106 Field Battery - Tardus et Definitus
Gunners Gallery Archive - 1st Edition - Published Sept 2010



This supplement features the creative works of 106 Battery veterans and their families. Arts and craft, photography, poetry and prose etc. are
displayed here and updated regularly. If you wish to be involved in this project, please email your masterpieces or enquiries to

                                  "SILHOUETTE" by Jon Pranevicius

                                                 by Deric [Ric] Liddelow
We all know Szcz just loves red
So Drabs and Jed agreed.
To get a good one for their mate,
The quality guaranteed.
                                      “We’ve gone to a lot of trouble Szcz
                                      To find the best around.”
“It’s cost a pretty penny mate
No better could be found.”
Jed and Drabs bought out the Red
They’d cellared it for years.
And Szcz could not control himself,
His eye’s they filled with tears.
The cork was soon extracted.
The crowd was goin’ nuts.
Szcz was so excited that he
Duly dropped his guts.
The boys had gathered round to see
How the masterpiece would rate.
You could cut the tension with a knife
And Szcz he couldn’t wait.
“It smells real good from over here”
Said Drabs as they poured a glass
“I think you’ll like this one old mate,
It’ll sit you on your arse”.
Szcz put the wine up to his nose
To inhale that great bouquet.
“Oh mate I really like this one
It bloody smells ok.”
Jed offered all the boys a glass
“It should be good” he lied.
Van tipped his out and drank the one,
He‘d hidden on the side
“Well Szcz you’d better try it out
It should be at its prime.
We wouldn’t want it to go off,
C’mon mate, it’s time”.
So Szcz he finally took a sip,
He’d fell into their trap.
“My God, where did you get this from,
You pricks, it tastes like crap”.
Then Heppo said ”give me a taste,
I’ve bottled a red or two”.
“Oh shit he’s bloody right you know,
I made better on debut”.
The boy’s claim of a quality wine
Was revealed as just a a furphy
“It cost a dollar fifty Szcz,
We got it from Dan Murphy”.
And when the laughing settled down.
Szcz knew he’d been sucked in.
But he could see the funny side,
As the wine went in the bin.
Now Szcz says that he owes them one
Szcz say’s there’s more to come.
“I’ll get them bastards back one day
I give you all the drum”.
           THE FEW
                by Michael Berriman 1999
                                      Old men wheeze in the cold early dawn
A rasping cough, a muffled yawn
After thirty years and still they come
Our service filled with children young
Why is it so, after all these years?
We have the trouble of holding tears
Rejoice in life the press dictates
So here’s to Woody and all our mates.
All good men, we served as one
Nashos here and regulars some
We served as brothers for our year
Not returning home our constant fear
And to wives some did return
The RSL now they did spurn
Many a union fell apart
And with it made a broken heart
Having fought for flag and Nations pride
And from no man will a digger hide
Vietnam Veteran, so they say
But still they take my kids away.
I hear the voices in my head
Some days it’s hard to rise from bed
I dream of mates those good times spent
I’m scared of where my life just went
Stress relief for troops is lots of booze
Drink by the bucketful, you can choose
So at last real help is on the way
I joined the local VVA
Oh, sure- it still hurts like hell
But with others now I can share so well
I belong again,. I have a place
And life is not just the big race!

 "KEN'S PENS" Handcrafted by Ken Prevost.

                CLEAN UP DAY
         by Michael Berriman 2004
Thrown out are beds and boats, windows and beams
But clean up day is never what seems
Throw out the old and replace with new
Recycle day seems more to be true
Clean out the kitchen, empty the shed
Strip the garage and trash the bed
But wait, I see in my neighbour’s trash
Golf clubs and buggy, this will sell for cash
And look here, to my mate I call,
Garden tools but that’s not all
Why here’s a set of perfect oars
Load the car and then they’re yours
We have such fun two times a year
Can’t stop the grin from ear to ear
Some snobs sneer and think we’re funny
But what we collect we sell for money
So one man’s trash is another man’s treasure
Discarding that which once brought pleasure
Rejects from life after all these years
Objects of mirth, of love and tears
And on this pile a broken screen
Close by another washing machine
Once it washed and made like new
Don’t you know it had feelings to

                TO MY WIFE BRENDA
         by Kerry [Jed] Taheny
To my wife Brenda,
            P.T.S.D. is about SELF-LOVE;
It is about BEING
            confident         then    shattered
            whole                then    maimed
            wanted            then     rejected
            chosen            then     cast aside
            well-trained      then    scrapped
            built up              then     broken down
            human             then     inhuman
It is about FEELING
            confident          then     shattered       
whole               then    maimed
wanted            then     rejected
chosen             then    cast away
well-trained      then     scrapped
built up              then    broken down
happy             then    sad
courageous      then     guilty
independent    then     forgotten
Is it any wonder then that I have become inhuman,
sad, guilty and forgotten in my eyes.
I need someone to HELP me CHANGE from BEING
            shattered          into    confident
            maimed            into    whole
            rejected             into     wanted          
cast aside         into    chosen
            scrapped           into    well-trained
            broken down    into     built up
I need someone to HELP me FEEL
            and renewed
Only then will I begin to BE human again.
Only then will I begin to FEEL happy, courageous
and important again.
Only then will I FEEL loved and forgiven.
Only then will I BEGIN to love and BEGIN to forgive.
Only then will others have relevance in my eyes.
Thank you for the years of loving me through all
this change.
Today for the first time, I look on myself with love;
my love, your love, God’s love.
            Thank you.
 Taheny, Kerry Eugene Gnr 4720894 0223hrs 30 June 1997

                                                                 “DUSK AT NINGALOO”   by Rob van Wageningen.


 by Colin Montfort
you can huff and puff for all you’re worth but
no one’s home I won’t be fussed or shaken
by the ears today however you could
try me at that phone booth if you like you
know the one we used to saunter off in
now and then with doctor who what a buzz
patrolling space and time on our own
scrambled frequency you confessed in
foreign tongues and I forgave with holy
wine I confessed with sportsman-like
humility and you forgave with words
you’d keep revamping in my sinner’s face if
only we’d been sober when we soared on 
high to eros and andromeda so
smug with our kaleidoscopic eyes
but no g.p.s and in a perfect
holographic universe we would’ve
stocked the fridge before we left it’s so clear
in hindsight but blurred in the swivel of
whirligig escapades’ giddy spill
we giggled and crashed at the last chance turn
off and missed every signpost back for
half a good life time and now those days are
riddled and swathed in nostalgia’s willowy                   
shadow our lessons distilled to their mere
cryptic essence and here I stand nearer
to nowhere to be found yet strangely
in awe of the next infringement notice
nothing to report nothing to regret
embroiled in the laws of relativity

"DOCS DILEMMA" by John Pranevicius

                                              by Deric [Ric] Liddelow
In early 1970
We left for Nui Dat
We took along our rifle
And wore our best slouch hat
We settled into dugouts
Unloaded all our gear
Before we even knew it
The sound of war was near
The Grunts called us the drop-shorts
But in their time of need
Our rounds would be their saviour
Well that’s what we believed
Our Guns went to the Horseshoe
Our FO’s to the field
And when they called for our support
The VC’s fate was sealed
On rest days back at Nui Dat
The boozer was the way
To get our daily rations of
Two cans per man per day
And then the call came out to us
That Roger Hall our mate,
Had copped an RPG that night
Which nearly sealed his fate
He was taken into Vungers
Placed in a Hospital bed
Next day they had to operate
He was very brave they said
Now Ando, Drabs and Gibbo
And Ric and Humey too
Made up their mind to visit him
The least that they could do
“So how do we get in there”?
The boys all said combined
“Why don’t we take the Majors Jeep
I’m sure that he won’t mind’
So Ando filled the Jeep with juice
There was no time to waste
As well as seeing Roger
There was ice cold beer to taste
As we approached the gates at Nui Dat
We got our story straight
We were on a secret mission
The Guard said “don’t be late”
We went straight to the hospital
Roger lay there in his gown
We quickly paid him our respects
And then we hit the town
We stopped off at a Vungers Bars
And Gibbo gave a shout
“Hey isn’t that old Brushmush
Let’s go and check it out”
We didn’t stop to think that night
We were absent without leave
The trouble we had caused ourselves
Was beyond us to conceive
Well Brushy said to Dave next day
“Your boys were at the Grand
They even said hello to me
And Gibbo shook my hand”
“How good of you to give them leave..”
“I did nothing of the sort”
Said poor old Major Gilroy
“I’ll put them on report”
Well we stood before the Colonel
He was angry I could sense
“We went to visit Roger Hall”
 We said in our defence
Old Brushy showed no mercy
“21 days without pay
I’m also taking back that stripe
We gave Ric yesterday”.
Well Roger Hall recovered
And friends we all remain
And if we had our time around
We’d do it all again

"NINGALOO SUNSET"  by Rob van Wageningen.

                                                                  VIETNAM, MYSELF AND TODAY
 by Jon [Doc] Pranevicius
‘Tis the experience of me I tell
                                                This welling inside, truly of a man made hell
                                                Not for righteous or goodness sake
                                                Lo, the spirit of men that they would break,
                                                This land as history does tell,
                                                Which could not be subdued but men still fell
                                                The people so gripped in terror and fright
                                                By invading countries of awesome might
                                                Death and destruction was to rain in
                                                Day and night, year out and year in.
                                                Life I thought was not meant to be this
                                                Uncaring, bloodied, a war that persists.
                                                So unforgiving the time I had spent
                                                I still carry the wounds as if bound in cement
                                                In my aloneness I feel the fright
And always reminded by nightmares at night.
The shame and the guilt ride high in my mind
Seeping out, reminding, haunting at times
Showing no mercy to my own insight
So I’m left to ponder with no justice tonight
The pain is relived and made hard to bear
Thoughts of suicide surround the air
Lost in neither here nor there,
The circle I create is one of despair
Unable to reach out so hopeless in doubt,
Locked in time with no way out
So tragic and watchful I rake not in
The events of today that trigger within
The burden of war, I’ve carried a long time
Is for myself a torturing crime
Nowhere can I hide from that grave mistake
But I must seek to repair or be left in the wake
It must come to the fore and be treated with care
Then placed in my mind’s library, in a special place there
Stacked so neatly as to review it sometimes
Then replaced until needed and recalled to mind.
My family and loved ones I hurt so much,
Unknowing in myself and blind to trust
The heartache, the pressure they had to bear
Was equal to those of myself but unshared
In their love time has grown
So I share with them all that is my own.

“SETTLING SEROTONIN”  by Colin Montfort.

                GREY TRAVELLERS
          by Michael Berriman 2004
We love to travel and see new places
Great works of art and many faces
We eat street food and have no fears
Stretch our wings in these prime years
We stay in two star or share a dorm
Our travel eclectic, and never the norm
We shun the five star, the plastic guest
Mix with the public, what we like best
Bad hotels, oh yes! we have had
Paid top dollar and was it bad
A maze of rooms to walk so far
Hard to believe it was five star
And how those staff, they milk the tips
Delivering bags with complex trips
Selling help for any reason
This SERVICE available any season
We ask the price before we buy
Haggle a bit we always try
Always smile with girl or male
This simple rule will never fail
Some travellers complain and make such noise
Others have style with so much poise
The noisy wheel often gets the oil
I’m all right Jack but for others I spoil
We take a backpack don’t own a case
For us it’s a journey, never a race
So many big people have cases on wheel
Red faced and lathered, how do you feel?
We may go for a month, or stay for the season
We love it here for no other reason
Soak up the culture and help the trade
Get out there and live, don’t be afraid
Roll Call
Gunners Gallery Archive - 1st Edition - Published Sept 2010