The PR Blog

As the sun sets on tired so called Conservative parties like the Liberals and Nationals, how about something different .... OUR Voice from the Heart.

To the people of the bush, the paddocks, the backstreets, and the wide horizons:

Australia's cities have grown tall, bright, and loud. But in all their noise, they forgot the quiet strength that built this country. While bureaucrats sip lattes in glass towers, the bush swelters, floods, burns, and perseveres. We carry the weight of droughts and bad harvests, of crumbling roads and shrinking schools, while policies are written by people who've never set foot in a sheep yard.

They talk about progress, but it's a one-way road out of the bush. Hospitals are closing. Rail lines are rusting. Kids are leaving. And what's replacing them? Mega-farms owned by offshore shareholders. Decisions shaped by algorithms. Rural voices drowned by imported ideology.

Delivered by people who’ve never watched a bore run dry. They came for the land. They came for our water. And they do not care about us. 

On the moonlit night of May 16, 1943, a squadron of young RAF pilots flew into the jaws of Nazi Germany on a mission so audacious it bordered on madness.

Armed with a revolutionary "bouncing bomb" and led by the unflinching Wing Commander Guy Gibson, the men of 617 Squadron, soon to be immortalised as the Dam Busters, took to the skies in lumbering Lancasters, tasked with shattering the great dams of the Ruhr Valley and crippling the industrial engine of Hitler’s war machine.

What followed was a feat of precision flying, raw courage, and tragic sacrifice - etched forever into the history books of wartime legend.

Not all wartime heroes wore uniforms. In the heart of WWII, in 1942,  my great uncle, a metallurgist, was working in the jungles of Papua New Guinea as Japanese bombs fell on goldfields and airstrips. 

Unable to fight, due to deafness, he carried on his duty in the shadows...until the order came to flee. What followed was a gruelling jungle escape on foot, a rice bowl in his pack and enemy planes overhead.

This is a piece of family history long buried and largely forgotten. It's a story of endurance, of quiet courage, and of the forgotten Battle of Wau....a turning point that helped swing the Pacific war.

In a top-secret cross-galactic reassignment leaked by sources wearing sunglasses indoors, Agents J and K of the Men in Black have been deployed to handle their most temperamental alien yet: Prince Harry.

Tasked with managing diplomatic meltdowns and navigating emotional wormholes, the agents are now stationed at an undisclosed Californian compound, code-named “Netflix Nebula.”

Experts warn: the subject’s volatility rivals that of a Zarthonian slime monarch in a custody battle. Their mission? Protect the prince, his privacy, and his podcast schedule...at all costs. And Agent H wants to bring back the neuralyzer. To wipe the public memory of the past few years. 

How a fearless squadron of female pilots turned plywood planes into weapons of war - and fear. These women flew under the radar - literally - to bomb the Nazis and change the face of combat

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 Polikarpov Po-2 biplanes, these wooden-framed, canvas-covered flying machines 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.

This Mother’s Day, I’m thinking of one woman in particular. She’s 92 now. We call her Redhead -  not just for the colour of her hair, but for the fire that’s still in her spirit. She was just a child when the world went to war, yet she grew up to raise children of her own, then grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and yes, even a great-great-grandchild. Five generations held together by one woman who never needed a spotlight -  just a bit of commonsense, an honest tongue when needed, ( which is often! ) and a heart big enough to weather every storm.

Redhead didn’t fight on a battlefield, but she’s known her share of battles .... the kind that happen in kitchens, in school parent teacher meetings, and around dinner tables where love and stubbornness sometimes clash. She’s lived through wars and family skirmishes alike, and somehow kept us all stitched together with nothing more than fierce loyalty, dry humour, and a no-nonsense kind of love that never wavered.

There are thousands like her. Women who carried nations without ever carrying a gun. This tribute is for them ... and especially for our Redhead.