The PR Blog

We stopped teaching goodness. Now we’re living with the consequences.

There was a time when Sunday School was part of almost every child’s life. In the early 1960s, one in seven children under fourteen went every Sunday to hear Bible stories, talk about God, and learn Christian values. We put on our best clothes and headed off to join our friends in fellowship and safety -  in a place of love.

The idea of Sunday School began in 18th-century England. Robert Raikes, a Gloucester printer and philanthropist, saw the suffering of child labourers in factories and mines. Their only day off was Sunday, so he created schools where they could learn to read -  first the alphabet, then the Bible.

As Raikes said, “Vice could be better prevented than cured.”

In an Australia grappling with division and a search for identity, it’s time to rediscover Andrew Barton “Banjo” Paterson -  not merely as the poet of Waltzing Matilda and The Man from Snowy River, but as a patriot, horseman, and wartime contributor whose life speaks to the strength and unity we need today.

Known for turning the bush into verse, Paterson’s lesser-known story -  his wartime service, shaped by a childhood injury that left one arm shorter than the other -  reveals a man who overcame limitation to serve his country.

His legacy, from training horses for the Light Horse Brigades to penning poems like We’re All Australians Now, offers a blueprint for rediscovering national pride in 2025.

Ratty News: Dusty Gulch Dispatch — “When the Ghosts Came Rolling In”

Filed by: Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Senior Correspondent, Dusty Gulch Bureau

It’s been a curious sort of week here in Dusty Gulch -  the kind of quiet that makes you think something’s up. The ghosts of Banjo Paterson, Ned Kelly, and Henry Lawson left town some time ago, promising to return, and not a whisper since. The Dusty Dingo gossip circle’s been silent, McFookit Burgers has been ticking along without incident, and even the bin chickens have been strangely absent.

Jeffrey Epstein remains in the freezer behind McFookit’s -  for “historical preservation,” according to the CWA -  and Trevor’s knees, having been temporarily confiscated during the first equal rights uprising, are awaiting reinstatement pending CWA approval. All in all, Dusty Gulch was as settled as a cat waiting for a zoomie episode at 3 am.

Then we heard the sound.

Eighty-one years ago this week, in October 1944, a tall, thoughtful barrister from Victoria gathered representatives of non-Labor organisations in Canberra. Australia was weary from war, yet filled with resolve. Robert Gordon Menzies stood before them and spoke not of polling or political marketing, but of character. From that meeting, the Liberal Party of Australia was born.

Menzies’ vision was not merely to defeat Labor -  it was to build Australia. He sought a political movement anchored in principle: in the dignity of work, the sanctity of family, and the belief that a free people could govern themselves best when guided by decency and duty.

He called them “the forgotten people” -  the middle Australians who raised families, paid taxes, volunteered on committees, and asked little more than a fair go and honest leadership. They were not ideological warriors or professional activists; they were the quiet architects of the nation’s character.

On the evening of October 12, 2002, the peaceful tourist destination of Bali, Indonesia, was thrust into chaos as one of the deadliest terrorist attacks in Southeast Asia unfolded.

A series of bombings rocked the popular resort area of Kuta, leaving a path of destruction and horror in its wake. The attack killed 202 people, including tourists from over 20 countries, with the largest contingent being from Australia.

The event not only devastated families but also sent shockwaves across the globe, marking a critical point in the fight against terrorism.

Much like the devastating attack on America only a year earlier, the Western world received a warning shot across the bow. So what did we do? Hell, we opened the door wider.

It’s hard to understand how our governments could be so naïve -  seeing the rise of global terrorism and deciding the best protection was to show how tolerant and open we could be. It was almost as if they believed that goodwill alone could shield us from evil. Like a dog that’s been beaten and then goes back wagging its tail, we seemed determined to forget the lesson.