Thoughts from Dr. Joe: Appreciating the song ‘Waltzing Matilda’

“That’s a nice song,” I said. I was shooting whiskey with rogue warriors from Australia in a makeshift bar in the dusty Vietnamese village of Phuoc Tuy.

“Thanks mate! It’s our national anthem,” Capt. Preston responded.

“Is that a soldier’s song?” I inquired.

“No, it’s a drinking song,” he said. “But soldiers sing it when they’re drinking,” he said. “It’s about a swagman who waltzes his matilda.”

Was it the booze or the contrived complicated slang of the Australian Outback that garbed my attention?

Since I was the junior officer in my company, I was assigned the collateral duty as liaison officer to the Australian Strategic Air Service. The Viet Cong called them Ma Rung, phantoms of the jungle. I thought they were 10 feet tall.

Capt. Preston informed me that the song was called “Waltzing Matilda,” and that it had nothing to do with dancing with a girl named Matilda.

“The song tells of the adventures of a swagman (an itinerant drifter), who wanders (waltzes) throughout the Outback of Australia carrying a matilda (bedroll) on this back.”

“Sir, what a billabong?” I asked. “It’s a stagnant pool in a river.”

The beer and whiskey flowed; I was lit like a Christmas tree, subsequently I joined in. “Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong, under the shade of a coolibah tree, and he sang as he watched and waited ‘til his billy boiled, you’ll come a-waltzing matilda with me.”

After a verse or two, I began to notice many of the Australian soldiers crying. “Why are your men crying?” I asked. “The song is so cheerful.”

Capt. Preston explained, “We sing it after battles and the men remember who they’re no longer singing it with. You’ll learn, lieutenant. No soldier outlives a thousand chances.” The mood in the bar got very solemn.

The captain continued, “Today’s Anzac Day, April 25. It’s a day we commemorate Australian and New Zealand soldiers who gave their life for the ‘Land Down Under.’”

I was 23 at the time. Invulnerable! I believed that Vietnam was a mere stanza in a Rudyard Kipling poem. The death, mayhem, and sorrow accompanying war were around the corner and I had not yet turned that corner.

The Aussies continued to cry. Some men wept with their faces buried in their hands. Gradually each man staggered back to his bunker. Capt. Preston and I remained. He passed on valuable intelligence and I left in the morning.

Monday, May 26 is Memorial Day. My dear reader, you are aware of the day’s significance. I promise not to berate you into attending the Commemoration at 9 a.m. at the gazebo in Memorial Park. Regardless, I’m going to be there with as many kids that I can muster. I trust that we’ll have a commemoration fitting the sacrifices of fallen soldiers.

I understand the citizenry’s reluctance to heed the commemoration’s absolute significance. How does one relate to the sacrifices of the fallen when you’ve not turned that corner and faced death, mayhem, and sorrow? Perhaps experience is the best teacher.

I often think of the Aussies and their zany song, “Waltzing Matilda.” The words and melodic charm were incidental to a contrived realization that connects one to the importance of either hallowed day, Memorial or Anzac.

Down came a jumbuck (sheep) to dri-ink at that billabong. Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee. And he sang as he stuffed that jumbuck in his tucker-bag. You’ll come a-waltzing matilda with me.

Capt. Preston was right when he stared into my questioning eyes on 25 April 1970 and said, “You’ll learn, lieutenant.”

I learned that remembering the fallen is the most noble of gestures!
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JOE PUGLIA is a practicing counselor, a retired professor of education and a former officer in the Marines. Reach him at doctorjoe@ymail.com. Visit his website at doctorjoe.us.