Dear reader,

This dispatch is dedicated to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. In this documentary we see one lone trooper, ( Lieut Errol Flynn) embark on an epic hunt for escaped Nazi’s and the girl of his dreams, Does he get the Nazi’s? Will he get the girl? They only have Nazi’s in Canada, cos the USA is pure from the taint of fascist ideology. Stay tuned….

a short-un from Ken of the distant north. He’s still fiddling with the keys as he takes us on an exhilarating whirl-wind tour of the dis-United States. In this dispatch he talks about the very necessary requirement to keep those sanctimonious, welfare ridden Canadians at bay. Lest they corrupt the very soul of universal gun ownership, bible carrying, Witch burning Republicans.

What’s a Canadian you might ask? Just a lightweight version of a democrat or something of that ilk. And we like em full strength in the states, cos that’s what makes it GRATE!  Anyway, a short- un from Ken, and if it helps we suggest you read this whilst listening to a recording of Statesboro Blues, on Vinyl, with the setting turned to mono and the speakers pricked with a pin. It gives verisimilitude to his keen observation of life in the pursuit of musical engagement as an antidote to life in general.

Possibly up there with “Cuban Rebel Girls” as one of Errol’s greatest performances.

Ken writes…..

Ah, beautiful New England in the Fall!

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness etc etc

For want of anything better to do in these parts, the USAF carry out reconnaissance over Lake Champlain to feebly monitor the Canuck invasion from the north, for as everyone knows, under the Far Left Radical Socialist Biden Regime (™ & © Republican National Committee 2022, all rights reserved) America’s borders are open, wide open, more open than Myers’ Boxing Day sale. There is a veritable caravan of migrants from Saskatchewan camping on the shores of the Great Lakes as I write, seeking to corrupt the American way of life with poutine and politeness, claiming asylum from the tyranny of universal health care and public education. They only await the deepening of the season to sneak across the ice in their snowshoes.

Ken took this photo by his own hand, and indicates a stealth fighter in full stealth mode. That’s why you can’t see it, hear it, or even know it’s there. Ken substituted the clear blue sky with a 1:72 model skillfully tossed in the air.

As legitimate visitors who have truthfully answered that we’ve never been members of either the communist or nazi parties, we hope to escape to somewhere safer before the horde descends. We do not put our faith in

F-35s, aimlessly burning kerosene in a futile show of bravado. They are all noise and no substance. A great deal of noise, as a matter of fact.

Yours from the frontier

Ken

In the end, he knocks the Nazi’s off single- handedly and he gets the GIRL! ONYA Errol! (By Errol’s expression, there might be a lot going on under those furs)

This dispatch is bought to you by the Victoria Police. Straight bats in any corruption enquiry as they conduct all enquiries in- house.

Dear reader,

Caption; ‘Give me Five, and Hu the fuck are you’?

With long term incumbency comes responsibility. Looking after yer mates!

there’s been a flood of musical dispatches, lately. No hypothetical levy can hold this torrent of wit and sagacity back.  There are no metaphorical sand-bags for this kind of deluge. Best just to let it flow and set it to print. What could the reason for this uptick in correspondence, the confirmation of Xi for another five years and more? The knowledge that the Premier of Victoria is to give the police even more powers? Or the heart settling and very comforting thought that with a new Pommy P.M, things are really gonna change….. NOT!

To follow the principle of selfless public virtue

Or is it just the excitement that the world’s greatest and wealthiest crime gang, The Windsors, aka; ‘The FIRM inc’ plan to visit the antipodes next year. Probably looking for a bolt-hole in Aussie before they get the boot from poms fed up with the trickle-down effect. Our only hope is they find digs in Sydney with a harbour view, perhaps next door to Peter Fitsimmons? We can only hope

‘Another four years, who said power corrupts’?

This one from Frank is mildly depressing, so we suggest before reading it have a lie down, a few Bex Powders and try not to drop then onto the casino floor as Wayne did. And then, with the stereo tuned to Mantovani, relax and imbibe to a story writ large from the hellish and remote North-West Frontier. From ‘Camp Rolfe’, (formerly the native settlement at Yuendumu).

Frank writes…

Fratelli e sorelle,

At the T-Junction at the western end of the main drag into Yuendumu a pointy shaped rock which came from Juka-Juka had been placed. It was upright and encircled by flat lying rocks.

Never did Bjelke any harm, he made Queensland SAFE!

Yuendumu’s Park featured many placed rocks which Council workers would rotationally paint bright white. The phallic rock at the T-Junction had to be repainted each morning because overnight it would mysteriously acquire a
bright red knob.

At the current Kumanjayi Walker coronial inquest the use by NT Police of Glock pistols is being thoroughly questioned and discussed.

So far, I’ve yet to hear Glocks discussed as phallic symbols.

I repeat Cathy Wilcox’s “Unfair Game” cartoon

 Sadly, it isn’t a game.

Many will disagree, but I think the so-called Frontier Wars are yet to run their course.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhdFe3evXpk

Dire Straits… Brothers in Arms.

Ciao,

Frank

PS- to get away from the sombre mood:

Historic photo of Yuendumu streetscape before “Improvement”. Both cars are on the historic vehicles register. Both drivers are still incarcerated in a NT corrections facility for numerous crimes, jay walking, dropping cigarette butts, library fines, hunting without a valid permit and other civil misdemeanors too numerous to mention.

Here’s another one from our man in the US of A.

When he’s not busy laying down syncopated rhythms from his box, (Slang for keyboard). And jive-in to the low down bad- ass funk, (moving and grooving to the funky soul rhythm), he’s up to his periscope in ART!

‘What’s Art, you may ask’?

Is it safe?

Is it working with children compliant?

Will it, if unleashed, wreak havoc on innocent citizenry ill- equipped to deal with its paradigm shift? 

What is a paradigm shift. 

Rest assured Ken will render it safe, it’s entombed in white space, it cannot escape, and fixed, mute, and bolted to the wall. It can be looked at, but NOT TOUCHED! Ken’s the full bottle on ART. And if you need to know in art terms the ‘full bottle’ is a clean-skin on sale at Dan Murphy’s or any other place of worship at 8.99 per bottle. Ken writes……

Being the wealthiest nation in the history of the globe, the Yanks have pretty much cornered the market (apart from Bondy’s Irises) in truly fine visual art, so any visitor is obliged to be impressed and learn and contemplate the mysteries of the stars at this or that venue. It is broadening. And enlightening. So much of it really makes you think.

Mattise’s Piano Lesson, for example:

No wonder the cognoscenti are enraptured by his joyful brushstrokes, that je-ne-sais-quois that only the French find incomprehensible!

Of course, when one is “doing” MOMA, one cannot go past the highlights like –

Starry Night – yes it’s THAT Starry Night, the one in the song, not one of the other 20 that have not yet been immortalised in verse – so powerful that even my modest photography can capture something of its air of hope and awe.

And Picasso: Picasso, Picasso, Picasso everywhere.

The man’s industry, not to mention his marketing prowess, was boundless.

Just one example: Still Life with Liquer Bottle and Kyphosis, from his cubic period:

The eyes do follow you round the room, don’t they?

Understandably, with so much cultural absorption going on in so very many crania at a place like that – whether one’s focus is on Ellsworth Kelly & Jean Arp

or Lee Krasner

or Baranoff-Rossiné’s Symphony Number 1

–

after a bit nothing would be more welcome than a cup of tea, a Bex and a good lie down

.

Although we left this emporium of refinement with heads brimming, the experience was quite exhausting! Sometimes it’s better to scale things back a bit. Rather than trying to absorb the entire repository of rich Americans’ good taste (remember the Edsel? the Pymouth Superbird?) at one hit, the business of cultural advancement seems to be easier taken in smaller chunks. So, in all, I personally was most impressed by these more modest works from the Bechtler Museum of Modern Art in Charlotte, NC:

Shopping Bag, by Andrew Walmart, 1962, and a recent work …

Fountain With Cleaning Lady, by the contemporary American industrial artist, Filtrine.

The quest continues. I hope in time to be invited to write introductions to major exhibitions at Bendigo, the NGV or the even the national portrait gallery.

Cheers

K

Every now and again our special correspondent from New Orleans wakes from his Jazz induced stupor and sends us an update on the scene. ‘What’s the scene’? You may ask. It’s the scene that’s goin down. ( pronounced goin darrrnnn) And if you don’t believe us go to New Orleans and find out for yourself. 

It’s not that hard to get to and if you commit a crime and you’ll end up in the State of Louisiana penitentiary or worse. But you will learn the harmonica in your cell and perhaps emerge as a ‘Blues Sage’. 

What is a ‘Blues Sage’ you may ask? Doubtless it is an individual who through incarceration has learnt sagacity and irony in the school of hard knocks. A bit of ‘Anzachery’ Rolfe perhaps? His autobiography, soon to be published includes on the rear dust-jacket a 45rpm recording of ‘Two Little Boys” as sung by Australia’s very own Robert Johnson, Rolf Harris. Highly recommended by pcbycp for your Christmas stocking. 

Over to you Ken…. he writes….

Well, brothers, it’s been another hard week of research and learning in the crescent city, and I am glad to report that the rhythm continues.

You know how it is – inspiring and, for one who dabbles in this sort of thing, somewhat dispiriting at the same time. There is a young Honduran pianist here by name of Oscar Rossignoli.

Studied at Louisiana State University and in the succeeding 8 years has established himself as one of the go-to players in a town where the competition is reasonably fierce. He demonstrates a degree of accomplishment that I would not reach in 7 lifetimes. With a thorough grounding in Mozart and Chopin, he brings plenty to the table. An example from a few months ago:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SaL3iR6kl7A

And then there is this guy:

Longtime drummer for Ahmad Jamal, regular with Wynton Marsalis, Herlin Riley is in another dimension of musicianship entirely. It’s beyond technique or groove or time; he taps into something so impossibly essential and joyful and deep that it makes me cry every time. And then, while crawling in the overarm Aussie stroke without dropping a beat, he’ll look you in the eye and share your laughter.

And so, bruhs, do not forget the continuing Jazzfest in place, the cubes for which are now full, and attached

Bro Ken

We dedicate this edition of pcbycp, ( The thinking person’s Global Times) to An-Zachary Rolfe, who single-handedly bought law and justice to the wretched, benighted community of ‘Camp Rolfe'(Formerly Yuendumu). GOD SAVE THE KING!

We return to where we left off, with our heroes including the dubious duo of Benny Boy Roberts Smith and his sidekick Julian Assange. As Ces, Terry and Quent try one last desperate strategy to get Gina and her cronies, Nev, Clifford and Brenny off their backs whilst extricating themselves by the biggest crime gang in the business, the ‘Windsors’.

Will their desperate subterfuge work? Can they hide the gold as a very ordinary counterweight, fake the replacement bullion and paint them in Gina’s very own gold leaf so that their nemesis may never know?  Could be almost night impossible, as difficult as getting affair wage increase from the Fair Work Commission, or worse still, getting a fair hearing as a whistle-blower for the ATO?

Is their goose cooked or are they just stuffing for Christmas?  Find out in this next compelling episode; ‘Don’t come the raw prawn on Gina, cos she hates seafood’ or; ‘Three tickets to nowhere if it’s a jet star flight outta Kalgoorlie’.

Be it GOLD, IRON ORE or just PLAIN OL TAX RELIEF, GINA NEEDS MORE!!!

Things were grim. WE had scarcely hours in the morning to melt the gold ingots, replace them with painted lead copies and reinstall the counterweight as a grey painted slab of gold. WE needed time, we had precious little time, and were old enough to remember when once the Australian public yearned for change. When the slogan; ‘IT’S TIME’ held a strange and surreal irony.

An inspiration to Australian kiddies and soldiers and policemen and women who must uphold the LAW!

We cast our minds to happier times and finding release, of an emotional kind we busied ourselves with the task at hand whilst whistling the stirring melody of “Two little Boys’’. Benny-Boy leading on the finer trills and arpeggios with the harmonica he’d kept from Afghan days. We silently acknowledged the genius of Rolf as a true leader of men and an inspiration for those caught by force of circumstance in a tight spot!

“So c’mon then’!

Ces was like a circus MC directing Benny Boy and Julian to the counterweight. ‘And youse’!

He pointed to Terry and Ces; ‘help me with this burner and these gas bottles we’ll need to have this melted and recast in a jiffy’! And with that, anxiously scanning the horizon he realised that just the faint hum of those twin inline Gypsy’s would sound the death knell. We had to get the gold melted and cast before midday at the latest.  It was gonna be a titanic struggle, but we were used to it, we’d done work experience with Clive Palmer.

The KINGS favourite pipe tobacco. He could smoke it both ends.

Whilst we busied ourselves setting up the burners and preparing to melt the gold ingots, we could see Ces at work making the mould for the ingots. With expert dexterity, (he’d done work experience for Angus Taylor) he knew just how much clay was required, the right temperature for a successful melt.  And with tin snips and a few metres of corrugated iron he had fashioned a sluice and converter to convey the ingots once melted into his own little pile of crafted moulds. It was a miracle of time and efficiency that would rival a national growth initiative like the NBN, the Inland Rail, Nuclear Submarines, or funding requirements for the NDIS. He clearly knew about logistics. ‘Hurry up, I’ve got the moulds ready’!

We stood with eyes bulging for in scarcely an hour he had forty little ingot moulds lined up ready for the pour. “Now get that burner real HOT’! And with a flick of the hand, he tossed the first of the ingots to Terry who slapped it on the converted barby, and before it had cooled sluiced it into the big mould that would resemble the counterweight.

TWO GREAT MEN of POWER. Custodians of “ANZACKERY”!

Meanwhile Benny Boy and Julian were breaking down the counterweight. We noticed that Julian did nothing. Clearly, he’d been an IT manager at some stage in his life, whilst Benny cut and sliced at the lead weight as if it were cheese. ‘Ready for this un’, he wiped his brow. “Great work Benny’! Ces smiled and realised that he was safe with such courage and indefatigable perseverance. ‘Too right’! Benny retorted, and with that started the burn.

In scarcely an hour we watched as the ingots cooled in the great vessel crafted from sheet metal and awaited a coat of grey paint. Whilst the ingots, all melted had been replaced by lead ingots, indistinguishable for the gold ingots once Terry had slapped on the gold leaf paint.

Another upholder of TRADITION and POWER!! Now WHITER THAN WHITE! (courtesy of CSR and Bex).

Before midday we stood admiring the handiwork and reflectively Benny Boy said; ‘Yep they’ll be none the wiser’. As Benny said it, we could see a snigger on his square jawed warrior face that suggested some inner joke. His revenge against the establishment? A reflection upon the snidger times had at the Fat lady’s Arms? We could only guess. We rejoiced in the job done and still no sign of the de Havilland Dragon rapide.  ‘Well done boys’! Benny rejoiced and, in that instant, we noticed a change in his countenance. ‘Thanks for the ride boys’! And with that, he strolled to the land cruiser, flicked the ignition and was off.

WE stood alone, we looked at each other, and realised we’d been had. Both Benny and Julian had done a bunk! And left us in the lurch, to carry the can. We looked at the other land cruiser its missing wheels a reminder that we’d rendered it unserviceable, and the ingots, the lead ingots neatly stacked in the tray.

‘Well’, Terry chipped in, ‘fancy another Camel’? We all took several each, smoked reflectively and only then did we become aware that a shrill high-pitched noise was becoming progressively louder. Quent pointed to the horizon, ‘look over there’! And sure enough it was not the Rapide, but something much larger, and noisier heading our way, it was the Rotodyne.  This was serious, would we have to hide? Was there anywhere left to run?  Or had we just run out?  Find out in the next compelling episode;

“A Rotodyne and a stitch in time”, or

Prototype Rotodyne on trial with RAAF, to replace whatever last toys defense bought that invariably don’t work.

‘The wasteland beckons, or, is it just the wastepaper basket for wasted wastrels’?

This edition of Musical dispatches dedicated and sponsored by NT’s ‘Stronger Futures’ and the ‘Zac Rolfe institute of Public Safety’. This transcript comes to us direct from Camp Rolfe (Yuendumu)

Another one from our scribe from the Northwestern Frontier,

Not only do our bravest and finest have to work in dangerous native camps, they also have to ensure that valuable private property, ( Municipal Pit Covers) are salvaged in times of flood. Benny Boy Roberts Smith training at an undisclosed location in the NT

The man who goes by the most enigmatic of nom de plume’s ” Frank’.

In this-un, Frank seems to be making a pointed criticism about the Gogol-esque level of bureaucracy, the Dostoyevskian-esque administration of Justice and the Kafkian absurdity of “Corrective Services” in the State of Victoria.

Royals seek high level advice on Public Safety and fare evasion from trusted advisers. It keeps them respected as upholders of the law and the maintenance of the principal of procedural fairness to royals and the public alike.

On this we’d like to differ. After recent disclosures we can safely say that senior bureaucrat manager positions in the State of Victoria’s Department of Justice have skyrocketed. Where once there were just a few, now there’s almost several dozen senior bureaucrat managers, (we assume all possessed of an MBA) dispensing justice. Not in a physical sense but performing invaluable tasks. Such as constructing white papers, discussion papers, dot point presentations and ‘moving forward’, a host of other important truth seeking and justice initiatives designed to make Victoria’s administrative processes world standard.

Indeed, and with some irony we may remind Frank that this augmentation of Justice admin and management is adopted by the model pioneered by his own government of the Northern Territory.  And we have it on good authority that because of this level of administration that FIFO Nursing staff at ‘Camp Rolfe’, (Yuendumu) feel safe now. Safe now in knowing that they have 24/7 Police protection and people like Zachary, highly trained and ruthless who will hunt down jay walkers, fine evaders, litterers and those who guided by pangs of conscientious objection fail to vote in local, state or federal elections.

It’s why we need police officers of the calibre of Zac Rolfe at ‘Camp Rolfe’, ( Yuendumu) to round up these evil doers. 

To bring them to justice and KILL THEM!

Victoria trialing new children’s crossing supervisors. To work in concert with School chaplaincy program.

Dear Friends,

I feel like sharing my excitement about the way law and justice in Australia, and particularly in the Northern Territory, keeps us safe.

Someone I know well discovered today that there is a 2016 State of Victoria warrant out for his arrest. He failed to pay a fine of which he was unaware. His crime? He failed to register a cat.

I won’t comment on the following article in today’s ABC NT online news:

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2022-10-07/nt-bans-spit-hoods-on-children-police-custody/101511140

UK Police trial New Age Spit-hoods. Note trial on compliant model. (People of colour were considered a flight risk and ‘unreliable’)

Don’t know why, but it makes me think of the tree that was charged for standing in the way of a vehicle.

Then of course there was Monty Python’s Black Knight- just as well he didn’t resort to spitting.

Jay-walker being accosted by fully automated systems law enforcement operative for Jay Walking. Trials on better response times and justice admin via robo-debt type schemes is ongoing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmInkxbvlCs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDKdBUxrW4A

Chau,

Frank

PS- A bit of non-sequitur nice music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRIukAiJqms

Dear reader, once again, as Vlodimir and Vladimir trade insults, the cost of everything goes sky high, the little people are punished pushed and pulverised it is comforting to know that tax cuts for obscenely well paid members of Australian society are proceeding full stream ahead.

Proof perfect of the ‘clever country’ at work and the boon of trickle-down economics!  

Have things ever been this fraught? Find out in this next compelling episode as our hapless trio, disparagingly referred to by our most famous and decorated soldier ever, the Rogue warrior SAS Ubersturmbanfuehrer ‘Benny Boy’ Roberts Smith and his nefarious side-kick Julian, ‘he’s just a very naughty boy’ Assange play perilously with percussive pullulating pig skins in tune and perfect syncopated rhythm to the ‘Drums of War’….

Read on…

Ces had a bold plan,

‘See that counterweight’?

Trialling new high-speed rail in Crimea. So fast the tracks burn!

Worlds First semi-amphibious freeway. This is the off ramp!

Ces pointed to the counterweight attached to the drilling platform.  ‘See the cable’? He pointed to the cable.  We could see Benny Boy and Julian sizing up the opportunities. Ces matter of factly explained his strategy; ‘If we were to uncouple that cable and substitute the lead weight on that counterweight for the gold bullion we’ve got stashed here and used that 44-gallon load of grey paint and slap a bit of it over till they’re indistinguishable from the counterweight we can substitute the ingots for lead, and fill the ute tray. By the time they find out, we’ll be back to the scene of the crime, grab the real ingots and be outta here’.

Both Benny boy and Julian scratched their heads.  ‘I dunno, how long would it work for’? Julian remarked. We looked at Julian, with two of terry’s camels in his mouth he smoked nervously and looked more pale, more dishevelled and more sickly than ever. Ces replied matter of factly;  ‘As long as it takes to do the switch and by the time Brenny-boy finds out, we’ll have grabbed the real gold and they’ll be none the wiser. We melt back into our normal lives and Gina and Nev put all their energies into slotting Brendan, who they’ll think flogged the ingots. And you know why’?

Really Tough Guy! Feeds horse bare- handed!

‘Why’? Quent asked non plussed, ‘Cos Brendan being a former pollie he will be bent like the rest of em.  Like a Queensland copper you know they’re bent, and more often than not more bent than the crims themselves, and Gina and Nev’? Ces paused for greater emphasis;’ They’re the biggest crims on the scene. Cos they’re linked to the numero uno in the crime scene, then’, he paused for special and dramatic emphasis, “The HOUSE OF WINDSOR’!

There was silence, and then Benny boy, scratching his forehead, asked, wjth a puzzled expression coursing his warrior like square jaw, and bullet deflecting countenance;’ But how we gonna melt the gold, and transfer the lead, and re- paint the lead ingots as gold? I don’t see any gold paint floating about’. With that, Ces almost triumphantly walked over the other land cruiser, the one they’d pulled the wheels off in case they were followed, then open the tarp revealing something almost implausible.  For inside, gleaming stood a 44-gallon drum of Dulux ‘Gold Paint’.

Australia’s most famous-est tough guy!

‘I think this un must’ve been left over from the last Diggers and Dealers float, when Gina paid an entire Port headland tribe to dress up in corrobboree gear and paint themselves gold, on her Hancock prospecting Golden Futures Float. It caused quite a sensation. Although it was a remarkable display of direct action to employ otherwise useless layabouts no-one liked the idea of ‘gold face’ and in the end they were left with all this paint. Some of it, say 25% is actual gold flake! So in the end, it’s worth more than fool’s gold to us’.  They all looked at the gold paint. It certainly looked like the real thing. ‘But how we gonna melt the lead and convert the ingots to a counterweight? I don’t see a Bessemer converter here, and what are we gonna use for moulds, and how much time have we got’? Julian we could see despite his bravado was clearly a bit of a worrier.

‘All in good time’! Ces had it all figured out. ‘We’ve got these’, and behind the ute   was neatly stacked a palette of modelling clay.  ‘They used this for the float, they had little effigies of Lang and Rolf on the side, two of their most famous sons. If the diggers and dealers’ event for 2021 hadn’t been cancelled due to covid it would have resurrected these two great Australians and put them at the forefront. We need national heroes’! And with that, Benny fingering the ribbon of his VC began to hum ‘Two little boys’. It was a touching and empathetic display of emotion for the man of steel., still we looked around, not even a drainage channel to be rolled off and felt a sigh of relief.

With tough guys, power corrupts!

‘All we have to do is melt the lead in THIS’! He pointed to two large concrete troughs, ‘with THIS’! He pointed to three large oxy cylinders,’ and THIS’! He pointed to two discarded barbeque’s’ and pour this into THAT’! He pointed to the smaller containers that roughly matched the size of the counterweight, ‘and with THIS’! Pointing to the modelling clay, ‘we make an impression of THESE’! He pointed to the ingots, ‘and presto we’re in production’!

We all looked at each other, Ces had a way with logistics.  It seemed almost too easy, and yet at the same time, bit like the board of Essendon it felt better just to walk away. But something in them, was it the spirit of Anzackery? Held them together, the invisible thread of kinship, the indissoluble dye of mateship.

They don’t come tougher than Lukashenko. Hat courtesy of Postman Pat.

Could they do it?

Do they have enough time?

Will Brenny, Nev, Clifford form MI6 get to them before they’d made the swap?

Who cares?

Three tough guys. The middle bloke is so tough he’s into Wagner. (Gotterdamerung)

Find out in the next aurically charged episode, ‘an argot for ingots’, or ‘casting for aspersions by royal decree might get you thrown off a cliff’…

This dispatch is dedicated to the selfless work undertaken by Zac Rolfe in keeping the streets of Camp Rolfe, (Yuendumu) Safe! We are sad to say Zac declined an interview with pcbycp as he was busy at a medal polishing ceremony. Medal polishing is very popular amongst NT Law enforcement agencies.

Hello,

With drums of war beating ever louder and the Global Economy teetering at the edge of a deep depression and the precipice of climate change tipping points looming ever closer, I’m somewhat hesitant to bring you the latest from the front.

I won’t be writing a lengthy opinionated piece on the Kumanjayi Walker inquest, and refer you to the NT ABC news’ summary:

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2022-10-01/nt-walker-inquest-key-moments/101489972

In the evidence so far, much is made of the NT Police’s efforts at engendering cultural awareness, sensitivity and respect in their ranks. There is talk of a few bad apples. To most police witnesses the emperor is fully clothed.

Zac being congratulated by former GG, for not only wearing shiny medals, but sporting significant, (culturally significant) tattoos. Proof that NT Police have a deep understanding of culturally significant tattoos, shiny medals and wearing black amongst persons of non-whiteish skin colour, A true sign of cultural awareness amongst ‘wretched’ peoples.

Alice Springs Hospital . This image was supplied to us via NT Tourism.

In 2014 I had a spell in Alice Springs Hospital and called in on a couple of Warlpiri patients in a room down the corridor.

One of these was a sadly since passed away ex-Yuendumu resident who had been an ACPO (Aboriginal Community Police Officer) for decades.

When I asked him if the Intervention had affected him, he told me of his frustration in that new young police recruits didn’t talk to him and had no idea of who he was. He felt he had a few worthwhile things he could tell them.

In Victoria, the police force work selflessly to ensure public safety and do so in the field without the protection of shiny medals. Though it is argued if they did display shiny medals, they would be more respected by the community, jay walkers and fare evaders.

I wrote at the time when recounting this anecdote that to the new recruits he was just a black face like all of those they feel they have a right to hassle in the streets.

Bye,

Frank

PS- Jumping Jack Flash- It’s a gas (1968)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQkrLpwj1vk

Panarctic King Christian Island D-18 well gas blowout 1970 (I was there)

Nord Stream gas pipelines leaks 2022

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6SLZ_wQ9DQ

As a young man Frank excelled in cricket, rugger, rowing, tennis and towel flicking.

Today we bring you something special from our scribe from the near North -West Frontier.

For those amongst our readership who’ve ever had a problem with deadlines, this-un pretty much sums it up.

Curiously it comes from the BOP. For those of us who wished they could have been first ‘over the top” the BOP (Boys Own Paper) was just the stuff of Empire to inspire derring-do and sacrifice.

We, (the editorial department of pcbycp) think that perhaps it was a diet of old BOP’s, ‘Chums’, and the ‘Empire Book for Boys’, that may have inspired Zac Rolfe to do his duty on the North-West Frontier.

Hopelessly ineligible males could woo fabulously attractive women if they did their bit. (BOP)

One can only hope so…..

The title of this Sunday’s poem is; ‘He had a year to do it in”, and tellingly it comes to us from the distant days of early 1915 and must have inspired the first division of Anzac troops in gaining a foothold on the Dardanelles, and then not doing much for the next year. We, (the editorial department) reject the notion that wars and ‘Anzackery’ are fruitless, as those who return unmaimed, with limbs intact or not quite dead, can sport wonderful medals to impress the public and cower those shirkers who don’t do their bit. 

He Had A Year To Do It In

Stirring scenes like these inspired Zac to do his bit on the Northwest frontier.

He had a year to do it in
So brushed the thought away,
A chap with half his energy
Might do it in a day.
A year! ‘Twas too ridiculous,
As everyone should find;
However, he would get it done
And have it off his mind.

But not today. A few months hence would suit him better still;
Meanwhile, a far less irksome job
Might occupy his skill.
He would not let the matter pass
Entirely from him, No;
And doubtless he might take it up
In, say a month or so.

He had six months to do it in!
For six long months had flown;
Well, why should that alarm a chap
With talents like his own?
The job, whence once embarked upon,
Would soon be rattled through;
However, he would think of it,
In, say, a week or two.

Frying Spam, a highlight for those who enjoyed derring-do and a bit of towel flicking.

He had three months to do it in!
“Oh brother!” was his cry;
The thing hangs on me like a weight,
Each day that passes by.
Let’s see: three months? Ah, that’s enough,
But, just to clear the doubt,
Make arrangements for a start
Before the month is out.

He had a week to do it in!
And care was in his glance.
“It’s hard,” he cried, “that flight of time,
Won’t give a chap a chance!”
He still delayed, the swift week passed,
As weeks will ever run,
And though a year was given him,
The task was still undone.

John Lea in Boys Own Paper (Volume 37 Issue 3, January 1915)

Which is the reason I won’t tell you that printing of My Yuendumu Story continued is half a year away.

In olden days one had to wrestle with the floor rug.

FDB 

This episode sponsored by the Russian Government, working in close association with the NT Government to establish law and order in remote places other than Ukraine.

We return where we left off!

With about as many options as the CEO of Essendon Football club looming, our heroes, Ces, Quent and Terry must determine their chances after falling in with Benny Boy, Roberts Smith, arguably Australia’s finest soldier, (ever) and his side- kick Julian, ‘He’s not the Messiah, he’s just a very naughty boy Assange’. There’s not much time, by sunup Brendan, Clifford, and perhaps Nev and Gina herself will be on the rampage determined to find out who pilfered their gold. Gold that would have been instrumental to giving them lifetime peerages, in the House of Lords. And with a peerage comes something even more lustrous than a tawdry AO for just doing your highly paid job. In a word; ‘snob- value’.

If he’d been given a go he could’ve done to Essendon what he did to the NAB. In the end he was denied natural justice!

Is there time? Is there time enough to extricate themselves?  Or is just ‘time’ just another index of an assured death. In Syria they have almost as many definitions of death as Eskimos have for snow. And in Ukraine, snow and death have an ominous synergy akin to the retreat from Moscow? Where did Moscow retreat from? It’s too early to say, but it’s buried in an in-tray inside the Kremlin. And only Vlad the Impeller knows where to find it.

‘Finders keepers’, or ‘terra nullius’, it’s all the same to us! 

Just ask Lord Elgin if you want a humble opinion, cos the poms aint ever gonna give em back. 

Just like the NT Government.  They can’t leave the responsibility of having a good life to the locals, as they are so wretched and hopeless. But where there’s hope there’s a cohort of civil servants  to make sense of the incomprehensible. So incomprehensibly, and inexorably the plot unfolds. To somewhere beyond the black stump, and back?

We return to our saga,

‘I’ve got an idea’, Ces said in a matter-of-fact kinda way.

‘I reckon we can sort this out to our mutual advantage’.  He watched Benny Boy scan the horizon for a cliff somewhere. ‘Phew’! He inwardly sighed. No visible sign of a precipitous bluff, a cliff or even a culvert.  For the moment they were safe.

Crime Gang Boss ‘Big Andy’ instructing his moll ‘Fergy’ on the finer points of winning at Crown Casino.

But as Terry handed round another round of Camels, and in the dim grey light of breaking dawn, beneath the glow of the sulphurous flume that flickered and waned in the crisp morning air, they knew that just standing round smoking Camels was not going to save them. They also knew unlike another decorated war hero, Zachary Rolfe, they didn’t have the establishment to look after them. The establishment, from Gina, Nev, Clifford and Brenny-Boy were out to get em. And they were backed by the biggest crime syndicate known, the criminal gang colloquially referred to as; ‘The Windsors’.

They pulled on the Camels rather than reflect in how little time they had, and only one of them capable, of escaping the net, and he with his armaments, VC and formidable reputation as a warrior would ultimately look after himself. Even Julian knew this, and though sickly, pasty-faced and consumptive eagerly pulled on another camel.

Not a patch on the Windsor Gang.

Ces rejected Terry’s offer of a third Camel and said; ‘I think I’ve got an idea. We might just get out of this, and with a bit of luck, like Chevron, Transurban and Woodside we might get out of this without doing much, not working much, and making a fortune. It goes like this’….

They all turned to Ces, a natural leader, undecorated, but there was something even ‘Anzackery’ could not displace, he had charisma.

‘Howsabout we double the bullion in the back of the ute?

Benny-boy looked at them crazily; “What are you on about’? He looked annoyed as Ces was offering something more complicated than just stealing it.

‘Look’, Ces continued, ‘If you leave us and flog the ingots, sooner or later they’ll work out it was youse’.

Ces congratulated himself on using the plural vernacular as spoken by Australia’s finest front-line troops.

‘And even with your skills, and your sidekick, you’ll be slotted. Gina and her sidekick, Nev, and Twiggy being West Australians know how to track people down.  They’ve been doing it ever since they settled WA, and they have long memories for settling scores. To date you’ve been lucky, but even in your case your luck will run out. And that’s why’, he focused on Benny until he saw Benny flinch, ‘I’ve got an idea’, and as a matter of fact’, Ces paused for full dramatic effect; ‘I’ve got a BLOODY GOOD IDEA’!

Crime Gang heavyweights waiting for Mathew Guy to turn up at a seafood restaurant on the peninsula. (the Crimean Peninsula).

Does Ces have an idea?

Is this idea more creative than coalition climate policy? Can it be more sensible and visionary than tax breaks for higher income earners? And can it be more courageous than the courage and civic virtue demonstrated by Zac Rolfe in the foetid field of conflict?

Will Julian and Benny-boy stick by them, or perfidious to the last, double cross them for their greater glory? Only the next episode can reveal a destiny.  Can our heroes demonstrate once and for all that the spirit of Anzackery burns brightest in the desert wastes of inland Australia?

Find out in our next episode;

‘A Fool Toss for Tossers”, or “Game, Set and Scratch the House of Windsor and you’re disqualified’.