The Battle of Britain ended on 15^th September, 1940 but the Blitz continued long after that.  Following the evacuation of Dunkirk and the Battle of Britain a wealthy American living in London persuaded the government to form an RAF squadron composed entirely of Americans.

This is their story. 

When war broke out on 3^rd September, 1939 there was no mad rush of support for the causes espoused by Britain or for Poland and other occupied European countries. Americans were very much of a mind to remain out of any European war. There was no universal feeling of kinship towards Britain and there was, in fact, quite a lot of sympathetic support for Hitler.

The second most common language spoken in the USA at the time was German and to cap it all the Neutrality Act prevented any engagement, let alone involvement, by Americans with any belligerent country. That included Britain and France as well as Germany.

Amongst all that however, there was a core of sympathetic support for Britain and an eagerness by those who had learned how to fly to enter the fray. Among the various means of getting around the rigours of the Neutrality Act was to cross the border into Canada and proceed from there.

In an age of glowing screens and fleeting texts, something precious has quietly slipped away: the letter. Once, entire lives were poured into envelopes - love confessions, battlefield farewells, business dreams, simple reassurances. Letters carried permanence, patience, and poetry. Today, we trade that depth for speed: a thumbs-up emoji instead of a paragraph, an “u ok?” instead of pages of care.

The Hallmark series Signed, Sealed, Delivered (also known as Lost Letter Mysteries) captures this beautifully. Its quirky, unapologetically “nice” postal detectives uncover the stories behind undelivered letters...  no sex, no swearing, no violence, just hearts and stories. It reminds us that even now, in an age of instant messaging, a letter can change everything.

When you hold a letter, you hold more than words. You hold the slowness of thought, the imprint of a hand, the hope of reply. A letter can be read and re-read, its meaning deepening with every return.

As young folk, didn't some of us feel like rebels without a cause? 

I am 70. In my era, some of us chose to follow Greenpeace. Others chose anti Vietnam war. Still others embraced the feminist ideology and some the allure of socialism and communism. For myself, I never really embraced a cause. I was too busy enjoying life. But I was always a bit of a black sheep. 

Terribly stubborn. Opinionated and very determined in my views on what was black or white or right from wrong. Poor Redhead still tries to rein me in but alas, she hasn't been successful thus far. At 93, you would think she would give up trying, but she tells me " I am still your mother. " 

Bugger. She is right of course but in all fairness, I do attribute good parenting to the fact that she now has three geriatric offspring who tend to be a pain in her arse because we won't do as we are told. Let me explain. 

As our countries are collapsing under the weight of wokeism, social and communist ideology, who else is looking for a leader to fight back? I know that I am. As has been the case in all times of humanity's struggle against oppression and totalitarianism, all it takes is one man, one voice, one leader.... and the troops will rally. 

" Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilisation. Upon it depends our own .... life, and the long continuity of our institutions..... The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us. .... But if we fail, then the whole world will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties..... men will still say, "This was their finest hour." - from Winston Churchill ( excerpt) 

Crack Up or Crack Apart

When the world gets grim, you’ve only got two choices: crack up or crack apart.

After days of heavy headlines and the suffocating weight of politics and history, sometimes the wisest thing we can do is pause, pour a cuppa, and remember to laugh. Yet I suspect many have gone past that point.

Australia has always been a country of people who crack up, crack a tinny, crack a joke, and move on. But even we are weary of watching our nation and our world crack apart.

Today I want to talk about the birth and death of humour - how the left lost what little they had, and how humour itself has shifted. Because when laughter dies and mockery takes over, humanity has lost its soul. And sadly, too many governments are legislating joy out of our lives. 

Dusty Gulch Dispatch: The Croc Cavalry & the Great Duckening

By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Special Correspondent (still in hiding)

There are times in a rat’s life when you wonder if scratching a pencil in a wombat burrow matters at all. Whether your words rise to the surface - or sink into dust with the town above. But this time, against all odds, someone heard me.  With a purloined Starlink dish strapped precariously to the CWA hall roof before its members were fully duckified -  my message got through.

And someone answered.