JIM ARTHUR

THE ANZAC ON THE WALL

Loitering in a country town 'cos I had time to spare –
I went into an antique shop to see what was in there.
Bikes and pumps, and kero lamps, the old shop had it all
Then I was taken prisoner by the ANZAC on the wall.

Such an open face, a young man in his prime
When I looked at the photograph his eyes locked onto mine
A face so proud and confident inside a wooden frame,
I felt myself drawn to him, in a way I can't explain

"That ANZAC have a name?" I asked: the old bloke didn't know
He said, "Those who could have told me, passed on long ago."
The old blokes kept on talking, and according to his tale
The photo was unwanted junk, bought at a clearance sale.

"I asked around," the old man said, "But no-one knew his face"
"He's been up on that wall for years, deserves a better place."
"Someone must have loved him, it seems a shame somehow."
I nodded and said quietly," Oh well, I'll take him now".

So you came home with me mate – too long you've been alone
I don't even know your name mate, but you're welcome in my home.
Did you fight at Flanders or perhaps, Gallipoli?
I'll never know the answer, but I know you fought for me.

I wonder where they sent you mate, when you answered the call.
Were you killed in action, did you come home at all?
You must have had a family – will you be claimed one day?
To be honest mate, I hope not, 'cos I'm proud to have you stay.

Sometimes visitors look at you and then they question me
And I tell a small white lie and I claim you're family.
They say: "You must be proud of him" ... I tell them one and all that –
That's why you've got pride of place – the ANZAC on the wall.

Written by Jim Arthur