DUSTOFFTHE crews were always readyAnd constantly on callTo come out and do a pick upFrom where the enemy had let our blokes fall
SOMETIMES they came with GunshipsWith their weapons at the readyTo keep the enemy's heads downWhile they held their choppers steady
THEY would come into the LZWhether it was hot or coldTo pick up they're human cargoesThey were really very bold
AND once the blokes were loadedBoth the wounded and the deadThey would fly them back to "Vungers"To the Morgue or to a bed
IT was really quite a miracleTo hear the thumping soundOf the friendly "Dustoff" chopperWhen you're lying on the ground
IT was like a door would openTo allow you to be whisked awayFrom the constant heat of battleHopefully to fight again another day
THEY were the unsung HeroesOf this our Jungle WarAnd without their undying courageWe surely would have lost more
SO to our brave young HeroesI'd like to put all things asideThen remember my own "Dustoff"And say thank you for the ride
Copyright © 2001 Phil Kadow.
EVERY ONE HATES A SOLDIER
EVERY one hates a SoldierUntil the enemy is at the gateThen the feelings changeTo ones of PRIDE not hateBUT when the conflict is overAnd the enemy is no longer a threatThe feeling of the Nation turnsFrom relief to regretTHE loss of life is horrificAt the hands of either sideIt's no wonder so many peopleJust sat down and criedBUT the Soldiers must come home againTo return to their respective StatesAnd that's where the countries loveTurns again to hateFOR they will be cursed for the lossOf many innocent civilian victimsAnd be kicked and punched and set uponFor only answering the call
THAT call came from the GovernmentWhich is voted in by the peopleAnd these people we knowAre not the soldiers equalSO if you have a problemWith our Soldiers in some far off distant landShout and curse your GovernmentBut shake a Soldiers handIF it were not for the peopleWho work to keep us safeAnother enemy will come alongAnd start rattling the garden gateSO remember well your FREEDOMThat you take so much for grantedAnd say thank you to those peopleWho at all times stand PROUD and TALLFOR they form a line in front of youTo protect you one and allThen stay there with out questionAs if they were a wallThat runs around your countryTo keep you safe and warmSo that no one on the insideWill come to any harm
Copyright © 2003. Phil 'Fearless' Kadow.
My Best FriendMY weapon was my best friendMy weapon was my gunIt was meant for giving protectionNot meant for having funI would clean it every morningAnd then again at nightSo that when I had to use itI knew it would work just right"BIG BERTHA" was her nicknameKilling was her gameAnd leaving her behindIt really was a shameSHE really was a beautyAll black and big and boldBut when it came to firingShe was anything but coldSHE was capable of shooting down aircraftBut she was never used for thatShe was used against human targetsAnd the bunkers where they were atFOR that she did a good jobWhen ever we were aroundAnd it made our lads feel saferWhile they were being pinned down on the groundTHE enemy had weaponsOf a very similar sizeAnd were only too willing to use themTo take many of our lads livesSo when we had the chanceWe would always pay them backFor when it's kill or be killedThat's really where it's atBUT when you are in a War ZoneYou gun becomes your best friendSo that's why you take good care of itSo as to make it through to the endCopyright © 2002 Phil Kadow.
PTSD and Me.I don't understand the feelingsThat are happening to meIs it that I'm abnormal?Or is it PTSDI want to be a lonerI want to yell and screamI make mountains out of molehillsAll is not what it seemsMy tolerance is very lowIncompetence I cannot standIf mistakes are made of any kindRetribution I demandAt times I feel like cryingOr just lashing outI can't control the feelingsThat are languishing aboutI know I won't be curedAfter all these many yearsBut there's a light at the end of the journeyShining bright through the tears.Copyright © 2001 Phil Kadow.
THANK YOU AUSTRALIA
Thank you AustraliaThank you one and allFor all the support you gave usWhen our backs were against the wall
We gave our lives and spiritsTo protect you for years to comeWe answered the call of our countryBut you treated us like scum
You called us 'baby killers'Murderers and the likesAnd while your sons and daughterswere trying to surviveThe 'BLOODY MONGREL' wharfiescalled a couple of strikes
We came home after our TourUnder cover of the nightTo be whisked away in secretSo as not to cause any strife
When we stepped out in the daylightWith our Medals so shiny brightYou cursed and spat and treated usLike a wound that oozes pus
It was your way of protestingAgainst the 'War Machine'But you used us as the scapegoatsAnd for that you will always be seen
As a country that was too ashamedTo stick up for what was rightThen left the under dogs strandedWith no future joy in sight
They were in the hands of the aggressorsAnd were treated with disdainFor only wanting their freedomThey were left to deal with the pain
You blamed the Government of the dayfor sending our young to fightBut they went with pride to do their bestas others had done beforeAnd came back home to the ones they lovedJust to fight another WAR
For those of us that did come homeWe remember those with prideWho gave their all for their matesAnd for their country died
But as always for the livingThe war will never endAs the memory in the mindHas been etched with an indelible pen.
Copyright © 2001 Phil Kadow.
When we were training with our unitIt was about the middle of the Vietnam WarWe learnt new techniques every dayThat we put in our heads to storeWe did exercises after exercisesThat were mostly in the bushBut they always seemed to finishWith everyone in a rushThere was always some one sayingThings like 'Hurry up and wait or get your Great Coats on'But there's the one that was to lingerAnd that was to stay 'Switched On'I expect that all of those sayingsHave been said one way or anotherTo all 'Diggers' from years gone pastAnd like them we had to learn it fastIn 'Conventional' warfare they had a netTo catch them as they'd fallIn the form of 'mateship' and old friendsWho had also answered the callThere were breaks between the battlesAnd troop movements to the rearWhich gave them time to simmer downAnd talk about their fearBut the jungle is a different placeWith no line front or rearJust ever increasing tensionAnd hardly time to shed a tearWhen the 'Great' war was overOr they were returning from their tourThey had the time with their matesTo share what they all had to endureBut we would be out bush one dayBeing reminded to remain 'switched on'Then be on a Qantas flight the nextFlying cautiously out of SaigonAs yet, I haven't found the fuse boxWhich controls the bloody switchThat keeps me jumpy and on edgeAnd occasionally increases the itchTo pack my bags and piss offSome where to be on my ownSo I can pull out the fuseAnd no longer be alone.
Copyright © 2001 Phil Kadow