Pension Application

This is quite a long poem, and some of the language used

will be strange to any non- Australian readers, (and to

quite a few Australian ones too) but it characterizes

the tough old Diggers so well it’s well worth working

out what’s being said.

A T.P.I. Pension Application

“Jones” called a voice, A bearded man slowly stood,

Then limped to the caller, as best that he could.

He leaned on a stick, just an old broken limb,

With jaw firmly gritted, hard set, tight and grim.

His hair was the colour that you see on old men,

Who make the good innings of four score and ten,

Those shoulders all stooped, with a bend in the back,

Through sixty long years of humpin’ his pack.

This person that called, lacked the patience of most,

But ‘could pick out a falser,’ he often did boast.

He watched this old timer, with a look so observant,

So ever alert.. why .. a true public servant.

“Well hurry on then” said the voice, hard and cold,

That held no remorse, just contempt.. for the old.

“Now what is it then,” to this man he did say,

“Don’t dawdle and fidget, we ain’t got all day.”

“Speak up man, don’t mumble, the cat got your tongue?”

With no sign of respect, from a person so young.

“If you’re seeking a pension, as a doctor, I’m best,

I’ll examine you thorough.. a quite stringent test.”

“why, most people think.. when they come to see me,

That I’ll say.. righto mate.. then everything’s free

Well they all.. are quite wrong, so please disregard.

The fact.. that you’re old, for this test.. is still hard.”

“You fill in these forms.. now.. don’t miss a page,

State where you live.. and.. whatever your age,

Some people, they cheat.. but.. don’t even try,

For I know every trick.. and.. I’ve heard every lie.”

Jones filled out those papers.. as best that he could,

Then was told to strip down, like a crook patient should.

“Now give me a rundown, on all your past ills,

With the drugs that you’ve taken, plus all of the pills.”

“Why, I can’t recall tablets.. or drugs that I’ve took,

But, on different occasions, I’ve damn well been crook,

Though, most of me problems, I’ve fixed ‘em meself,

‘Cos I ain’t got much money, not rollin’ in wealth.”

“I’ve been infested with lice, from shearin’ dud sheep,

What gives ya some curry, when yer tryin’ to sleep,

Yeah, me body’s been bored, till I’m really quite sick,

In dozens of spots, by that north Queenzlan’ tick.”

“The stingin’ tree’s smacked me.. an’.. yes, Doc, indeed,

I’ve been bitten quite often.. by them giant santa-pede,

Also funnelwebs, trapdoors, why.. once on the Gwyder,

I was bit on the rump, by a huge redback spider.”

“I’ve had pleurisy, pneumonia, a few times the flu,

Yeah.. an’ a great big rock python has bitten me too,

Had that bad Quuenzlan’ fever, where ya turn cold an’ hot,

Plus a permanent dose, of the old Barcoo rot.”

“Why, I’ve broken more bones, than I care to recall,

Had the DTs real bad.. from the booze an’ a fall.

A bull croc.. once got me, on the north’s Roper river,

See, he ripped me round here an’ tore up me liver.”

“These scars on me arms, are from a mad shark attack,

While the bend in me spine, is an old broken back!

I lost these few fingas.. through a slipped anchor chain,

Oh yeah, I crushed this here foot, while jumpin’ a train.”

“I was blinded bad once, with the west’s sandy blight,

So I lost this here eye, but the other one’s right.

Tossed orf a brumby.. an’.. fer weeks was near death.

He tromped me real bad.. so.. I gets short of breath.”

“Got torn across here.. by a huge feral pig,

It’s healed up quite well.. but that rip was real big.

This ear.. what is missin’, hence the old tilted hat,

Was chewed all to rags, by a bubonic rat.”

“What? These scars right here? Well.. here are some more,

Holes from Hun bullets, when I was in the first war!

Me own fault.. no really.. I was quite an ass,

“Cos me lungs couldn’t handle.. that damned mustard gas.”

“I leapt up quite quickly.. to get outta the breeze,

A machine gunner got me.. as neat as yer please,

Yeah, I left lots of pieces, in that field there in France,

But, drugs ter kill pain.. Doc.. there wasn’t a chance.”

“I laid out in no mans.. with no place ter go,

Then this bloke.. came an’ got me.. his name was Simmo;

A man with a donkey, they both should be blessed,

That donkey an’ Simpson, were two of our best!”

“Then with others, I’m loaded, on a hospital ship,

But, the pain an’ the bleedin’.. sorta dampened that trip,

I was confined for a year.. to a hospital bed,

With the doctors an’ nurses, quite amazed.. I ain’t dead.”

“All that time there in Blighty, not once I went out,

Eighteen months in old England.. with no look about.

Then me heart.. it was struck.. by the cruel hand of fate,

Me family, had all perished.. in a bushfire mate!”

“Well, they sent us back home.. the war.. it was done,

Yeah, our side had got up.. we had beaten the Hun.

When we lobbed back in Aussie, they all shook our hands,

Played Waltzin’ Matilda.. with a dozen brass bands.”

“Great crowds.. waved an’ cheered.. to welcome us men,

But son.. you wouldn’t remember.. ya wasn’t born then,

Diggers fought the good fight, to keep this land free,

But lots never made it.. not lucky like me.”

“We lost many good men.. when we fought the first war,

Then along came the second.. where we lost many more.

But, when I see.. blokes like you, it makes me feel sad,

‘Cos, if it wasn’t fer wars.. YOU.. mighta gotten a dad!

Written by Johnny Johanson.