Here is the wonderful Christmas 1917 edition of The Kelly Bulletin. To see each page expanded, please just click on the page. The pages are all Copyright. If anyone is interested in publishing them please contact us.
see end of this page for this poem written in full
Text of this wonderful poem is below :
The Battery Horse
He whinnied low as I passed by,
It was a pleading sort of cry ;
His rider, slain while going
back,
Lay huddled on the muddy track.
And he, without a guiding hand,
Had strayed out on the boggy
land;
And held there by the treacherous
mire,
He lay exposed to shrapnel fire.
He was a wiry chestnut steed,
A type of good Australian breed;
Perhaps on steep Monaro’s height,
He’d followed in the wild steer’s
flight.
Or out beyond the great divide
Roamed free where salt bush
plains are wide,
Or through the golden wattle
groves
Had rounded up the sheep in
droves,
Then slipped away to feed the
guns,
And help the boys to strafe the
Huns.
His load was eighteen-pounder
shells,
The sort that in a barrage tells.
I drew the shells from out their
sheath
And out his girth from
underneath,
Then lifted off his saddle pack
To ease the weight and free his
back.
His muzzle softly nosed my hand
Because I seemed to understand.
My steel hat from an old-time
trench
I filled three times his thirst
to quench;
I brought my ration biscuits
back,
And fed him from my haversack.
No horse that had been stable fed
More proudly tossed his chestnut
head
Because a stranger saw his need,
And, passing, stayed to give him
feed.
But time pressed on, I must not
stay,
Four weary miles before me lay.
He made a gallant bid to rise,
Then sank with almost human
sighs;
I hoped a team might see his
plight,
And draw him out before the
night.
Now, you may ask, why in this
strife,
When times were grim and death
was rife,
I should have ventured from my
course
To try and help a battery horse ?
I’ll tell you why, I felt his
need,
I’ve owned and loved a chestnut
steed.
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