New Zealand Veterans Back At Cassino After Sixty Years

We are come to you old comrades, this Commemoration day,
Bringing New Zealand thoughts and greetings from the homeland far away.
We are come in peace and memory, when first we came in war,
Quick young men made that first journey, but young men we are no more.
Fallen are the snows of sixty winters, since we were forced to leave you here and go,
Full eighty years press heavy on our shoulders, making footsteps faltering and slow.
Yet you, our proud-held-comrades, remain young men as when you fell,
While for us, soon that final bugle-call, old soldiers know so well.

Few there are remaining now and we grow fewer day by day,
Yet the very last survivor will hold proud thoughts of comrades far away.
Warm satisfaction is upon us as we stand now at your side,
And find respect and quiet peacefulness, surrounds this place where you abide.
Amongst shady trees sing blithesome birds: nearby are young children at their play,
From within the Abbey the Vesper Bell, tolls the closing of each day.

It is so far from our homeland to this sunny Latin shore,
And the age of our old bodies, means we can come again no more.
Though you lie long distance from us, in peace we leave you here,
Know your comrades hold you proudly: know New Zealand holds you dear.

Doug Froggatt
New Zealand
2004.

A New Zealand Veteran Returns to Cassino Sixty Years After The Battle

Is this truly the place, said the Veteran, his body bent, arthritic and slow,
Is this really that hell-hole of battle where we looked death in the face long ago.
Why Yes! Now that I look close over the valley and across the new town – it must be,
For there is the winding Rapido, running its course to the sea.
And look! High up at the head of the valley there can be no mistaking that place,
Even though now clothed densely with olives and wearing a sparkling new face.
That will be the new Abbey of Monte Cassino for I know well that steep rugged dome,
It stands peacefully now in the sunlight, but still guarding the roadway to Rome.

Then the worn, time-scarred face of the old man, becomes the picture of all he has seen,
Of the thousands of bombs and the bombers: of the death and destruction there’d been.
Of tanks and the gunfire of battle: of the dead lying closely at hand,
It is this memory of long-fallen comrades that has brought him far back to this land.
His face draws clearly this picture amongst headstones that bring him to tears,
His heart dangerously pounds in his body; his mind races back through the years.
Still as quick young soldiers he sees them – this old man, stooped, saddened and grey,
But he has brought the voice and thoughts of the homeland to share with his comrades today.

Yes! The Tuis still call from the kowhais; the kauris still reach for the sky,
The dairy herds roam the green paddocks and the Tasman rolls restless close by.
But some things are much changed in New Zealand, though as before Railways run terribly slow,
And All Blacks still play rugby football, but not quite as they did, decades ago.
Your resting place below the Abbey, is amongst shady trees and flowers so bright,
Where the nightingale, seeking shade or warm shelter, loud sings his sweet song day and night.

The Veteran now sad and so pensive; moving on legs that are shaky and slow,
Rises up to leave once again those old comrades, as war forced him to do long ago.
For sixty years he has kept faith and has come now, to raise with much pride one last toast,
“To Old Comrades” – then back to New Zealand,
Where for him too, must soon sound “The Last Post”.

Doug Froggatt
New Zealand
2004.