With grateful thanks to Discover War Poets
Harley Matthews (registered at birth as Harry Matthews) was born on 27th April 1889 in St. Leonards, Sydney, New South Wales, Australia. His parents were Henry Matthews, a clerk, and his wife Edith, née Morgan, both of whom were born in New South Wales
Harley grew up on his parents' vineyard in Fairfield and was educated at Sydney Boys' High School. After working as an articled clerk from 1906 to 1914, he enlisted as a Private in the 4th Battalion of the Australian Imperial Force on 13th September 1914.
Harley took part in the landing at Gallipoli on 25th April 1915, was Mentioned in Dispatches and wounded early in August. After service in France, in August 1916 he was posted to the Australian Army Pay Corps at A.I.F. Headquarters in London and was repatriated towards the end of 1917. Repatriated towards the end of 1917, he was discharged on 29th December.
He was a prolific writer but Winemaking became a passion for him. He bought 58 acres of land near Sydney which he cleared himself and planted vines.
From 1912 to 1938 Harley Matthews published in Sydney three books of verse and a volume of short stories.
Here is one of his poems:
“The Sleep of Death”
We see no terror in your eyes.
They say that sleeping you were found;
Now we with bayonets guard you round.
Night's shadow up the hillside creeps,
But you still watch the lighted skies,
Although the sentinel that sleeps
The next dawn dies.
Ah, the remorse is gone that grew
To think of what my comrade said:
"Give this to her when I am dead" -
A heart-shaped thing of little worth
That held her picture for his view,
But he was killed and in the earth
Before I knew.
It was last night. My watch I kept,
The stars just overhead shone dim.
Nought moved upon the hills' far rim.
But in the hollows shadows seethed,
And as I watched, towards me crept.
I listened: deep my comrades breathed
Where near they slept.
Below men moved innumerable -
Fancy! and yet there was a doubt.
I closed my eyes to shut them out,
And for relief drew deeper breath,
Across my lids Sleep laid his spell;
I flung it off - to sleep was death,
I knew too well.
There came a pleasant breath of air,
Cool-wafted from the stars it seemed.
I looked: now they all brightly gleamed,
Then long I watched, alert, clear-eyed.
No sleeper stirred behind me there...
Yet then of some one at my side
I grew aware.
I stared: for he stood there, though dead,
Yet looking, that seemed nothing strange;
About his form there was no change
To see within that little light.
"'Tis I. And yet you heard no tread.
A careless watch you keep to-night,"
He laughing said.
His voice no huskier had grown,
Then while I watched, he sat and told
Me of his love just as of old.
"Give this to her," I heard him say.
I looked, and found I was alone.
Within my hand the locket lay
Cold as a stone.
I have it here to prove he lies
Who says that sleeping I was found.
I fear not though you guard me round.
Night's shadow up the hillside creeps,
But I can watch the lighted skies,
Although the sentinel that sleeps
The next dawn dies.
Sources: Discover War Poets via X and Facebook, Find my Past, Wikipedia, https://allpoetry.com/Harley-Matthews and https://warpoets.org.uk/worldwar1/poets-and-poetry/harley-matthews/
