The Making of a Man

My grandfather once told me that his time in the army was the making of him. (He served during World War II.) By this, he meant that being a part of the armed forces -- as distinct from being involved in conflict -- was something of a 'coming of age'.

Living in a demilitarised country, and in a social and cultural climate that seems to be decidedly anti-militaristic, I find my grandfather's claim puzzling. Yes, I'm a product of my environment.

On the weekend I read Banjo Patterson's poem, Australia Today 1916. Though they imagine people's experience in a different war, for me, the following verses shed light on my grandfather's experience.

They battled, the old battalion,
Through the toil of the training camps,
Sweated and strove at lectures,
By the light of the stinking lamps.

Marching, shooting, drilling;
Steady and slow and stern;
Awkward and strange, but willing
All of their job to learn.

Learning to use the rifle;
Learning to use the spade;
Deeming fatigue a trifle
During each long parade.

Till at last they welded
Into a concrete whole,
And there grew in the old battalion
A kind of battalion's soul.

Brotherhood never was like it;
Friendship is not the word;
But deep in that body of marching men
The sould of a nation stirred.