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LEST WE FORGET

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Guy:
Lest We Forget

Whalanboy:
As Anzac day arrives and we pause to reflect I thought I would share a song that expresses how we feel.
A great tribute for our servicemen from a Sydney band called The hype boys (Formerly the Hype duo) with a similar style to John Schumann of Redgum.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ezH9jSjhSo&list=OLAK5uy_ksapi0nXOI_smYS_8fWtkKwuRxsTctSp4&index=9

 :thankyou1: To all our service men and women.

Lest We Forget.

Hector McFreckle:

--- Quote from: Whalanboy on Tue 25 Apr 2023 05:03:50 ---As Anzac day arrives and we pause to reflect I thought I would share a song that expresses how we feel.
A great tribute for our servicemen from a Sydney band called The hype boys (Formerly the Hype duo) with a similar style to John Schumann of Redgum.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ezH9jSjhSo&list=OLAK5uy_ksapi0nXOI_smYS_8fWtkKwuRxsTctSp4&index=9

 :thankyou1: To all our service men and women.

Lest We Forget.

--- End quote ---


Thanks for sharing that Whalanboy....goodonya mate !   Lest We Forget  :thankyou1: :Goodjob:

RAM:
ANZAC Day is a very special day for my family as we join in quiet reflection on the loss of family friend, Tony, and of my brother's Army mates Locke, Pete and Bob who were killed in Vietnam all those years ago.... and of those we did not know but who also made the ultimate sacrifice.

Also, to those who's service scarred them for life. For some the horrors of war became too much to bear, while others even now continue to be haunted by events no one should ever be confronted with.
 
Never, ever forgotten.
RAM

Ratso:
Blow, Bugle, Blow
The splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

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