In Flanders Fields : I miss Traditional Cache

I would not have missed it for the world, but I know that it’s not right,

To miss the thrill of being alive in battle, and to miss being in the fight. 

I miss the fleas the flies and lice, the mud the blood and snow,

I miss standing to on the firing step, at dawn to “greet” the foe. 

I miss that binding esprit de corps, when every ANZAC soldier is like a brother,

I miss that blind faith you have in mates, when you would trust no other. 

I miss the taste of water from old petrol tins, and ships biscuits that would gag a cow,

I miss the ways you can cook bully beef, to disguise the taste when it’s gone sour. 

I miss the sun baking and the swimming, when they think you have gone barmy,

I miss living in my shorts and slouch, and serving in the naked army. 

I miss making home made jam tin bombs, because we had no mills grenades,

I miss the bent back and the stooping gate, to dodge the snipers enfilade. 

I miss trying not to look important, because enemy ammunition might be low,

I miss digging graves with a bayonet, and planting crosses in a row. 

I miss blokes like Simpson and Jacka; they broke the mould when they made those two,

I miss the barking cough from old Beachy Bill, and dodging the shrapnel that he threw. 

I miss the target practice between the trenches, with 303 and periscope,

I miss the daily pint of drinking water, and washing without soap. 

I miss the chilling trill of the peelers whistle that kicks off every stunt

I miss the chatter of the “Emma Gee”, and that nervous thrill before the hunt. 

I miss that metallic taste of naked fear, that taste of copper in your mouth,

I miss the taste of Navy rum drunk neat, when you think your courage has gone south. 

I miss those short softening up barrages, because we were always low on shells,

I miss the lonely run across no mans land, amid the battle cries and rebel yells. 

I would not have missed it for the world, but I know to feel that way is wrong,

To miss the sight and smell, the touch and taste, and that sweet sound of a battle’s song.