The Forgotten Legion War Poem: April 2017

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Found A Slightly Different Version

I have located a slightly different version published in a New Zealand paper - 'Lake Wakatip Mail', 21 January 1943, page 3. This is a more polished version of the poem.

It was put in the newspaper by a W. T. Dalrymple who served with my grandfather in the 20th Battalion, NZ Army.

The following is the link to the poem in the newspaper:

'THE FORGOTTEN LEGION or THE GLORIOUS FOURTHS'

The Forgotten Legion

Author Unknown

We were first when our country called us,

Gladly we answered the need,

Holding it light and a pleasure,

To come with our utmost speed.

We asked not why we were wanted,

Or where they wished us to go,

The fact that there was danger,

Was all we needed to know.

The others so cool and cautious,

Declaimed and sought delay,

And, while the camp life claimed us,

Awaited a distant day.

We toiled, sweated and studied,

Alike in the wind and rain,

Then off on leave to forget it,

And back into camp again.

We asked no acclaim or worship,

Such things we loathe and despise,

But we are only human,

You passed us with scornful eyes.

Then came the word we were wanted,

We were bound for distant shores,

And we were suddenly heroes,

And subject of much applause.

There was a rush to join us,

The cry was “Follow The Flag”,

Worthy, splendent and excellent,

But why was there such a lag.

Those others so shrewd and cunning,

Had counted the loss and gain,

And settled the balance even,

To be sure it was not in vain.

We went home on our final,

To see our people once more,

A few short days of pleasure,

The farewell to our native shore.

As we stood on the rail of the trooper,

And sang you our last good-bye,

The nation stirred from slumber,

And saw with an open eye.

That a soldier is not a scoundrel,

Though he may be a scamp,

So they petted and pampered the fellows,

That followed US into camp.

There were parties and dances and evenings,

And all of a great to-do,

And rooms and homes to stay at,

And places to bill and coo.

While out in the dusty desert,

Half the world away,

Were the men who did the ground-work,

The boys who showed the way.

They read and their lips grew scornful,

Of the fuss you were making them,

And their hearts grew bitter with-in them,

The FIRST but forgotten men.

The papers were full of the doings,

Of the glorious Second and Third,

While out in the dusty desert,

Scarce a whisper or voice is heard.

Till at last a whisper stirred us,

A tale of deliberate lie,

Of the wives and debts behind us,

When we gave you our last good-bye.

It is easy enough to slander,

Sitting at home in style,

But hard as hell to bear it,

By the banks of the distant Nile.

And though we are slow to anger,

We may slower still forget,

And though we may be forgotten,

WE haven’t forgotten-yet.

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Found A Slightly Different Version

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