Author Information
I Remember My G’pa to Me,
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Family I Remember My G’pa to Me,
William John Tozeland.
29th June 1914 - 22 October 1988
R.I.P
“Bill”
Time then, time now, many years with and empty without,
Our families loved ones, friends now passed on,
Living Life, life living, sailing the years carry on,
In our heart, our mind, our memories our love remains strong,
Here and now I talk proud that “You will Never be Gone”,
Looking back on all those years, in me your spirit lives on,
For I remember my Grandfather to me, William John.
My G’pa was born in Sydney, Turramurra the North Shore back in the 1914,
Through the twenties as a boy, to a teenager in the early 20’s,
The war comes around and you stood up to be counted for,
Service Record Name TOZELAND, WILLIAM JOHN
Service Royal Australian Air Force Service Number 161451
Date of Birth 29 Jun 1914
Place of Birth TURRAMURRA, NSW
Date of Enlistment 3 Mar 1944
Locality on Enlistment WAHROONGA
Place of Enlistment SYDNEY, NSW
Next of Kin TOZELAND, JOSEPHINE
Date of Discharge 20 Dec 1945
Rank Leading Aircraftman
Posting at Discharge 2 AIRFIELD CONSTRUCTION SQUADRON WW2 Honors and Gallantry
Prisoner of War No
So much pride fills my mind for you marched off to war in R.A.A.F.,
With brothers in arms, Leslie, Fredrick, Norman and George,
All fought the war and blessed we are, all returned safely,
His heart went fast a sweetheart at last, a fair maiden named Josephine,
Our Josie a rose in nature my sweet G’ma and loving mother of three,
Aunty Janice, my Dad James and Uncle Johnny.
For the earliest of memories of G’pa are my fondest to me,
A boy just pint size, as mischievously curious a grandson can be,
There I was so oblivious; it was my G’pa, who caught me,
It was a smoke I grabbed, redheads to strike, and onto the swing for me,
Redhead aflame, smoke alight and a puff of smoke surrounded me,
My G’pa came over and abruptly took my first smoke off me,
It was a joke, all had laughed, as I remember my G’pa to me.
As you can see it was my Dad, who passed on the name to me,
I have always been proud with me your name carries on,
When I was young you would call and ask “What’s New”,
I would talk and talk about school, about sport, all that was going on,
My Dad now calls and asks me “What’s New” I’ve just cottoned on,
How we inherit the small things from loved ones we pass on,
Like the remedy for warts, my G’pa thought was to tell me,
Is to pee directly on the spot and they won’t be bothering me.
To work in Dads ford truck, Dad and G’pa an adventure for me,
We were off to the quarry, where they would blast with TNT,
As I remember finding TNT around the house back in 1973,
Here we were off in the truck as clear a clear a day can be,
Winding through Galston Gorge, rose farms, roadside stalls,
Down the roads, a dusty trail as we make the quarry,
Eucalypt lined, hauling Shale, as I played the cliff tops,
Until “Smoko” came and G’pa would call and I would hurry,
Making fire, for the much anticipated Billy tea,
A spoon of tea for all around, and one for the pot was the key,
Some sugar for sweet reaching out for the leaves of the eucalypt,
Crunched a few into the brew onto roast the G’pa’s Billy tea.
The neighbor’s fence was metre high and I was standing on thee,
The tree was meters away and Jamie had encouraged me,
Remembering then I was six or seven, as attempt to swing the tree,
The tree in sight, branch outright, as I leap to catch onto thee,
Taking flight I reach out, seeing the branch in sight,
My fingers touch on, but my grip not strong and I fell aimlessly,
Onto the ground, with my arm under me, shock as I cried hopelessly,
Home I ran, holding my arm along the drive to find sympathy,
On top of Dad’s drot, there you were tinkering with it mechanically,
Down you came as I cried and explained what had just happened to me,
Comforting and embracing me, it’s a break, for now I need to be strong,
I will always remember your voice, as those words carry on.
A hello would bellow and around I watched you dash ever so charmingly,
A gentleman our pop, out would he step and dashed diligently,
Fetching the door, and courting the elegant Mary,
Well spoken and gracious a tall statuesque beauty, Bill's Mary.
The day would come, I’m ready to go and be waiting eagerly,
Out front I would be, up the street I would look for you to collect me,
The white Valiant would roll over the hill ever so shinny,
Cruising down the street, the driveway it would steer ever so cautiously,
Out you would pop, white shirt, driving cloves and pocket watch,
Short back and sides, polished shoes ever so handsomely,
The times with you ever so many and cherished to me,
Like the trip to the cricket, the footy and watching me play rugby,
Family occasions, celebrations, for my B’day the many cakes you brought,
To this day I’ve always known you cared as you would collect me,
In the Valiant we would trot, front seat with my Pop, to the barber for me,
For it always was that my grandfather ordered short back and sides for me,
There both under the chop, looking back you sat alongside me.
For all of the small things, how grateful and lucky a grandson to be, as I only knew love unconditionally.
For the freedom fought for, for all you taught and for all that you have installed in me.
As when I was young in Wyong, at Aunty’s Jan’s under the tree, was where you took time to sit with me, alongside a big rock is where you taught me the values of what your word and handshake meant for you. As you explained “That your handshake is like your word, they both need to be strong, to be honorable the man you are.”
A firm handshake, stand upright, shoulders back have pride a Tozeland I am to be,
Show respect, have manners, eyes make contact, find love and life will be good to me,
Those words, those ways I have tried hard to live life by as man I have come to be,
Through business, through friends, my ways mean honor in which I am,
Thank you for taking time, pausing that moment to enlighten me
As that moment, your love and guidance has lived all my life with me.
You never wished to speak upon your time serving in the war,
As a boy, I remember through school my 4th grade teacher Mr Harding,
About Smithy flying planes our Australian war Hero,
Anzac day comes around marching digger’s as the trumpeter bellows,
Feeling haunted for you on your mood of sorrow,
Years gone on I’ve learned more about the battles in WW11,
I’m now 43, my Dad just turned seventy and looking back on,
Both he and I are filled with pride for your part in our freedom,
Although many years have passed since those days of war,
My feeling of pride will never grow small, for all who gave so much,
Through Anzac Day we keep in touch,
No war should glorified, to all who fell and fought so well,
Did not do in vain as, we all remember them,
I am we are mighty proud Australians.
I thank the universe for the gift of my Grandfather, William “Bill” John Tozeland my loving and caring G’pa, I remain blessed and deeply enriched by your guidance as a role model and teaching values to me. A hero to me R.I.P., I remember My G’P to Me.
John William Tozeland
