The PR Blog

William Golding's "Lord of the Flies," first published in 1954, remains one of the most significant works of literature of the 20th century. The novel, which portrays a group of British boys ( a school choir ) stranded on a deserted island, serves as a profound commentary on the inherent darkness of human nature and the fragility of civilisation.

The story begins with a plane crash that leaves a group of boys aged six to twelve marooned on an uninhabited island. Without adult supervision, they attempt to govern themselves, initially with some semblance of order. Ralph, one of the older boys, is elected leader and prioritises rescue by maintaining a signal fire. Piggy, another central character, represents intellect and reason, supporting Ralph's efforts with his practical advice.

What is it that makes us remember things from our past and, for some inexplicable reason, they stick with us?

Some things are from distant memories of childhoods lived and recalled with great fondness. Others talk about an incident from adulthood. In all cases, they feature an event that has stayed with us as a “ keeper “ in the file cabinet called our memory.

When people approach their end of useful life ( according to the young smart arses that think that they will live forever, or perish due to climate change before their 30^th birthday ) it seems to be that our minds retreat to happier times that our brains chose to save, while deleting so many thousands of days.

Why is that?

Today's article is about Deception. Lies. Experimentation. Life. Death. Family. Love. Hate and Betrayal.

It is about incompetence. Government. Loss. Restriction and Destruction. In short, it is about the very things we are all confronting in this new global reset that is hell bent of changing our world forever. 

It all started when I watched a documentary about 3 boys. All adopted. One, to a wealthy educated couple. Another to a middle class working couple. Another to a more blue collar family. All three were loved and given every advantage within their parent's power. 

It transpired that they were triplets, separated at birth and sent out to be tracked over their lives to see how they progressed. Would they grow up differently from their siblings?  Yes, the kicker was, that unbeknown to them, they had been part of an experiment. A vile, sinister and wicked experiment to see how nature v nuture works. 

I found it very disturbing. How could adoption agencies allow such a perverse experiment in our era of so called enlightenment? 

I remember the days before computers changed our lives. When I was a lad, I first trained as a civil engineer in the late 1950s to early 1960s. There were no electronic calculators, and all calculations were performed either manually, by trigonometric tables, or by using a slide rule.

We used to analyse the stresses and bending moments in structural elements using advanced mathematics based upon first principles, knowledge of which has long faded from my aged brain. 

The Sydney Harbour Bridge is a classic two-pinned arch design which we studied. If you drive past both abutments, you will see the huge supporting pins which take the entire load of the bridge.

As the war raged on the Eastern Front, the Soviet Union was in dire need of pilots to combat the relentless advance of the German forces. In response, Marina Raskova, herself a pioneering aviator, proposed the formation of female combat air regiments. Thus, in October 1941, the 588th Night Bomber Regiment was born, later to be known as the "Night Witches" by their German adversaries.

What set these women apart was not just their gender but their method of operation. Flying outdated Polikarpov Po-2 biplanes, these wooden-framed, canvas-covered relics were dubbed "crop dusters" by the Germans, hardly a match for the formidable Luftwaffe. However, it was precisely this underestimation that became their greatest advantage.

Operating under the cover of darkness, the Night Witches struck terror into the hearts of the enemy. Flying low and slow, their Po-2s emitted a distinctive whooshing sound, resembling a witch's broomstick, hence their ominous moniker. With no parachutes and minimal defensive armament, they navigated through the night skies, dropping their payloads of bombs on unsuspecting German encampments and supply lines.

I am proud to pay tribute to a testimony to the power of coal. If a grand old lady of over 100 years can still stand with coal power in a country seemingly obsessed with renewables I have to say this: try running her on wind power or solar panels. Or looking for a big enough power point to plug her into each night. She works 14 hours a day in the summer months when the days are long and there is always a brisk breeze on Lake Wakatipu but she still thrives on Coal. 

Anyone who has ever visited the beautiful town of Queenstown in New Zealand, will know the sight of the steamship Earnslaw. 

The TSS Earnslaw is an integral part of Queenstown’s pioneering history and to this day a Queenstown icon. She was commissioned by New Zealand Railways to service the communities around Lake Wakatipu. Launched in the same year as the Titanic, the TSS Earnslaw’s maiden voyage was on 18 October 1912. 

And this grand old lady runs on something that is demonised today -  hard back-breaking work and coal.