By Tomas ‘Paddy’ Hamilton

To some we were the girl next door, a sister or a daughter Who nursed behind the Western Front, in the face of wholesale slaughter

One hundred years of service, our Air Force has achieved – Sometimes the butt of friendly jibes, but do not be deceived…

The Lord casts his net, both far and wide, to those who feel they’re lost When the ways of this

She posed no threat to anyone and sailed the seas in peace The weak were all placed in her, care,

We thought all wars were banished, when they dropped the mushroom bomb And peace would finally shroud the world, but we’d never been so wrong

THE HUNGRY AND THE WORLD’S OPPRESSED, WE WERE THEIR SONS AND DAUGHTERS TRAVELLING TO THIS LAND OF HOPE, FROM WARTIME’S

  Three heroes left to do their job. three did not return Every task cheating death, peril at every turn

WHEN YOU STRUGGLE WITH YOUR DEMONS TRYING TO HOLD YOUR FEARS AT BAY YOU HEAR THOSE WORDS OF COMFORT “HEY

My folks met before I was born, they served our nations’ cause Down through generations, our loyalty did not pause

We’re the parents who watched with pride, the day that you marched out But the ideals for which you stood,

Tread gently on this foreign field, for it lies soaked in blood, that flowed across this battlefield, a tragic crimson flood

You see it on greeting cards – frost, fur, sleigh – As I recall when I was young that was the Irish way, But mum and dad saw better times and took me by the hand, And journeyed far upon the tide to a new and distant land

OUR FAMILY’S HAD ITS PROBLEMS, ON WHAT TO BUY AND EAT CATERING FOR OUR CREW, IS REALLY QUITE A FEAT, THE PROBLEM COMES UP EVERY YEAR

Husbands can’t be perfect, concessions must be made But my one has a habit, that leaves others in the shade

She sees the parting transport jet and hears its fading whine It’ll touch down in Australia, in about twelve hours

I first met Benny years ago, we went to the same school, Loyalty, Trust and Friendship was our motto’s rule.

Chubby was a Pusser, I’d known for many years We’d catch up every Anzac Day and down too many beers

We pray for all our heroes and the blood that they have shed, That’s why my darling grandchild, THE POPPY IS SO RED.”