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Look into an infantryman's eyes some 51 years after his war, and you will see in this private place some deep reflections of his fears, for the eyes are witness to the memory.

Out in the hills on his farm, or in his shed, the old soldier often stops, his task forgotten, his tools lay still. Quiet, staring at nothing, he loses forcus on the world about him; and for a fleeting moment his memory pulls him back to that dim half-lit world of those places long gone of his youth, of trumpets and drums, that clear call of a drill order that falls to the right foot but too soon ... they echo away on the wind and there behind laughing young faces comes a faint distant rumble of guns.

Solitude gives license to an old soldier's emotions. He knew it would come, always the same, year after year, the same question remains and he whispers once again to the fates ... aloud to himself:

"Mate ... how did it come that it is I, and not you, standing here ... in this place."

Robert Cavill, 8 Platoon C Company & Assault Pioneers


5RAR Rollof Honour
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