Steadfast they faced the foe at Galatos,
Selfless and true, their spirit did not quail
Until with heavy hearts and heavy loss,
They fell back lest the hun-hordes should prevail.
But steadfast still, with courage undismayed,
And stubborn strength that could not know defeat,
Calm in calamity, a fierce defence displayed,
Which knew no weakening in their retreat.
Forced from the town, their line a shattered shell,
But intact yet, though thin and thinning still.
Where shrapnel scarred and gashed and warrior fell,
They lacked the means, they did not lack the will.
Steadfast their name, the gallant twenty-third,
The Maori men who valiantly fought back.
Swift came the night, but swifter came the word
Which launched four hundred bayonets in attack.
Reversed the scene and irresistible,
The onward rush that thrust resistance down.
Awful the flashing steel, and terrible
The battle cries which echoed through the town.
Avenged the silent comrades now at rest,
Who fully played their part and fighting died,
Man versus man, an equal, epic test,
Which proved the hun defenceless in his pride.
So victory was theirs, this gallant band.
The hun had gone except where hun dead lay.
And thus was covered by that steadfast stand
Our troops evacuation from the bay.
- Lin Rowell, 'A' Troop, 27 Bty, 5 Fd Regt, NZA
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