The Emu War is one of Australia’s strangest historical events. In late 1932, the government actually sent the army to war… against birds. And they didn’t exactly come out on top.
It was a peculiar event in Australian history that took place in the Western Australian region of Campion during the Great Depression.
Yes, the Australian government sent a small military force, led by Major G.P.W. Meredith of the Royal Australian Artillery, armed with two Lewis guns and 10,000 rounds of ammunition, to the region. The plan was to cull the emus and reduce their numbers to protect the crops.
Curious? I’m not surprised. After all, if the Australian Army couldn’t dispatch a few pesky birds, then something was seriously amiss. So let me enlighten you and tell you all about the time the Australian Army went to war against its own coat of arms… and came away with feathers in its face.
Read more: The Emu War - Never Pick a Fight Against Your Coat of Arms!
For nearly a decade, I’ve poured my soul into this blog. Twelve hours a day, seven days a week, no pay - just love. Picture me at 3 a.m., hunched over my keyboard in a quiet place like Dusty Gulch, the glow of the screen catching a moth’s flicker outside. I’m writing about our sunburnt pioneers, the cheeky cackle of a kookaburra, or a satirical jab at the world’s latest lunacy. Every word is a piece of us ...our laughter, out tears, our stubborn pride in Australia’s spirit.
You, my readers, get it. You feel that tug for stories that make us human. But now, a digital magpie called Perplexity AI is prowling, eyeing our yarns. Can it steal our facts? Maybe. But our heart? Never.
Here’s the deal with this Perplexity bloke. It’s an AI search engine that doesn’t just point you to blogs like mine - it swallows them whole, chews up the words, and spits out a tidy summary. Dates, stats, facts - all neatly packaged. Sounds fair dinkum, right? Except here’s the rub: it doesn’t always send you to the source. My posts, your comments, the independent voices we cherish...they’re left in the dust, invisible.
Read more: The Soul of Our Stories: Why AI Can’t Steal Our Heart
The Battle of Long Tan took place on August 18, 1966, in the Phuoc Tuy Province of South Vietnam. It was part of Australia's involvement in the Vietnam War as part of its commitment to the United States' efforts to counter the spread of communism in Southeast Asia. The region's dense jungles, muddy terrain, and unpredictable weather added to the complexity of the conflict. The Australian soldiers were part of the 6th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, and were led by Major Harry Smith.
On that fateful day, a small Australian company of 108 men - 105 Australians and 3 New Zealanders - found themselves vastly outnumbered by a determined North Vietnamese force estimated to be over 2000 strong. The Australians were based at a rubber plantation in Long Tan, surrounded by thick vegetation that hindered visibility and movement. The North Vietnamese launched an intense assault, employing small arms, mortars, and artillery fire.
We live in a strange age where even computers can sound like they care. AI can greet you warmly, governments can sign off letters “Yours sincerely,” and corporations can send you chirpy emails about how they “value your loyalty.”
On the surface, it can all feel a little like friendship. But is it?
The truth is, "friendship language" and real friendship are not the same thing.
They may share vocabulary, but they run on different fuel. One is a performance. The other is a bond. And if we’re not careful, we can mistake one for the other.
And yes, The Digital Dingo is AI. Ably abetted by Lord Squawk Squawk and Prentis Penjani.
Over the years, I have learned that trust is the most valuable commodity we have. I have been let down and betrayed. But there have been standouts.
And the biggest stand out is my Mum. She has NEVER let me down. Our governments? That is a whole different story.
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble – Chief Correspondent, Dusty Gulch Bureau
On 6 and 9 August 1945, the United States detonated two atomic bombs over the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The bombings killed between 150,000 and 246,000 people, most of whom were civilians, and remain the only use of nuclear weapons in an armed conflict.
As 15th August ( the surrender by Japan in WW II ) approaches one can anticipate the usual diatribes from the unwashed and soy-latte sets lecturing us on how bad we were in 1945 to drop the atomic bombs on Japan. None of these know-alls were even alive in 1945 so whatever they have to say comes from their collective backsides.
Britain, Germany and the USA were all working to become the first to master nuclear fission. Thankfully it was America who won.
The American effort began in 1939 when Albert Einstein wrote a letter to President Roosevelt setting out the possibilities and predicted consequences of unleashing nuclear power. Einstein, a German born Jew, left Germany to study in Zurich and renounced his citizenship in 1896 to avoid compulsory military service.
Because who needs the will of the people when you have “equity” consultants?
It’s 2025, and democracy has evolved. Not into something fairer, freer, or more representative - no, we’ve upgraded to a premium model where the minority calls the shots, the majority pays the bill, and “equity” consultants explain why you should thank them for it.
Forget one person, one vote. These days, it’s one person, one identity card, and bonus privileges if you tick the right boxes. The rules aren’t gone - they’re just optional. But only for some.
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
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