GALLIPOLI, 1915….For All Memorial Days, regardless which War.

 

GALLIPOLI, 1915….

 

“Are you joining up, mate?”

“Why? It’s the Brit’s war”.

“Cause Aussies are part of the empire, ‘one for all’…you know the drill”.

Both young men soon in the trenches, barely eight meters from the enemy.

 

 ****************************************** 

 

“Hasim, leave off the plowing, we all go to fight the British.”

“My wheat will not be planted in time for the rains.”

“Forget the planting…leave the plowing to the women.  If you don’t go, the infidels will take your fields… Once more our country will be invaded.” 

Both young men crawled into their trenches, pushing past bodies bobbing like apples in gore.

The slaughter was horrific.  New men replaced dying men. Then, within hours, they too were dead. 

The trenches filled with blood, guts, madness – a stinking circle of Hell serving all faiths, welcoming all comers.  Plenty of seating.

 

The Aussie mates and the Turkish farm boys didn’t last the night.  Their bodies, shoved aside by a seemingly endless supply, sank in the mud.

 

These were the “Founding myths” of nations, claimed with pride by politicians who never saw the muck or gave their lives in battle.

 

 

Beautiful Gallipoli.

 

 Turkish soil and streams nourished by the mixed fruit of the dead.

To All Mothers, your children rest in the now gentle bosom of the land. They sleep as brothers. Your tears feed the oceans– forever.

 

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyright, 2007, 2012, 2014 and into the future as war doesn’t seem to quit.

 

 

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