By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble – Dusty Gulch Bureau Chief
Hold onto your Akubras and stubby holders! Something big’s stirring in the sticks.
Yesterday morning, Mayor Dusty McFookit spotted a sulphur-crested cockatoo strutting about Duck Central. Harmless? Hardly. These feathered fiends live a century, chew through timber and wiring, and crave aluminium-sheathed coaxial cables.
The only defence? Marine-grade stainless steel. McFookit knows the cost - last time one of these beaked brutes took out the town’s water supply comms tower, the bill stung worse than a box jellyfish.
Is this cockatoo a rogue loner… or the tenth member of the infamous Nine Dastardly Ducks, here to take Dusty Gulch off the grid? Or worse?
Read more: Lord Squawk-Squawk’s Censorship Plot: Dusty Gulch Defies the Crooked Cockie!
Between the “Scrap Iron Flotilla” and “the Rats of Tobruk,” turning insults into a point of pride was perhaps a running theme for the allies.
Like many other ancillary formations of our armed services in WW1 and WW2, the Scrap Iron Flotilla has not received the same acclaim as the Rats of Tobruk. That does not undermine in any way the exploits of the Rats but it is a pity that these vital supporting formations seem to be easily forgotten as prominent objects of our remembrance celebrations.
The Scrap Iron Flotilla was an Australian destroyer group that operated in the Mediterranean during WW2.
Its story is synonymous with the Rats of Tobruk. It was the means of supply to the beleaguered town under siege between 10th April, 1941 and 7th December, 1941.
Its name was conferred on it by Dr.Goebbels, the German propaganda minister intending to demean and undermine morale of the five Australian ships that made up the flotilla. As happened with the conferring of the name “Rats of Tobruk” on the garrison troops by Lord Haw Haw, instead of depressing morale it spurred them to greater acts of defiance. Neither understood the make-up of the Australian character.
Before Xbox and iPads, we had mist, mud, and pinecones - and we waged battles worthy of any history book. From Māori trenches to rice-gun rebellions, here’s how a quiet New Zealand hill turned a bunch of wholesome Sunday School kids into “savages.”
I grew up in a small rural community in the hills of New Zealand, where the mist and ever-present wind pummeled our hilltop - and we loved every soggy second. We also loved the wars - the pinecone wars - that left us with bruises, bleeding heads, and glorious victory speeches.
Even now, decades later, my idea of a perfect day is a misty, drizzly one where I can take life off the hook, snuggle in, and allow my mind to drift back to those days, as kids, when we roamed the paddocks, built campfires, and fought epic battles.
Just above our home was a dairy farm with the perfect staging post for war. We called it Pine Cone Hill, and this was where we staged our greatest battles of all.
Read more: The Pinecone Wars: How a Hilltop Childhood Trained Us for Glory (and Trouble)
Picture trench warfare, and you’re probably seeing World War I’s muddy, rat-infested ditches, with soldiers slogging through rain and barbed wire. That’s the image burned into our minds from history class.
But here’s the kicker: trench warfare didn’t start in 1914. It’s way older - and it’s not just a European story.
Long before French generals or our boys were stuck on the Western Front, the Māori, the indigenous people of New Zealand, were digging trenches that would make any military engineer jealous. We’re talking centuries before Sébastien Le Prestre de Vauban turned trenches into a European art form.
Read more: Trench Warfare: Way Older (and Smarter) Than You Think
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble | Dusty Gulch Correspondent, Ratty News
Dusty Gulch Primary School is in uproar this week after Trevor the Wallaby’s knees were digitally removed from a school safety poster - allegedly to comply with new “online safety” laws introduced by an increasingly twitchy Maurice the EDuck.
The poster, part of a government-funded awareness campaign titled “Hop Smart, Hop Safe!” , was meant to promote playground safety and responsible monkey-bar usage. But when the final version was released, keen-eyed locals noticed something missing:
Read more: Digital Duck Deletes Joints: Trevor the Wallaby Victim of “Knee-Free” Policy
Dad passed away on the 4th of August, some years ago now. This year, the date slipped by quietly, and I didn’t remember. For all my talk of “Lest We Forget,” for all the importance I place on remembering what matters, somehow, I missed the anniversary of my own father’s passing.
When I told Mum, she’s 93 now, she said something that has stayed with me: “It’s not your fault. We don’t have time to think of ourselves anymore. The world is too terrible.”
And maybe she’s right.
We’re bombarded by the weight of everything - news, crises, endless noise. We chase the big picture and forget to think about the real things. The things that matter.
We often think of civilisation in terms of inventions - the wheel, the plough, the phone in your pocket. But true civilisation isn’t measured in tools or technology. It’s measured in what we do for one another. It’s in the instincts we carry, and the sacrifices we make. And maybe ... just maybe ... it’s in something as quiet and human as staying with the wounded when everyone else runs. In an age obsessed with moving fast and recording everything, it’s worth asking: do we still remember how to carry someone?
Years ago, someone asked the anthropologist Margaret Mead what she considered to be the first sign of civilisation in an ancient culture. They expected her to point to tools - fishhooks, clay pots, grinding stones - the usual suspects in the archaeological story of progress.
But Mead didn’t name an object. She named an act.
Thomas Pritchard, Australia's last "Rat of Tobruk" passed away at the age of 102 on 3rd of August 2024. Pritchard was part of the famous garrison who held the Libyan port against a furious Nazi siege in World War II.
I would venture to say that the two most famous and well known phrases of our military history are “Gallipoli” and “The Rats of Tobruk”. One was a magnificent defeat. The other was a magnificent triumph.
Field Marshall Sir William Slim, 13th Governor General of Australia and at the time, General commanding the 14th Army said after the triumph over the Japanese at Milne Bay that “…..Some of us may forget that, of all the Allies, it was the Australians who first broke the invincibility of the Japanese army and it was the Australians who first broke the invincibility of the German army.”
In speaking of the defeat of the German Army he was speaking about Tobruk. 14,000 Australian soldiers embarked on an eight month siege defending the harbour town of Tobruk, beginning on April 10-11 1941.
In a thoughtful historical essay published on this blog, John Ruddick celebrated the British discovery of Australia. He detailed how Captain Cook, through a mix of science, navigation, and extraordinary luck, laid the foundation for modern Australia - a nation shaped by Western civilisation, built on exploration, liberty, and law.
“None could have done so much with it as the British,” Ruddick wrote, thanking Captain Cook and placing Australia within a proud tradition stretching back to Rome.
In that same piece, he highlighted the significance of ideas, of intellectual heritage, of the long arc of Western civilisation culminating - quite literally - on these shores.
And yet, in August 2025, that same John Ruddick praised the closure of the Sydney Harbour Bridge to allow a mass pro‑Palestinian march to proceed - a protest movement whose leading organisers have cheered on Hamas, and whose symbols are aligned with the very forces that oppose everything Ruddick once defended: Enlightenment values, classical liberalism, and ordered liberty.
How does a man go from quoting Roman philosophers and honouring Captain Cook... to waving through the disruption of a city in support of ideological chaos?
From immigration policy to identity politics, energy to ideology - the erosion of Western society is no accident. It’s part of a pattern.
Sometimes, you have to wonder: is all this just incompetence, or something more coordinated? Policies that seem to defy common sense are being rolled out with alarming consistency - not to strengthen the nation, but to fracture it.
One might start by looking at immigration. Not just the numbers, but the nature of it. Instead of families or vulnerable refugees, we’re seeing a steady flow of young, single, fighting-aged men, often from regions with vastly different values, cultures, and religious worldviews. There's no requirement to assimilate. In fact, it's almost as if assimilation is the one thing being actively discouraged.
And when ordinary citizens begin to express discomfort, the response isn’t dialogue ... it’s dismissal. They’re labelled racists, xenophobes, far-right agitators. Their frustration is turned into something sinister. No longer patriots but monsters to be erased....?
Read more: Strain the System, Break the Nation: Is the Cloward-Piven Strategy in Play?
In the 1970s, listening to Pirate Radio was more than entertainment - it was defiance. As modern censorship creeps into every corner of digital life, I find myself wondering: will we need to tune back in?
Not to music over the waves, but to whatever Pirate Radio becomes in our age of tech control.
In the 1970's, Pirate Radio Stations were all the rage. It was seen as a badge of honour to quietly admit to listening to Pirate Radio. As the internet becomes increasingly censored, are we going to turn the clock back to those heady days of defiance and consider buying a shortwave receiver? if not, what will be the modern-day equivalent of Pirate Radio?
My first encounter with Pirate Radio was in New Zealand as a schoolgirl in 1968.
Read more: Return of the Signal: From Pirate Radio to Digital Defiance
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