Jack screamed with all his lungs as he tried to run away,
but the ghost had got him firmly by his ear.
‘There’s no escape for you my lad. It’s here with me you'll stay,
you’ll do as you are ordered. IS THAT CLEAR!’
Jack jumped up to attention as he jumped back in his skin.
‘W-who are you,’ he stammered in a slur.
‘In life they called me Crusty,’ the ghost gave an evil grin.
‘But you, my lazy sod, may call me Sir.’
‘Now get your shirt and pack, you slug. We’re going for a run.
We’re going to the top of Mt Despair.
And don’t you be a slacker and start to cry my son.
I WON'T LISTEN - I WON'T STOP - I DON'T CARE!’
Half way up the mountain Jack thought that he would die,
never had he run so far before.
But every time he thought to rest Old Crusty gave the eye,
then scared Jack would run a few miles more.
‘It’s time you did some push ups,’ Old Crusty yelled anew.
‘And here’s a little warning for you matey.
If you take a break I’ll snap you right in two.
Now drop upon the ground and give me eighty.’
Jack wept when the sun went down, for all his strength was done.
The old grey ghost just looked at him then laughed.
‘The daylight may have finished but you have just begun,
you’re going down the rapids on a raft!’
Jack hurtled down the river where the raging waters blend.
He paddled hard to keep the raft afloat.
‘Help me Sir, please save me! We've reached the rivers end,
the waterfalls will crush this useless boat.’
But down the mighty falls Jack went and the river spat him out,
tired bruised and broken on the shore.
‘How dare you rest,’ yelled Crusty, ‘you sorry looking lout.
Its time that you got up and worked some more.’
After every form of exercise, Jack was so worn out and sore,
but Crusty kept him working through his pain.
He climbed the highest ropes then scaled the hardest walls.
Jack swore aloud he’d never slack off again.
His arms were scraped and bleeding. His uniform was in shreds,
from hours leopard crawling on his belly.
But when Old Crusty called him forth with a voice that split his head,
Jack’s red, raw knees gave and turned to jelly.
‘Well done Digger Jack, my lad, you made it, you're a champ,
you've finished all the tasks that I demanded.
Now grab your pack, on the double, get going back to camp.’
Jack quickly did as the ghost commanded.
As daylight kissed the country, the ghost gave a final warning,
‘I’ll be watching Jack. Make sure that you behave.
If you start your idle ways, watch out when you are yawning,
I’ll come again and haunt you from the grave.’
Old Crusty’s ghost faded as up Swagman’s Hill it swept,
leaving Digger Jack frozen as a painting.
When he finally found the courage, to move and take a step,
he collapsed, in a heap, after fainting.
Later, when the men returned. They certainly weren’t surprised,
to find Jack fast asleep on top his pack.
‘Get up Dig, ya lazy sod, it's time that you arise,
we're sick of all the times that you’ve been slack.’
Jack woke and screamed, then saw his mates. He shouted out, ‘YAHOO!
Your finally home, it's great to see ya back.
It’s time that I got busy. I’ll get ya’s all a brew.
Sit down, relax and let me go unpack.”
The men never knew what changed him; Jack was different from that day,
the hardest working bloke that was around.
For when Digger Jack got tired, he would glance the graveyards way,
and soon, new motivation would be found.
‘Targets down - Patch Out.’
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Our greatest crime in peace you’ll find, is forgetting the price we paid.
If we don’t uphold our soldiers, we’ll destroy the peace they made.
For freedom’s not a right we have, it needs a duty of care.
At times this duty will ask a price, which the soldier has to bare.
At times this price will take him far, away from family’s embrace,
And place him in the lion’s den, then great dangers he must face.
But do not fear for loved ones gone, doing your countries desire.
God protects the righteous soldier with a constant wall of fire
"I believe military artists truly achieve something of worth if they can create an image that inspires the soldier who is simultaneously protecting that artist's freedom of creativity."
