Sir Cloudseley Logue-Splitterre responds to Sir Atney’s spiffing argument

My dear Sir Atney,

Sir Cloudsley. Upon realising that he may be stuck in the antipodes as the last of his breed.

Well put Sir, very well put. Couldn’t have expressed it better myself. However out of all this arises a paradoxical paradox.

Shopkeepers hereabouts, Liberal voters to a man, took considerable umbrage recently when the newly installed Victorian Labor Premier declared Tony Abbott Day a public holiday. Flaring, flouncing and fit to be tied our local shopkeepers railed explosively against this new official day off, held public meetings and declared that they simply couldn’t support the notion  of being required to pay their staff double time for yet another public holiday. In protest half of the local stores shut their doors on the day.
The holiday making public however, unaware of these financial considerations, from all points of the compass, carpayed the old diem, crammed into charabancs,  and flocked to Mansfield in droves. The shut shops suffered. Dismayed and bewildered tourists could be seen gazing blankly at locked doors. Too late the owners wrung their hands, decided to open after all and rang for staffing reinforcements. The reinforcements were nowhere to be seen. Unforgivably, (and utterly disloyally) they had taken the day off and simply weren’t available. The owners, panicking, watching the profits slide away, threw their doors open any way and the tourists flocked in. They flocked out again when there was no one to serve them.

I honestly feel that our shop owners do, however, have a point. Making a living is difficult at the best of times, so the more of these public holidays we can eliminate, the better.

Her Majesty. After digital examination of prized, overweight, constipated corgi, (“Fergie”) holds royal finger as evidence that her pedigree, (the Corgi’s) is unblemished. Order restored.

I therefore suggest, in this safe Liberal seat, that we take our courage in both hands, take a deep breath and eliminate the Queen’s Birthday holiday. If Her Majesty was only made aware of how her birthday was being used to cruelly contribute to the wholesale financial exploitation of Mansfield shop owners then she would not hesitate to act.

She would do this because the Queen is nothing if not an honourable woman, She would do this because she has only the interests of the community, (and her fellow Australians) at heart.

Finally, she would do this because she is in the end Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth 11, God Bless Her.

Sir Cloudseley Logue-Splitterre

After which I.M.A. Purled commented thus

My dear Seurat-Knee,

Sadly, we all noticed your little foe-paw concerning par-ven-noose instead of par-ven-knew, May I. to save your blushes and avoid further embarrassment, suggest the much more easily accommodated ‘Arriviste’ which the more easily trips off the Biro whilst one is in the grip of the creative vision thing.
Aware of your local hostelry habit and your penchant for mixing with coarse artisans and the like, I expect you confused ‘Parvenues’ (sic) with your local saloon bar menu ‘Parma News’ and this is how the confusion arose.

Naturally, I prefer to think of you in less humble surroundings. I see you teeing off with the best of them on top quality golf courses where ‘par venues’ are de rigueur. and only the very best may gain membership. This might constitute a more acceptable explanation.

‘men of questionable standing’. (Not the author).

Finally, there are those places where, God help us, gentlemen of questionable standing assemble in order to pay to press their eye to a ladies changing room knothole.

Need I say more? These are commonly referred to as ‘perve venues’ but I hardly think that a man of your reputation and breeding would lower himself to a knothole. Surely not, as this leaves one’s rear flanks dangerously exposed.

Bated breath here, my dear chap, bated breath,

I.M.A. Purled.

Dear reader, we are deeply disturbed by the current drift towards mild mannered republicanism under the auspices of Turnbullism. As a counter, we are deeply and profoundly impressed with this piece from our ‘Royal Correspondent’, Sir Atney Eames, (K.G. Q.C.OBE. M.C.OBE. V.D (and bar). Sadly for the majority of our readership, anticipating the telegram from Buckingham Palace, or Kiribilli they’ll just have to emigrate to New Zealand.

Sir Atney writes’

Shocked…. Absolutely outraged, is what I am!

Phil the Greek. In response to the question; ‘Is there intelligent life in the Antipodes’?

Unbelievably, that jacobite parvenue Malcolm Turnbull has just swept Australia’s knighthoods and damehoods right off the table.

Straightaway, our putschist PM utterly trashed the value of the knighthood granted as a spontaneous gesture of fealty to Philip, Prince of Greece, Denmark, Great Britain and British Occupied Ireland – and, only recently, also Knight of Australia. Talk about Lazy Majesty!

[EDITOR: shouldn’t that be ‘Lèse-Majesté’?]

It will be the coiffed and pomaded heads of we monarchists next, so prepare yourself for the ominous rumble of Turnbull’s tumbrils, ferrying the well-born condemned to the Guilotine.

‘How can ordinary Australians know who to look up to’?. A lachrymose Prince Charles learning that Tony Abbott will not be contributing any more new material for Goon Show Scripts.

Now, how can ordinary Australians know who to look up to? Where might they identify their betters with the least certainty?

And how are we to recognise and reward the inestimable contributions made by senior bureaucrats, the steady hands in our corporate boardrooms, those uncomplainingly dedicated to the promethean toils entailed in sitting on QANGO committees?

Where, indeed, are we to find worthy patrons to head our charities and public bodies: the Federation of Lawn Bowls Associations, the Royal Australasian Association of Proctologists, and the like?

Profound beauty. A leaf from the David Flint Scrapbook, (pages stuck together). Incontinental Drift. What Australia has almost lost. The cost INSURMOUNTABLE!!! Royalty, Breeding, Horseflesh, Corgis and Pimm’s No 5.

Clearly, this is only the beginnng. In short order, we will wake up to find we have become yet another tawdry republic. Stripped of the dignity and protection of the British Crown (not to mention the security of the Royal Navy’s ironclads), ours will be the indignity of being represented in the world’s halls of power by some home-grown, colonial oick unversed in how to negotiate their way through a state banquet’s silverware.

But there is yet time! Rally loyalists everywhere and stand behind Professor David Flnt and his Monarchists. Once the great unwashed realise they could lose the Queen’s Birthday public holiday and that never again will visits by young royals adorn the covers of magazines in doctors’ waiting rooms, surely they will reject all this egalitarian utopiansm!

Sir Atney Eames

5 The Fairey Freckle-puncher

In the heady early days of the Second World War, the outnumbered RAF was forced to play a deadly cat and mouse game with the mighty Luftwaffe. On several disastrous raids on Wilhelmshaven and Hamburg, No’s 107, 110 and 139 squadrons incurred terrible losses as the Blenheim’s and Hampdens were unable to match the sheer firepower of the deadly Messerschmitt 109’s and Junkers 88’s. Embarrassingly after the fall of Dunkirk, the well equipped Boulton Paul Defiant, though formidable in its quadruple Vickers mounted power operated turret soon proved easy game for the german fighters who followed. They possessed the simple expedient of flying beneath the vulnerable underside and plugging the airframe with cannon shell.

Boulton Paul Defiant in action

 ‘Clearly the issue was a peculiarly defensive one’ as described by Arthur ‘Bomber’ Harris ‘We had to counter their delight in getting up our rear’.

 It soon became quite clear, the Hampden’s also lacked defensive punch and were near naked. Similarly the Blenheim, was outgunned and no defence could be offered to the speed and agility of the persistent german probing.

Lord Alfred Douglas at the launch of the first Frecklepuncher prototype.

 The Fairey Aircraft Company took up the challenge and began the process of augmenting the rear defense and upgrade the existing bomber squadrons until such time as the heavies, the Short Stirling, the Lancaster and Halifax were ready for action. Faced with the daunting task the Chief Designer, Flt Lieutenant, Harvey Freckle RAAF, came up with an ingenious solution. He devised a system in which a Blenheim could be adapted. Hidden within the fuselage a specially adapted quadruple 20 mm Hotchkiss gun would fire along the length of the fuselage, and deliver real punch to any unsuspecting hun who was determined to gain advantage. Camoflague was added to make the English tail more attractive for a would be aggressor. Extensive alterations were made to the Blenheim’s with Fairey Fulmar engines, Firefly ailerons and Albacore dive breaks. Reconfigured as both ground attack and dive bomber they were capable of deep penetration. The Blenheim’s were renamed in honour of the inventor and ceremonially named at their unveiling by none other than the aged Lord Alfred Douglas, and thus aptly named, Fairey Frecklepuncher. ‘A Fairey with More Punch, and in reference to the armament, more penetration’.

 Prototypes were tested and proved deadly accurate when a squadron of Bloch’s en route to England after Dunkirk were dispatched to follow a Blenheim squadron home. Without radio communication and charts the French directed their formation right into the English rear. Gaining on their allies the Bloch’s took up loose formation behind the English and prepared to move in closer to ensure better protection with their combined defensive armament. However the french discovered the back passage blocked. After the six week campaign the english had the wind up them and were trigger happy. The British aircrews mistook them for Ju 88’s. Activating the 20 mm Gatling the Blenheim crews systematically blasted them from the sky. The subsequent enquiry, revealed, “ we had no idea they were Froggies, or we’d’ve let em in, but fearing the hun were making an agressive push on our unprotected behind, we let em have it”.

 Only one pilot, Monsieur Hulot of the 15th Couchon squadron survived. His testament was abrupt, ‘I had no desire to join you feelthy english in the first place, as you made such easy meat by grinding my companions’. There was bad blood between the french and english thereafter.

Thus, equipped a squadron of Hampden’s was fitted with the device and made plans for a attack on the U-boat pens at Kiel. As predicted they were intercepted en route, and closed formation tempting any of the hun to have a go. Unbeknown to the English, the germans did not intercept the squadron with Messerschmitts or Junkers but decided to blood their new squadron of Focke’s’ with the deadly Focke Wulf 190. The melee was intense as aircraft circled and parried, the English formation losing valuable height and advantage in the process. Unable to match the Focke’s for speed and agility they packed into a tighter formation still, and one by one succumbed to the firepower of the agile fighter. There was only one survivor. (Flt Sergeant Les Dickles, RAAF) The squadron history described the encounter thus; ‘Unable to outrun or outgun, the hum rammed home his advantage until he had us face to the ground, and lunged breaking our rear defense and making easy play of our tail gunners. If we’d attacked at height and in loose formation we might have gained advantage of the Focke. But without initiative and the element of surprise, we were doomed’. A subsequent enquiry revealed that the Luftwaffe already knew of the up gunned Fairey Freckle-puncher and devised a method of attack whereby the Focke just moved up behind the airstream and let play with the tail. Once stability was lost, the Frecklepuncher could neither fight nor flail. ‘The Focke got into our rear and we were buggerred’. (Les Dickles) ‘It was a lazy Focke who couldn’t lick the tail end’.

Science and Industry Minister Pyne demonstrates close encounter with a Frecklepuncher in Parliament.

 No Frecklepuncher’s survive, but it is alleged that one experimental airframe is being considered as a replacement for the joint strike fighter. And incredibly the crew have been equipped with a new non freckle-punching bullet proof uniform, designed impressively in Latex and self sealing rubber by the former Minister for Education Christopher Morris Pyne. The aircraft is to be upgraded with modern avionics and be re-christened with additional stealth capacity as the Furtive Freckle-Fixer. In honour of the Minister and the unheralded inventor, Lieut Cmdr, Harvey Freckle.

 Happily, the Freckle legend lives on.

“Pangur Bán” is an Old Irish poem, written about the 9th century at or around Reichenau Abbey. It was written by an Irish monk, and is about his cat. Pangur Bán, “Fair Pangur”, is the cat’s name, Pangur meaning a fuller. (While bán translates literally white, when applied to living beings the meaning is fair. Cf dubh literally black, but when applied to living beings meaning dark, e.g. Agnes Dubh, Black Agnes, the nickname of Agnes Randolph, the famous 14th-century Countess of Dunbar.) Although the poem is anonymous, it bears similarities to the poetry of Sedulius Scottus, prompting speculation that Sedulius is the author.^[1] In 8 verses of four lines, the author compares the cat’s happy hunting with his own scholarly pursuits.

The poem is preserved in the Reichenau Primer (Stift St. Paul Cod. 86b/1 fol 1v) and now kept in St. Paul’s Abbey in the Lavanttal.

Here we present two translations from the old Irish.