WHILE sorting through boxes of keepsakes, Lynnette Lee found original wartime poetry stored inside old biscuit tins and chocolate boxes.
Much of the writings belonged to the grandmother of her late husband Kevin, her name was Lillian Lee.
There were also handwritten poems by famous bush poet, Rebecca Morton (1895 – 1987).
Tucked away and out of sight for some time, the discovery delighted Lynnette and she methodically made her way through the brittle pages, taking care to keep them intact.
Among the old writings, one that stood out was ‘An Ode to Mrs Lee’.
“Someone has written about her because she was so popular back then,” Lynnette said.
“She was so well known and such a great entertainer, I remember seeing her dressed up in these funny clothes, reciting her poetry.”
That Rebecca Morton’s original writings were among them was a boon.
Rebecca Morton’s ‘Faded Suits of Green’ is an Australian bush poem.
It’s become popular and is often read aloud during Anzac Day ceremonies and recited across the airwaves.
Lynnette contacted David Pahlke from Rosewood History Group.
They met up and she gave him the originals in Rebecca’s handwriting and a book published in 1946 containing her famous bush poem.
Rebecca was Lillian Lee’s sister-in-law, that’s how her work was found alongside Lillian’s writings.
“There is just so many of them, there are just bundles and bundles of them,” Lynnette said of her poetic discoveries.
“I’ve now got them all catalogued and documented. I’ve given [David] two copies of everything and each piece of paper I’ve found that’s brittle or eaten by moths has been retouched,” she said.
“All of those original little pieces of paper have been put into manila folders for history’s sake.
“I don’t really want people to touch the originals because they’re so fragile now.”
When the poems were first stored, the owner was not to know how delicate their folding would make them decades later.
That they are considered precious in 2024 would come as a surprise.
Today’s mass produced storage containers are air tight and keep their contents in much better order than the cardboard boxes and biscuit tins of old.
“Carboard boxes and biscuit tins had everything in them those days,” she said.
“From buttons to nails, sewing material … you know, bits and bobs, it was a wonderful time.”
Three generations of Lees have lived on the Calvert property.
“During wartime there was no way of sending news other than writing letters,” she said.
“Sometimes it would take days for letters to get from one person to another.
“I thought it would be a bit of acknowledgement and for this to be kept safely because when I pass on there will be none of that family left.
“I married into the family and think it’s a really nice tribute to them.”
Faded Suits of Green
by Rebecca Morton
I am standing at my window,
I can hear the tramp of feet,
I can hear the soldiers marching,
Down the bush track and down the street,
They are coming into vision,
Now they can be plainly seen,
That swinging line of figures,
In their faded suits of green.
Suits that went into dye pots,
In a hurry, that you know,
For the Jap’ was at our doorstep,
A crafty cruel foe,
No time for fuss or finish,
Very little lay between,
Those swarming hoards of Nippon,
And those faded suits of green.
The dye came out in patches,
Of pale yellow green and brown
They were fashioned for the jungle,
Not for touring round the town,
They’re not meant for Dandies,
Just to strut in or preen,
They were made for men of action,
Streaky, faded suits of green.
They were men that went to outposts,
To the flies and dust and heat,
To monotony and boredom,
No offensive, no retreat,
And they missed the path to glory,
With their mates of El Alamein
They were sent to guard Australia,
In their faded suits of green.
On the battle fields of Papua,
On the shores of Milne Bay,
On the track to far Kokoda,
And down Gona Buna way,
Through the fever stricken jungle,
Where the Nippon lurked unseen,
Into slime and slush and slaughter.
Went their faded suits of green.
Pressing onward, ever onward,
Rivers crossed and pathways strained,
Defying death, defying danger,
On the Owen Stanley Range,
Up the cliffs and down the valleys,
Through the deep and dark ravine,
Torn and tattered, splashed with crimson,
Glorious faded suits of green.
Standing watching at my window,
My thoughts wing as before,
To the rice fields of Malaya,
To the docks of Singapore,
To the Prison Camps of Nippon,
Where our loved ones, gaunt and lean,
Wearily wait there to be rescued,
By those faded suits of green,
They are coming, captive soldiers,
Tho’ the way may be grim and hard,
They will fight until the finish,
Inch by inch, yard by yard,
For no suits of shining armour,
Worn by Knights before the Queen,
Ever held such pride and honour,
As those faded suits of green.
When the bells of peace are ringing,
As they did in days of ‘yore,
When the bated sound of War drums,
Shall cease for ever more,
When we live in love and laughter,
And happiness serene,
Oh, Australia please remember,
Those faded suits of green.
