The Jackals

A newspaper correspondent points out that the authors of a certain type of war book, evidently written for profit, have grossly slandered the Australian Digger. ‘Have they forgotten,’ he asks, ‘what the Anzacs did at Gallipoli, and later? Could mere braggarts have done this and left 60,000 dead on the fields?’

When the fight is done and the rage is o’er
And the sabre sheathed, or broke,
When the field is left to the wrack of war
And the drifting battle smoke,
To tattered banner, broken gun,
On earth shot-scarred and red;
Then come the jackals one by one
To raid the huddled dead.

The tale goes forth of high deeds done
Of the glory, mid the cost;
Of battles gloriously won
Or gloriously lost.
And, while two sorrowing peoples grieve
A loss that none escapes,
The hideous raiders slink and reeve
Amid the quiet shapes.

For who shall profit by a war,
The victor or the slain?
The lesson has been taught of yore
That none thro’ war may gain.
But, after war, be it brave men
Or reputations slain,
Nuzzling amid the war-wrack then
The jackals seek their gain.

Shall we take ill if names enshrined
In hearts that still may grieve,
Are sullied by same peddling mind
With words that none believe?
We are, despite the paltry slur—
That gains may be increased —
Content to know them as they were,
And let the jackals feast.

“Den”
Herald, 25 February 1930, p6