What falling over at seventy taught me about scars, consequences and the dangers of rushing ahead.

In those heady days of childhood, back in the 1950s, I was like most kids.

I ricocheted from one scraped knee to another.

A fall off my bike, a chipped tooth, a broken arm or a head wound from a low-flying rock hurled by a neighbourhood adversary were all part of everyday life. I wore my scars with pride and valiantly returned to school the next day, limping slightly and sighing dramatically as I recounted the tale of how I had been so afflicted.

There was, of course, a little embellishment.

For the sake of drama -  and a greater outpouring of sympathy and awe -  things were ever so slightly exaggerated. 

Now? No, not at all... 

And Why Trevor the Wallaby Is No Longer Allowed Near the Taj Mahal

An exclusive report by Roderick “Whiskers” McNibble, Chief Correspondent, Acting Editor and Unreasonably Brave Survivor of the Dusty Gulch Gazette Attack of '26.

There are moments in a journalist's life when he must decide whether to remain safely underground or risk everything in pursuit of the truth.

I have had several such moments. Most of them involved large cats.

The latest, however, involved the complete collapse of the Dusty Gulch Gazette, a gang of technologically sophisticated Honklanders, a wallaby with titanium knees, two Australian literary ghosts and a woman in India who apparently possesses powers far beyond those of the average government department.

It all began when the Honklanders decided that the Dusty Gulch Gazette had been allowed to exist for far too long.

In the 1880’s shearers wielded a lot of influence on our country. Despite us not yet being a single united nation, in the various states where wool growing was the major industry militant unionism arose with great co-operation between the various state organisations.

In those days, shearers and general farm workers were numerous.

Wool was the biggest export commodity of most of the states but the working conditions of those who produced this golden fleece were poor. Are we any richer today? 

During World War II, Australia was a vital cog in the Allied machine, sending troops abroad, supplying bases, and hosting American and British forces across the Pacific. But not every sector of the nation was fully committed to the fight.

On the waterfront, the Waterside Workers’ Federation (WWF) -  known to most as the wharfies - became infamous for strikes, obstruction, and outright sabotage at the very moment the nation was fighting for survival.

What made their conduct so divisive was not only the disruption, but the question: were they fighting for workers’ rights, or for ideology?

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.

The Gazette May Be Slow, But Roderick Isn't Giving Up

By Roderick (Whiskers ) McNibble.  Sloth Inestigator Divisdon. Ratty News. 

There are times in the life of a newspaper when a journalist must rise above adversity.

There are also times when a journalist must admit that the bloody page simply won't load.

This, dear readers, is one of those times.

Deep in the red-dust heart of Australia, the last surviving press of the Dusty Gulch Gazette is currently wheezing like an asthmatic bilby trapped inside a cement mixer.

 I rarely go into the third person, but today I must. My whiskers are less twitchy and my need to communicate is great. 

As things slow down here in Dusty Gulch, I must send a communication before all is lost.