Notebook of Harry Raymond Green -Sep 1941- Apr - 1943 - Part 2

And their Bombers still unloading
And us not a plane to fly.
^12/ If you had been in our places
Just what would you have done
For it brought more innocent bloodshed
Every time we fired a gun.

^13/ So just remember when you judge us
That to go on was a sin

For without any air-force

It was ridiculously impossible to win

^14/ So we'll carry the name of choco's
With pride for ever more

For every man did he's best
And no man could done any-more.
The End.
✓ JINGLES FROM THE JUNGLE.
^1/ We put "On Active Service" on the letters that we write

It helps to make the folks back home

Think we came to fight
Our cobbers in the Middle East,

Must think it quite a joke

^2/ When they get their letters "thus"
From some poor elbow bloke

We are Malayan Anzac's
^3/Just the leigion of the lost

We had got to stay in this damned place
No matter what it costs
We read some (tall) tales about us
^4/ By a girl from our home town
We wonder if she has seen us
With our transport well bogged down
We are sure she has never seen us
^5/ Gaily sporting in Kanpongs
With girls in multi coloured skirts
Or natives in Sarongs
We think she was well kidded
Right up a wattle tree
And told hair raising stories
Of nurses on the spree.
^6/ So then we had to lay it on

And make ourselves look tough
And started into writing home
Some highly coloured stuff
We prayed to anna then
^7/ To help us on our way
And think up all the awful tripe
That we could write or say.

^8/ The world has never ever seen

The panthers that we shot
In fact we couldn't shoot them all
Our Bren gun got so hot.
^9/ The Cobras, Lions & Tigers
Would stock a blooming zoo
But just for breeding purposes
We had to have a few
^10/ Some said they hunted Tamils
Though I'm sure they said tots
Others had wild adventures
Out among wild chineses huts

^11/ We told about Malacca

Where the streets ran red with gore

But we never said
That took place in 1664.
^12/ So thats how it got started up
This story telling game
We couldn't well be beaten
By some darned newspaper dame.
^13/ We're just Malayan Anzacs
Who can take it with a grin

So please don't think the worse of us

If awful yarns we spin.

^14/ We've learned the jungle warfare

And all we can acquire

We know the range of every hill

And every field of fire

^15/ We've plodded through the jungle

With our bodies dripping sweat

And slept out in the thunderstorms

Amongst the mud & wet

^16/ We've marched through towns & villages

And sickened at their smells

We've itched until we've told our pals

That they could go to hell.

^17/ Dysentry has tried us out

And typhus, argue & heat

But all the time we do our best

To stay upon our feet.

^18/ We'd like to get near Jerry

And wipe him off the map

One chance at him for the rest

We would never care a rap

^19/ So if Wavell should want us

And should send his transports here

We'd drink his health in all our wealth

In good old "Tiger Beer"

The End

✓ An Aussie

^1/ An Aussie digger rolled a smoke

And gave his pant an hitch

Said I've gone & copped my issue

But it's only Dhobies itch

^2/ I carn't where I got it

For it wouldn't be quiet nice

But this I'll say about it

It stops a lot off vice

^3/ Every night I think of aussie

And the girl I use to meet

But right here in Malaya

I'm itch from head to feet

^4/ But seeing as we understand

At least a digger can scratch it

But Lord just grant me on request

Don't let my cobbers catch it.

The End.

✓ My Prayer.

^1/ A silver haired old lady

Knells in silent prayer

Praying for her soldier Son

To be kepted in God's good care

^2/ Where can my soldier Son be

Did he fall neath a foemans

Oh tell me does he live dear God

Or rest in some shallow grave.

^3/ Each day she sees the postman
Go whistling past the gate
She's hoping for a letter

Before it is too late
^4/ But unable to break the silence

After dodging deaths hungry paw

In Changi prison camp, exists her son

On rice "A Prisoner of War."

^5/ He fought with a thousand others
From Gemas to Singapore

He heard the arty whistle

And Jap dive bombers roar.

^6/ The odds they were terrific
So we had to lay down arms

We were either sold like a wholly pup
Or else the heads had greased palms

^7/ But whatever was the reason

We earn no disgrace
We wont slink round corners

But look men straight in the face

^8/ So Mother of mine take comfort

And may God hear your prayers

But most of all may he hear mine

And keep you safe over there.

The End.

Our Life a Present.
^1/ We've lost some blood some sweat & tears

We've lost some good men too
But not one of these men knew fear

and not one man said "Boo"

^2/ Now Singapore fell with a hell of a flop

And the guns have ceased to roar

All we know is the Japs are on top

And we are now "Prisoners of War"

^3/ Now we're in Changi prison camp

Inside three lots of wire

But some of the boys go off on a ramp

To see what they can spire.

^4/ From morn till night we're fed on rice

And plenty of work to follow

Which is not very nice
When youre are feeling so hollow.

^5/ Now I bet our people are worried a lot
The same as all Mothers do
They don't know whether we are dead or not

Or living on rice or stew.

The End.

(Glamour) Glamorous Malaya.

^1/ Malaya land of "Glamour"

Of jungle, swamp & stream

Land of many dreadful things

Of which you'd never dream.

^2/ There's tinnia in the water

Or wherever it is damp

Typhoid in the refugue

Which is outside the camp

^3/ Chinks & stinks & unknown drink

Natives Black & yellow

Mosquito's buzzing you ears

And they carry bows & arrows.

^4/ There is many other things that happen

Beneath the sweat & heat

And speaking as an Aussie

It's nearly got me beat.

^5/ They took us from our native land

To fight the Nazi slayer

They dumpted us in this rotten hole

Glamorous Malaya.

The End.

√ Dreams of Peace.

^1/ He dreamt of bush green meadows

Touched by the wand of spring

Of sparkling cool clear rivers

And willow(ing) whispering. 

^2/ But he crawled from shell ploughed paddock
Red with battle blood

And searched in thirst the river

But found only flithy mud.

^3/ He dreampt to of the city

Of magic neon lights

The roar & rowdy battle

Of traffic busy nights.

^4/ But he crawled ^upon up his stomach

With gasping panting breath

Dreading the constant rattle

Of gun that barked death

^5/ He dreampt of happy laughter

Of quietude and rest

Of peace that seemed a promise

When world wars are surpressed
^6/ But he screamed with anguished torture

And writhed in fetid mud

Then died in thores off horror

created by his greid

^7/ But perhaps there will be a reckoning

And all this bloodshed cease

Then the world may know forever

an everlasting "Peace"

The End.

"Motherless Broke."

^1/ I'm a prisoner of war at Changi

And stony motherless broke

Wish I had a dollar

For I'm longing for a smoke.

^2/ There's my cobber Jimmy Miller

Who has lost a stone in weight

He's longing for the day to come

When there is meat upon his plate

^3/ When first I was a prisoner

A month or two ago

I could not see the future

So I gambled all my dough.

^4/ Some of the boys are in a racket

They sneak out in the night

To get a bit off food stuff

For they have seen the light.

^5/ They sell them in a market

The price is very tough

Three dollars for tinned bully

We think it pretty tough.

^6/ There's my cobber batman Whity

Who would not tell a lie

But will fight again for England

For a tin off good old camp Pie

^7/ I wish I had my freedom

And that I wasn't broke

For I'm feeling mighty hungry

And am dying for a smoke.

The End.

A Soldiers Recreation.

^1/ You have heard about Malaya

Where the Eighth Division went

With it's taxi girls & dancers

And where their money went.

^2/ Its rice, tin & rubber

With it stinking drains as well

It's coolie rickshaw pullers

They reckon we were so swell.

^3/ But there are other things you've never heard

Of a soldiers life each day

It's not all wine & women

For we have little time to play.

^4/ There's a game of crown & anchor

With the odds of four to one

Frank Watkins is the banker

With a roll that's second to none.

^5/ The anchors up at two to one

Its having a wonderful trot

The banker shakes the dice again

That means he's won the lot.

^6/ But when the play is over

Its the same as nights before

You'll find that banker Watkins

Has won another score.

^7/ There's the old game of two up

Where it's an even money chance

It's played home in Aussie

Like the diggers played when in France

^8/ There's the game of odds & evens

With four to one the seven

You can hear the Housie Housie

When they shout legs eleven.

^9/ But when the play is over

And it's time to go to bed

There's lots about a soldier

That will never be read.

The End.

Our Parting

^1/ In this land so hot & sultry

With its rain & heavy deu
With its tin, rice & rubber

Here I sit & dream of you.

^2/ I often see you as we parted

How you smiled to hide the tears

How you played your part with courage

How I loved you then my dear

^3/ I tried to (hold) hide my feelings

With a carefree jovial air

you must of thought me heartless
And that I had ceased to care.

^4/ But just behind my reckless smile

I fought a bitter fight

I felt the pangs of parting

As you did Dear that night.

^5/ I felt the tempter at my side

To me he spoke quiet clear

He said the price you are asked to pay

Is costing you too dear,

^6/ If I had but turned my head

and yes to him had said

Unworthy of your love I'd have been

T'were better I was dead

^7/ I know you think of me each day

For me each night you pray

I know you long for my return

Though long & rough the way.
^8/ But if to you I cannot come

In honour, head held high

I know you will remember me

For our love could never die.

^9/ So as I think of you each day

I pray with all my heart

That we will re-united be

When we have played our part

The End

Arty's Lament
^1/ We are a lot off lonely gunners ^now
They have taken our guns away
And they've put us into a prison camp

and machine guns to keep us at bay

^2/ We work in gangs the whole day through

And our hearts are heavy and sad

For our thoughts are with our folks back home

And of the many good times we had.

^3/ Diseases sickness & wound take toll

Of our cobbers day by day

But the spirit of the men of the A.I.F.

They can never take it away.

^4/ And so we gaze at the sunset

At the close of another day
We think of our Dear Mothers

And the things they would say.

^5/ Remember to keep your chin up

And smile through the clouds my son

We know they carn't hold you forever
And you'll soon be back at your guns.

The End.

Pity the Poor M.P.

^1/ You have seen him standing at his post

Or patrolling on his beat

Outside the Union Jack club

Or down in Lavender Street.

^2/ His job is anything but nice

And I know this for a fact

He needs a lot of common sense

And a hell of a lot of tact.

^3/ For his work is to keep order

And its a man sized job.
As you'll usually find diggers

a pretty rowdy mob.

^4/ Especially when they go on leave
And the beer is flowing free
And its every soldier for himself

Then pity the poor M.P.

^5/ He has a reputation to live down

Made in the last Great War

Though it's nearly thirty years ago
A bad name travels far.

^6/ Though many won't believe it

Though it's proved on every hand

It take guts to be a Provo

And wear an M.P. band.

^7/ But I think they've made a lot of friends

And I've heard on every side

The Provo's did a damned good job

So They've got no shame to hide.

^8/ And when we go back home again

As I sincerely hope we will

I'm sure there'll be very few
Who will really wish them ill.

^9/ There are some bad M.P. off cause

And they make things pretty hot

But the ones we find in Parliment

Are the worst off the B– lot

^10/ Some one has to do the job

And it may as well be me
And next time you see me on a job

Then pity the poor M.P.

The End.

Malaya Memories

^1/ Of balmy day's & tropic nights
You've most likely read or heard

It's not the Aussie diggers lament

It's something you carn't put into words.

^2/ Of the jungle moon light splendour

Well the movies have it all

Whilst laying in wet slit trenches