Why wasn't Breaker Morant’s poetry taught to us oldies in school? Is it fair to say that this talented Bush Poet, Harry Harbord (Breaker) Morant, was thrown under the bus by Lord Kitchener?
Kitchener sacrificed Breaker ( and Handcock) in order to mollify the Germans over the killing of a German missionary and to shift the blame of all the death and destruction from himself and the British. As a result, Breaker's remarkable legacy as a poet was lost because of political scapegoating.
His gifted work as a bush poet is largely unknown and therein lies a great tragedy.
But what really happened? Following is an in-depth look at the man, the story and lead-up to an execution that is now part of Australian history.
Read more: Breaker Morant - " Shoot Straight You Bastards! " The Execution - 27 February 1902
Fuctose Intolerance (FI) is an insidious condition afflicting thousands of otherwise rational individuals. Brought on by prolonged exposure to leftwing rhetoric, FI manifests as an acute inability to digest bullshit sugar-coated narratives, half-baked utopian policies, and artificially sweetened promises of equality.
The condition is often exacerbated by excessive consumption of mainstream media, academic theorists, and government-funded arts festivals.
Sufferers of FI may experience the following symptoms when exposed to progressive discourse ( also known as Bullshit. )
Sudden eye-rolling, often involuntary, in response to buzzwords such as "lived experience," "safe space," and "redistributive justice."
A gag reflex when confronted with opinions suggesting that economics is a zero-sum game.
Uncontrollable skepticism when hearing phrases like "fully funded by the government" without mention of taxpayers.
Bouts of existential dread upon reading yet another call to "decolonise" mathematics.
If you experience any of the above for more than ten minutes while watching a panel discussion on the ABC, it is highly likely you suffer from FI. Do not panic. There are ways to manage your condition.
Read more: Fuctose Intolerance: A Survival Guide for Those Who Can’t Stomach Leftwing Bullshit
On February 23, 1945 atop of Mount Suribachi on the southern end of the island photographer Joe Rosenthal captured the image of six Marines, raising an unfurling American flag.
The Battle of Iwo Jima was a key conflict in the Pacific Theatre of World War II, fought between the United States Marine Corps and the Imperial Japanese Army. It was one of the bloodiest and most intense battles of the war.
Iwo Jima is a small volcanic island located 750 miles south of Tokyo, Japan. The U.S. sought to capture it because it had Japanese airfields that were launching attacks on American B-29 bombers. The island could serve as an emergency landing site for U.S. bombers returning from missions over Japan. It would provide a staging ground for the planned invasion of Japan.
Some time ago I bought a new kettle. It was a whistling one and while it took a long time to come to the boil, it certainly yelled loudly that it had arrived. Poor Shaydee didn't like the noise, so I retired it to the cupboard and I went back to my electric kettle.
Noise has become something that many people no longer like. Especially when it is shrill and high pitched. Like so many young people today. So many lefties love to screech. Maybe, like my kettle, they are just letting off steam? Perhaps they are frustrated because they are told what to think and not how to think.
Have you ever wondered how and why the Youth of today are holding rallies , their loud voices proclaiming all sorts of alarming predictions for the future. Using people like Greta Thunberg to speak with fire and brimstone about the end of the world. Pretending that young kindergarten children have important things to say about what they think the future holds. Even using "old white men " who should know better to say the end is nigh! People who are easily conned into believing things that are untrue.
Maybe young people today are like my kettle? Screaming and letting off steam because no one will let them have ambition and think for themselves.
Read more: Are We Passengers to Frankfurt? How Did We Get a Ticket? Can We Get Off the Train?
Moscow, 1930s. The Devil drops by for a visit.
I first discovered this book in my youth. I have always had a fondness for old book stores and it was one day, back in the 70's that I was foraging through a load of dusty tomes in a Charlotte Street book shop in Brisbane that I sniffed out a new but strange book. Its title intrigued me. Perhaps as a young and somewhat optimistic young buck, I felt it might be a Russian version of " Lady Chatterley's Lover. " I sauntered toward the cashier with a casual air and a look of student style indifference. and paid a modest sum and chortled and sniggered smugly as I went back to my student digs to digest a night of Russian porn and the sensual delights of The Master and Margarita. Oh, a good night ahead!
Yet what I had purchased for pennies turned out to be a life changing book for me and it had absolutely nothing to do with a gardener pulling weeds while guzzling bundy ginger beer and an older woman swooning at the sight of the gardeners youthful bare chest. I had been duped yet it was the best con I have ever fallen for.
Mikhail Bulgakov was born in 1891 in Kiev, in present-day Ukraine. He first trained in medicine but gave up his profession as a doctor to pursue writing. He started working on The Master and Margarita in 1928 but due to censorship it was not published until 1966, more than twenty-five years after his death.
The book used crazy parable-like fantasy to jab at tyranny, yet he faced censorship and couldn’t publish freely in his lifetime. Even then, parody had its critics and censors. So what was it about? How it ended up in a second hand bookstore in Brisbane for my humble self to grab is something I will never really be able to fathom.
Political parties were meant to serve the people, but in today’s climate, they resemble warring tribes more than democratic institutions. Blind loyalty has replaced independent thought, and dissent is met with hostility, not debate.
Leaders demand absolute obedience, punishing those who stray from the party line.
But history warns us - when a tribe values survival over truth, it eventually turns inward, consuming its own members in a spiral of self-destruction. Are we watching the slow implosion of party politics, and if so, what comes next?
We humans have always been tribal creatures. There’s even an idea called Dunbar’s Number, which suggests humans can only maintain meaningful relationships with about 150 people. Beyond that, social cohesion starts to break down, and factions form.
Read more: When the Tribe Devours Its Own: The Self-Destruction of Party Politics
Read more: The Marmalade Wars - The Battle for Old Australia - Part one
Stagecoaches first emerged as a means of transport in Australia during the early 1800s, drawing inspiration from similar transportation systems in Britain and the United States.
The need for reliable land transport arose with the establishment of penal colonies and the gradual expansion of settlements. Initially, most travel was conducted on horseback or by bullock dray, but these methods were slow and impractical for long-distance travel.
By 1820, rudimentary coach services began to operate between major settlements such as Sydney, Parramatta, and Windsor.
Early stagecoaches were often simple horse-drawn carriages without their later counterparts' robust engineering and comfort. The harsh Australian terrain and climate posed significant challenges, leading to frequent breakdowns and delays.
In the blistering heat of Outback Queensland, where dust storms roll like ghosts across the red earth, an abandoned shed became the unlikely birthplace of a revolution. What started as a crazy experiment in AI-generated images... depicting biplanes with no propellers, six-fingered rat pilots, and a society of industrious rats...soon spiraled into something far greater.
Fueled by the ingenuity of a local rat colony and the culinary expertise of the Country Women’s Association, vats of marmalade flowed, oranges mysteriously vanished from a nearby orchard, and an airline of bright orange, methane-powered biplanes took to the skies.
Their destination? Washington, D.C. Their mission? To deliver a kangaroo and her joey to Trump’s inauguration, while an enigmatic orange Australian frog was destined to shake hands with the President himself. How did a shed full of rodents, airborne citrus-fueled propulsion, and a mysterious force known as Whisker Dynamics turn fantasy into reality? Strap in...this is a tale like no other.
On 19th February, 1942 real war came to Australia when two air raids by Japanese carrier based aircraft wrecked the town and the adjacent army and RAAF bases.
The first inkling that anybody in Australia had that something was about to occur was at 9.30am on Bathurst Island, about 80kms NE of Darwin. When the missionaries and islanders saw a huge formation of aircraft at high altitude. The mission was headed by Father John McGrath who also acted as a volunteer coastwatcher.
The mission was equipped with a radio transceiver linked to the AWA Darwin Coastal Station under call sign VID. AWA ran many aeradio stations under contract to the Department of Civil Aviation with range all over Australia and as far as Portuguese Timor.
Read more: Lest We Forget - The Bombing of Darwin - the day dawns....
The Adelaide River Stakes is the name given to the mass exodus of people prior to and following the Japanese air-raid in Darwin on 19th February, 1942. Thanks mainly to an ill-informed statement by a former Governor General, Paul Hasluck, that it is a story full of shame for our national persona, but it is a myth.
The truth is that with much closer examination it was anything but a shameful episode in our most serious year of peril. The propaganda disseminated by the government of the day was based on inadequate information, over-the-top censorship and a failure to take the population into its confidence.
The faults lie with a succession of failed civilian and military administrations which, like the behaviour of most politicians, was a deliberate trail of cover-ups and refusal to admit fault.
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