CROSSING OF THE OWEN STANLEY RANGE - H McLaren QX20984

Now you mightn’t believe what I’m saying, You may think that I’ve never been Through the hell that I am trying to picture As a vile and frightful scene. For I’ve seen men tired and exhausted And hardly able to walk I’ve seen them that weary and weathered, that they couldn’t be bothered to talk With their eyes wild and starry their faces haggard and worn They’d sit on the side of a native pad, and wish they’d never been born. I’ve seen them sick and despondent, that with never a sign of mirth, They’d wish they were down with Satan, instead of this hell on earth. Straining, sweating, swearing, climbing the mountain side. Just five minutes to the top, My God how that fellow lied. Splashing through mud and water, stumbling every yard One falls by the wayside when the going is extra hard. On and on they keep climbing, hour after hour of toil And when the word comes back to halt, they collapse on the muddy soil. Now it might sound fantastic to the man that’s never been Over that rough and tortuous mountain track, through the jungle evergreen. So, all you who don’t believe, who thinks it all sounds strange Just go yourself and try the crossing of the Owen Stanley Range. Then when you are in the mountains high, say 7,000 feet, And you’re expecting any moment the Japanese to meet When you’re weary, tired and hungry and wet and cold and cramped You start to think of home and of the places where you’ve camped. When you think of a warming fire, and the meal that’s hot and big, Then sigh as you pick up a shovel and a slit trench you start to dig. The perhaps you’ll agree, that it isn’t quite so strange These things that I have told you, of the crossing of the Owen Stanley Range. We look around our numbers, and search for familiar faces But find that they are missing, not in their usual places So, we’ve often thought and have often prayed, For those unsung heroes, those mates of ours who stayed Back there within God’s keeping, with but a cross to mark The spot where they are laying, in the jungle grim and dark So, I ask you all to say a prayer for those who won’t come back Those gallant chaps who fought and died on the Owen Stanley Track.