The PR Blog

A neighbour was telling me about her Christmas shopping expedition to Brisbane recently.

She wanted to buy her young grandchildren a Nativity Scene so she could put it on the table and explain the meaning of Christmas. 

Do you know that none of the shop assistants had a clue what she was talking about or even the real meaning of Christmas. 

This shows how much Australia has lost over the past generation. So much for politicians enriching our society by bringing in aliens. To me it shows how bad Australia has become.

The magic of Christmas for kids isn't the same when they get past a certain age. I often think about my girls when they were little  and how magical it was seeing their little faces as they snuggled up for sleep on Christmas Eve and raced around at dawn ripping presents  open.... And that got me thinking about a Christmas a long time ago. 

On the gusty afternoon of December 17, 1967, a group of five adults arrived at Cheviot Beach, near Portsea, Victoria, and strolled along the Bass Strait beneath the warm Australian sun. Harold Holt was eager for a swim, and after stepping behind a rock outcrop in the sand dunes, he emerged wearing a pair of blue swim trunks. Marjorie Gillespie and her daughter, Vyner, both in bikinis, turned to the water and noticed that the surf, at high tide, was higher than they’d ever seen it.

“I know this beach like the back of my hand,” Holt replied, and walked into the surf without breaking his stride.  Immediately, he began swimming away from the beach. Martin Simpson, Vyner’s boyfriend, followed but stopped when he was knee-deep in the surf. “There was a fairly strong undercurrent,” he said, “so I just splashed around without going in too far.” The third man in the group, Alan Stewart, told the others, “If Mr. Holt can take it, I had better go in too.”

But he stopped quickly when he felt a tremendous undertow swirling around his legs. He watched Holt swim out into what he considered “dangerous turbulence.”

When I was a young lass of 17 or so, I worked in a swanky upmarket tourist hotel in New Zealand. I was a receptionist doing the meet and greet to all guests, and often met with well  known so called celebrities. One afternoon, I met and greeted a particular " celebrity " whom I had admired and thought to be a very nice chap. How wrong I was. He turned out to be a sleasy grubby minded middle aged man with a penchant for young ladies. He was on my naughty list for the rest of his life and mine. 

The reason I tell you this is because, in our lives, we often put people on pedestals and give them an almost hero-like status.  Too often, we are let down when confronted with the reality of the man, not the myth.

When I moved to Australia, I met people who had an almost groupie like fixation with Gough Whitlam. I heard them talk about his service to Australia with stars in their eyes.  How the evil Sir John Kerr and Malcolm Fraser had done an act of such wickedness  that they may as well have been Judas and Pontius Pilate. They worshipped at the altar of Gough, and for them, he could do no wrong. 

For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated by non animal means of getting around.

That one baby-power rocking horse took me on many wonderful and exciting exploratory adventures, but it wasn’t long before the urging of the need for speed reared its persuasive head, a need catered for by a Christmas present from an understanding Mum and Dad … a Cyclops pedal car.

Thus commenced a love affair with driving a motor vehicle, of the sheer enjoyment of manoeuvring this obedient metal contraption which took me wherever I wished to go, subject of course to the availability of sufficient propulsive power of a couple of skinny little legs.

This is my Christmas gift to Malcolm -  a very valued and much loved and respected contributor to our blog who has been unable to join us of late. This article was originally published at Christmas 2021. We miss you dear friend. We here at patriotrealm.com still think of you. Merry Christmas and I hope you are happy and well... I bet you wish you had gotten to drive a Tucker 48! ...... Monty

Preston Tucker was a man driven by bold ambition and a determination to reshape the future of the car industry.

In a post-World War II era dominated by the Big Three automakers, Tucker introduced the Tucker 48, a vehicle so richly filled with features that were decades ahead of their time.

Despite his incredible vision, Tucker faced fierce opposition from powerful industry players, relentless government scrutiny, and insurmountable financial hurdles. His story highlights the problems faced by people who dare to dream big. 

Tucker posed a direct threat to the Big Three automakers - General Motors, Ford, and Chrysler........who had dominated the market for decades.  By the mid-1950s, Ford, General Motors and Chrysler manufactured 95 percent of American cars. The established players, wary of competition used their influence to stifle Tucker’s progress.

Tucker faced hurdles at every turn. Obtaining raw materials and manufacturing equipment in the post-war economy was challenging, as major manufacturers often received priority. Adding to the pressure, negative press campaigns emerged, questioning Tucker’s credibility and business practices. Many believe these efforts were orchestrated by rivals aiming to tarnish his reputation.

The Battle of the Bulge, one of the most dramatic and pivotal confrontations of World War II, unfolded in the dense forests of the Ardennes during the bitterly cold winter of 1944-1945.

As Nazi Germany launched a surprise offensive to split the Allied forces and regain momentum, the stakes for both sides could not have been higher.

This last-ditch gamble by Hitler, aimed at breaking through the Allied lines and capturing the vital port of Antwerp, initially sowed chaos and created a massive "bulge" in the front.

However, the battle would ultimately reveal the unyielding resolve of the Allies, as fierce resistance, some incredible strategic brilliance, and unrelenting courage turned the tide against the German forces, ensuring their eventual defeat in Europe.

The Battle of the Bulge, fought from December 16, 1944, to January 25, 1945, was the last major German offensive on the Western Front during World War II. It marked a desperate attempt by Adolf Hitler to split Allied forces, capture the vital port of Antwerp, and force a negotiated peace. While initially successful, the offensive ultimately failed, cementing the Allies' path to victory in Europe.