Marxism, Medlin, Music and Kicking the Moon: The Poetic Truth Behind Redgum’s Inconsistency, By John Steele

In Redgum's haunting 1983 anthem "I Was Only 19," a Vietnam War conscript's tale unfolds with raw power: "Frankie kicked a mine the day that mankind kicked the moon / He was going home in June." For this Vietnam vet, thinking about the fleeting past on ANZAC night, a bit drunk, I heard this song about the Vietnam War on the radio. I knew of the song writer John Schumann's origin, under Marxist Professor Brian Medlin at Flinders University, with the group Redgum being formed in Medlin's "Politics and Art class.These lines spark scrutiny.

In fact, while I was fighting in 'nam, my sister went through Flinders at that time, and enrolled, and dropped out of Brian Medlin's class when Schumann was there, where he formed the band Red Gum. The moon landing, etched as July 20, 1969 (July 21 in Australia), clashes with Frankie's planned June departure. If he was going home in June, why was he in Vietnam in July? This inconsistency seems a flaw—yet its poetic truth transcends, honouring life's fleeting truths.

The moon landing date is ironclad: Neil Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface on July 20, 1969, at 10:56 p.m. EDT, or July 21, 12:56 p.m. AEST, as NASA records confirm. Redgum's lyric ties Frankie's mine explosion to this day, a poetic stroke contrasting global triumph with personal loss. Australian troops, like the 6th Battalion in Phuoc Tuy Province, faced deadly mines in 1969, with 99 fatalities that year. Trust me here I have seen firsthand what these things can do.

A death on July 21 is plausible, but the next line—"he was going home in June"—jars. If Frankie's tour was set to end in June, his presence in July defies logic. Conscript tours lasted 12 months, sometimes extended by weeks, but the lyric's firm "going home" suggests he expected to be gone.

My sister spotted this, noting that the rhyme of "moon" and "June" likely drove the choice. Under Medlin's Marxist lens, where art and truth were dissected,the timeline faltered, even if poetic. She's right—the lyric stumbles. A soldier planning a June exit wouldn't face a mine in July without a clear explanation, like a delayed departure, which the song omits, or another tour of 12 months.

Still, the song's heart redeems it. John Schumann, mentored by Medlin, wove veterans' stories into a semi-fictional cry against war's toll. The June-July mismatch serves poetry, not history, rhyming to etch Frankie's dashed hope: a boy set to go home, killed as humanity soared. For a Christian conservative, this resonates with values of sacrifice and community, like those upheld against the 1960s' secular slide. The song's empathy feels authentic, grounding shared loss, remarkable given where it all came from.

In life's "eternal night," as yet another ANZAC Day passes, the song's poetic truth—war's cost over precise dates—shines brighter than its inconsistency. Frankie's story, flawed yet profound, reminds us to honour the fallen, not nitpick the rhyme.