Our Mate Fred Greer

Our Mate Fred Greer...

Strike me dead said poor old Fred....
A man cant get a win....
Churchill's dropped us off at Singapore ....
With no rifle its a sin.....

Changi prison camp at last....
and his best mate lay a dying...
Fred stole an egg for him to pass....
And the Japanese thought he was lying....

Fred was forced to dig a hole ...
and they put him down in the clay.....
For 24 hours he searched his soul....
And the sun beat down all day.....

Burnt to a frazzle from the blazing sun....
The Japs still made him pay....
They'd call him out to flog him for fun....
Yes every bloody day!.....

Back in Australia in 1945....
 still sick and sad a bit....
A squatter offered him a job ....
Said ride out Fred, you'll fit....

So he said to the boss, come breakfast time....
How are you Bill, today ?....
The squatter looked down his nose, a crime ....
Call me Mr, this I say  .....

No breakfast for Fred, he saddled up ....
Rode back to Dirran. this day....
And class distinction was sold a pup....
Sir and Mr were left that way....

Poor old Fred still lived in dread....
Of the awful sadist Jap...
He'd shake and shiver, bad dreams he said...
Of all the floggings, poor old chap....
Don Johnson.....
http://www.scullywag.com/kokoda1942stoush/
Copyright © | Year Posted 2010

Poem

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Brown Avatar
December 9, 2010 at 5:38 AM
Thank you for sharing your poetry today Don. I enjoyed reading it and I wish you a wonderful day. Love, Carol
Mehta Avatar
December 9, 2010 at 4:35 AM
Enjoyed as always this tale of Fred Greer. Thanks for informing me about some details through emails. Don
Roberts Avatar
December 8, 2010 at 9:13 PM
you're a veritable gold mine of war stories, I find these just fascinating
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