The Dust of Uruzgan

Here in Australia we sing songs of the warriors who fight the wars our Government chooses.

The memorable songs are not just of the war but of the men who fight in them and then have to live with the consequences. They tend to be against the wars yet are incredibly sympathetic to the men who fight in them.

Firstly Eric Bogle sang this tribute to the men of WW1

Then Redgum sang this John Schumann tale of Vietnam

Now Fred Smith has written and sung of the eleventh digger to die in Afghanistan.

A worthy addition to the Aussie songbook of the lost and ruined lives in wars “Over There”.

In the ring they called me “Warlord”, my mother calls me Paul
You can call me Private Warren when you’re filing your report
As to how I came to be here this is what I understand
In this hospital in Germany from the Dust of Uruzgan

I had just turned 28, just bought a new car
When I joined the first Battalion of the Big One RAR
We were next up for deployment into south Afghanistan
To combat the insurgence in the Dust of Uruzgan

It took seven months of training just to get into the joint
There were pushups and procedures there was death by power point
Then the RSOI course in Ali Al Salaam
But nothing can prepare you for the Dust of Uruzgan

Me and Benny sat together flying into Kandahar
Sucked back on our near beers in the Camp Baker Bar
Then up at 0530 we were on the Herc and out
Twenty flying minutes we were in to Tarin Kowt

We shook hands as the boys RIPped out from MRTF 1
And pretty soon were out patrolling in the Afghan summer sun
Walking through the green zone with a Styer in my hand
Body armor chafing through the dust of Uruzgan

We started up near Chora working 14 hours a day
Mentoring a Kandak from the Afghan 4th brigade
Down through the Baluchi into eastern Dorafshan
Working under open skies in the dust of Uruzgan

It’s a long way from Townsville not like any place you’ll see
Like suddenly you’re walking through from the 14th century
Women under burkhas, tribal warlords rule a land
Full of goats, and huts and jingle trucks is the Dust of Uruzgan

And the Education Minister can neither read nor write
And Minister for Women runs the knock shop here at night
They’ve been fighting here forever over water, food and land
Murdering each other in the dust of Uruzgan

There’s nothing about this province that’s remotely fair or just
worse than the corruption is the endless f#*%!ing dust
Its as fine as talcum powder on the ground and in the air
And it gets in to your eyes and it gets in to your hair

And it gets in to your weapon and it gets in to your boots
When bureaucrats all show up here it gets in to their suits
It gets in the machinery and foils every plan
There’s something quite symbolic bout the Dust of Uruzgan

Still the people can be gracious and they’re funny and they’re smart
And When the children look into your eyes they walk into your heart
They face each day with courage and each year without a plan
Beyond scratching for survival in the Dust of Uruzgan

But the Taliban are ruthless keep the people terrorized
With roadside bombs and  hangings and leaving letters in the night
And they have no useful vision for the children of this land
But to keep them praying on their knees in the Dust of Uruzgan

It was a quiet Saturday morning when the 2 Shop made a call
On a compound of interest to the east of COP Mashal
We had some information they were building IED’s
So we cordoned and we searched it in accord with SOPs

I was on the west flank picket, propped there with Ben
there to keep a watchful eye out while the other blokes went in
We looked for signs of danger from the TTPs we’d learned
But the Nationals were moving back and forth without concern

We’d been standing still for hours when I took a quick step back
Kicked a small AP mine, and everything went black
Woke up on a gurney  flat out on my back
had to ask them seven times just to get the facts

That I lived to tell the story through a simple twist of fate
The main charge lay ten feet away from the pressure plate
You see the mine was linked by det chord to a big charge laid by hand
Hidden there under Benny by the Dust of Uruzgan

I was a Queensland Champ Thai Boxer now I look south of my knee
And all I see is bed sheets were my right foot used to be
Benny’s dead and buried underneath Australian sand
But his spirits out there wandering through the Dust, the Dust of Uruzgan

Now I’m going back to Townsville it’s the city of my birth
Some go back to Ballarat and some go back to Perth
I’ll be living with my mother who’s still trying to understand
Why we’re spending blood and treasure in the Dust of Uruzgan

(For more about Fred Smith read here)

With thanks to @jonkudelka who twittered the original article. The poor verbiage in this post is all mine.