Anzac Day of 2024 April 24, 2024 by Ali Foster The Aged Care Community Visitor Scheme (ACCVS) has been making a significant impact in combating loneliness and isolation among Home Care Package recipients and Residential Aged Care receivers by pairing them up with a new companion for regular visits. One of our volunteers, Ed Reeves, recently shared with us an Anzac Day poem written by a gentleman he visits regularly. Ed has been volunteering with our organisation for a number of years and has formed a close bond with the residents he visits. Let us all take a moment to remember the sacrifices made by our soldiers and honour their memory. Lest we forget. Anzac Day of 2024 12/04/2024 George Parker Anzac Day is soon to come—an Anzac on the wall, Most new Aussies—aren’t aware—of the dirty brawl. They stood erect—shoulder to shoulder—on the shifting deck, Facing the cove—in the distance—heading—for certain death. Before climbing—into their long boats—they saluted the cove, With a gunfire breakfast—and their courage—as hot as a stove. They cast off—their long boats—and attached to a steam boat, Heading—into the dawn light—and buttoned their battle coat. The Turks were ready—and prepared—with a force, The Aussie—were off course—landing—without a choice. Their long boats—hit the beach—of sandy-sandy land, The bullets whizzing and thudding—to the sound—-of a saw-band. The jumped out—ran—and fell—laying in rows, The plan of victory—so far away—like a broken bow. Landing on a beach—that was only—for one, They fought—tenaciously—and should have won,. They were young and old—boys and men—all very bold, Clambering up the hill—forging ahead—and stories to be told. Anzacs never knew—on the, 25th April—a legend—was set, Of the vicious fighting—brutality—and certain death. Men charged—and charged—up and down the dell, Men dropping by the hundreds—laying were they fell. The pain was much—as they lost their mate, Falling beside them—checking them over—on the hill of faith. The bodies laid—were they fell—and began—to decay and rot, The time had come—to bury their mates—and the weather was hot. Dropping their rifles—they grabbed a pick—and a spade. Burying their mates—restfully and quickly—where they laid. On those days—April to August—they lost—many boys and men, They found it—hard to grasp—leaving behind a friend. The numbers killed—teenagers and old—became a written legend, That August night—in the dead of the quiet—not making a den. We learnt our lessons—they died—on the beach, On the 25th—we hear the silence—that is out of reach. We hear their muffle voices—in the wind and rain, We put out our hands—to touch—their hands again. To those who lived—and those who died, Toast the ANZACS—gentlemen—with all your pride. Did you know—their long eight months—they lived with death, They dined with disease—and every eight—lay—without a wreath. Gone from Gallipoli—leaving 6,000 graves, They ended up in France—with the bold and the brave. We then see the Flanders—with poppies aglow, Standing upright—between the crosses—row upon row. We toast the ANZAC—and time—is going fast, We need no monument—as the memory—should last. In the early dawn—as we stand upright—and proud, We remember that day—as they crawled—over the bow. So now it ends, so far away from home, The spirits of Gallipoli and Flanders—they roam, Many today—ask—what the future—may hold, Remembering Gallipoli to Amiens—of the brave and bold. We remember the date—but we forget the reason, We try so hard—at the time of the season. But many get it wrong—seeing it as a holiday, God Bless some Australians—-who know—this day.
