Grace Jobson is a Year 11 student at Thomas More College. Her poem – Passed and Past – has been recognised as part of the Anzac Centenary Reflections Competition.

The Anzac Centenary (2014-2018) is Australia’s most important time of national reflection and commemoration and seeks to honour the sacrifice and service of all who have served from the original Anzacs on the shores of Gallipoli, to the service men and women currently deployed on operations.

The Anzac Centenary Reflections competition called for entries that explored the Anzac themes of compassion, courage, duty, integrity, mateship, resilience, teamwork, and toughness in a creative and engaging way through the medium of poetry, photography and short story.

Grace’s poem is a moving reflection that reminds us of the importance of Anzac Day and why we must never forget.

Passed and Past

I may be slow don’t beep me
With a little respect, I want you to treat me
Don’t whinge and whine its now your time
To do your country proud.

Driving down these barren roads
Thinking of my fallen foes
No matter age, race, weight or size
It is always a gift that I can open my eyes

Throughout the war I lost many mates
All of them would become the nation’s greats,
Willie, Nelson, Alf and Dan,
Died for their country, doing all that they can.

I had known Nelson since he was eight,
I had known him until he was late,
Forever knowing he had my back,
He sprawled his body out over the track.

Before the war, I was a different bloke,
Me and Willie, ain’t a day we never spoke.
We were the town’s hooligans,
Getting up to all kinds of shenanigans

You were the most reliable of so few
Our mateship so true,
Sacrificing yourself, taking a bullet,
For the sake of our friendship; me and you.

Since the Battle of Lone Pine,
We have seen the passing of lost time,
World leaders have never learnt
That our people are grown to be fodder, not burnt.

We were told this was all an adventure,
That it would all be good fun,
As soon as we made that pledge,
Our slow trek to death had begun

Fortunately for me, this was not true,
Unlike my best mate Willie who would never again see his Prue,
Speaking to my grandson, it’s hard for him to understand,
Our nation’s best heroes, died protecting our land.

“Grandpa, you’re my hero! Tell me ‘bout the war”
He giggles and smiles like as if he is sure,
I feel somehow ashamed and tell him not to be silly,
Little did he know he was describing my mate Willie.

Sadness.
Regret.
Contempt.

I am not a hero,
I didn’t give all I could
The war still did change me,
If I was given the opportunity again,
I can’t lie and say I would.

These honorary medals pinned to my chest,
Represent our nation’s very best,
I wear these out of pride and respect,
The grieving process is an aftereffect.

Poppies lining a sea of red,
On November 11th, we remember the dead,
The Last Post plays in memory of them,
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn

Remembrance Day comes on the same day every year,
Does it bring us together out of sadness or fear?
I treat every day as it is my last,
Never not thinking about the Passed and Past.
 

Grace Jobson
Thomas More College