Dear reader, 

another-un from our scribe from the North-West Frontier. 

We can only hope that the Poms, (the British) and the Septics, (the Yanks) may help the Ukrainians out as well as they did for us at Singapore.

In this-un, Frank gives us the full bottle on Submarines. And poses the question, will our submarines be yellow? 

We’d like to offer Frank some cogent advice on this issue, as he would be aware of the extensive use of camouflage used in both the First and Second World War. He also cites the excellent work of the Royal Dutch navy during the Spanish Civil War delivering arms to the highest bidder. We like to think that for individuals of Frank’s father’s era, this was the first ‘Ukraine inspired’ act of goodwill between those bits of the west hell bent on defeating the scourge of totalitarianism at the right price. Just as we cleaned the Transvaal of evil racist Boers during the Boer War so as to put in a stable and well guided administration blessed by Great Britain, so we hope that those poor Ukrainians may get their own submarine deal one day. Then they too may have a new respect for good governance and the principle of a constitutional monarchy and all the benefits that come with belonging to the league of FREE NATIONS who understand the Boons of a RULES BASED GLOBAL ORDER!  

We own the rule- book, and won’t have any wop foreigner telling us that it’s not to their liking. 

So in this fair- minded context, take Frank’s commentary with a grain of salt. We hear the quality of the salt to be found at Bakhmut is rather good. And goes terribly nicely with a pinch of caviar and gold- leaf sauteed sirloin. That’s what Mr Prigozhin told us and he should know as he served to George Bush Junior last time he spoke of the ‘New World Order’. 

The Spanish Marxists lost to the Spanish fascists. Who had the best salute then?

Frank writes;

Amigos,

From the draft of My Yuendumu Story continued (Ngaju-nyangu Yurntumu-kurlu jaru-kari):

Coercive Reconciliation is an oxymoron.  Stronger Futures is a euphemism.  Defense Weapons is an oxymoron and so is ‘Civil War’ There is nothing civil about it.

Dad elaborated on Jan Lucas’ stint on submarines.  Jan Lucas had told him that during the Spanish Civil War, their Dutch submarine had plied the Iberian coast selling weapons to the highest bidder. ¡Olé!

‘The Dutch Walloping the Poms’, Day One First Test.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness. – Oscar Wilde

It was the era when the largest transfer of wealth and power in history took place.  When the wealth of the Soviet Union was transferred to a select group of oligarchs, not least Vladimir Putin. When hundreds of schools in Victoria were converted into prime real estate. That was Jeff Kennett, ably assisted by an NT Education Dept. official who crossed over to Victoria after he finished applying a wrecking ball to NT education (Gary Springer?).

Camoflague pattern designed to inflict serious pain on U boat Commanders suffering hangovers.

In the Australian Parliament during a debate on whether Telecom should be privatised a luminary parliamentarian proclaimed “Even Albania has privatized its telecommunications” Albania that beacon of democracy and freedom. The only European country to wave Mao Ze Tung’s little red book about as a symbol of enlightenment.

So, what do we have in the U.K.? Their Prime Minister adopting Australia’s three word slogan ‘Stop the Boats’ Yes, we Australians have something to be proud of.

Several days later there stood Rishi Sunak smiling like a Cheshire cat. The UK just sold billions of dollars’ worth of submarines to its former colony down under.

Never let it be forgot, that NORMAN WISDOM was hugely popular in ALBANIA!!

In Australia opinion is divided. There are those who think it is a terrible waste of money, and those who think it is an imperative to make us safe.

There are those who think that the increased militarisation of Australia is a not to be missed opportunity for the Northern Territory and there are others who aren’t so sure.

Alice Springs is divided, those who think the spy base is a welcome component of the local economy, and those who think Pine Gap makes us a nuclear target.

Just read Kieran Finnane’s ‘Peace Crimes’ to get an insight into how authorities deal with dissent.

Australia missed an opportunity “If you don’t stop torturing that poor bastard Assange and let him return to Australia, we won’t buy your submarines”

Yellow Submarine- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krIus0i9xn8

Adios,

Frank

We at pcbycp have been commissioned, without the requirement for a tender as we are deemed “an Essential Service’ by Stuart Robert MP, ( former minister for ‘mates rates’ and ‘kick- backs without due process’) to assist the RAN on a recruitment drive for their new Submarine fleet. Because the subs won’t be ready for some forty years we’re advertising in kindergartens and childcare centres. And anticipate a great SURGE in interest towards SUBMARINERS as a viable career profession other than politics, real estate or used car sales.

Dear reader,

with all this background noise about ‘Sub-contracts’ and ‘the Voice’ we overlooked the serious issues that face this nation as it equips itself for the drums of war. Last time we looked the drums had all been deflated and the state of our barbed write canoe clearly in need of a significant upgrade. Good thing that the new sub bases in Broken Hill and Albury will be on hand to defend us, and after the Albury to Broken Hill intra continental canal system is built we’ll be able to protect anything south of the Dubbo Line. Not a near canal system, a middle distance canal system, but a fully up to date, modernised and automated far- canal system. Apologies for anyone who walked in unwittingly on that obvious and over- worn joke. With Australia at the ready. Barbed wire canoe, re-painted and equipped with nuclear propulsion any would be oppressor must surely be seriously worried.

‘Uncle Stewie’, Stuart Robert MP is leading the recruitment drive. As a consequence we have re- equipped our kitchen at pcbycp with a new suite of coffee machines, roulette wheels and VIP Gaming lounges. Courtesy of his very open tender process. A boon for small business and MATES!

Seriously worried about our capabilities in the year 2058, cos that’s when we’ll be primed and seriously armed to repel an invader. Provided of course the invader abides by the principle of an INTERNATIONAL RULES BASED ORDER and invades when we politely suggest we’re ready for it. Anything prior to that would not be cricket.

But what of our trio? Last thing we heard they were perilously close to being a la carte somewhere in the formidable and steaming jungles of West Papua, formerly Dutch New Guinea, formerly West Irian, formerly, the bits of New Guinea given to Indonesia so that the mineral resources could be exploited without the hindrance of an intervention or arguably a ‘voice’. Where mining interests can pursue wealth and the boon of the trickle-down effect unhindered by noisy minorities who wish for a larger dollop of the gravy..

In spite of all these boons our trio are in a dark and forbidding place.

Possibly worse than housing or rental affordability in the great southern land, though we’ve been told the top 1% are doing mighty fine. So there’s nothing to worry about really.

We return to our saga.

Our Subs will be christened by HRH Princess Fergie as a testament to sub- standards and the prevailing taste for forelock- tugging amongst Australian defense personnel.

No sooner than ‘our Sophie’ new leader of this tribe of ruthless savages had smashed their way into the Rotodyne, they realised in their primitive fury that their prey had flown the nest, bolted, exited, decamped, and all they had was an empty Rotodyne and the ‘Sophie look alike’ in the pot. With a look of fearsome anguish and justifiable frustration Sophie let out a blood curdling shriek. And just to make her point, because someone had to pay for this, she unsheathed her huge native machete like knife, and skewered the native next to her. Raising her other arm and wiping the blade on her cheeks she cried something incomprehensible in native gibberish and then with another hideous gesture across her throat, she pointed in the general direction of her quarry and jumped aside as the natives vengeful and enraged leapt in hot pursuit. The drums began an ear splitting crescendo, and just for dramatic effect courtesy of Cecil b de Mille, another native standing idly by was marked for sacrifice and put in the pot. Feast or no feast they would not leave on empty stomachs. In the fire, the fury and the fume, the natives, hideous silhouettes danced gigantic against the mountains and from the distant mountain ranges, the answering call of native fury. More drumming and the roar of conch shells. Because we know on reliable authority without the boon of the NBN, primitive folk must use conch shells.

Integrity has three faces…

‘Which way’? Quent asked as he picked off another leach. This one was bigger than the last and clearly needed careful handling. ‘I dunno’, Ces replied wearily. ‘We aint got a compass, its too bloody cloudy to navigate by starlight, it aint a full moon, and by the sound of those drums the natives, are restless’.

‘Well I spose we’ve got nothing for it but to push on. Is this a track’? Terry asked, worried that he was down to his last carton of Camel, a serious situation akin to a Submarine Construction treaty. ‘Well, judging by the sound of those drums if we steer away from the louder ones at the very least we may gain some time’. And judging by the sound over there, a singular Tom Tom took up its percussive syncopated beat. ‘They’re pretty close right about now’.

Without choice, pursued and oppressed they stumbled on. The flight seemed hopeless!

This poster is being ‘focus grouped” in Germany. It reads, ‘join the subs and you’ll never be sub-human’!

And yet on countless occasions when all seemed lost they managed to pull through. But in the damp night, without the aid of moonlight to guide them they stumbled on into a valley of sorts. Onwards they stumbled. And louder the crescendo of tom toms, bongo’s and larger booming tympany and bass drums, till the jungle was rent with the percussive beating of ‘Drums of War’.

‘Tom Toms to the right of them,

Tom Toms to the left of them,

Tom Toms in front of them,

Volleyed and thundered,

Stormed at with shite pell-mell,

Boldly they stumbled, and well,

Into the jaws of death,

Into the mouth of hell,

The harried three fell.

Translation: ‘Cash will flow to cronies and MATES in Government Submarine Defence Contracts’.

Into an abyss. And in what seemed like aeons as they thrashed and flailed under gravity’s eternal impulse they landed, seemingly unscathed. For they had fallen through a vine covered crevasse of sorts and landed incredibly on a soft bed of moss and lichen metres thick. As they picked themselves up they noticed the sound of tom toms had receded. Releasing their deliverance, they rubbed their eyes and in the faint glow of morning rejoiced in still being alive. Terry passed around his last crumpled pack of Camels and they lit up joyously. Took a few drags and patted themselves down. Safe at last.

Zac Rolfe will be leading the recruitment promotion with the catchy phrase’ Sub- Standard is good enough for me’!

At that precise moment a huge and forbidding shadow emerged from the surrounding rock wall. A countenance strangely familiar yet menacing. And before they could adjust themselves a raucous laugh and a hearty cough; ‘Welcome to HELL fellas’!

And out stepped Benny-Boy Roberts Smith.

Is Benny there to greet them, or is he there to earn another VC? Find out in the next inglorious episode; ‘Tick Tick goes the Tom Tom’, or ‘Two V.C’s in the hand is worth more than Kerry Stokes is prepared to pay in a push’.

Dear reader, 

another one from Frank. 

We are worried about this dispatch as we think it might be on the subversive side.

If you read this, you may acquire the conviction that Australian policies in regard to indigenous language is skewed and assimilationist. We know this to be a Furphy as we don’t like foreigners telling us that we’re wrong.

It’s a central pillar of the AUK WARD Pact and it keeps would be aggressors in bed, a trembling with fear. 

And besides how would Brazilians know that much about language, most of them can’t even speak English. 

This salute aint been banned yet. Except by the Olympic Movement which eschews political interference, corruption, corporate malfeasance etc, etc.

I arks ya. 

Anyway, here it is from Frank

Bom Dia meus amigos,

 As I was responding to emails, my son and his friend Japanangka were strumming their guitars on the back patio.  I’m sure you’ve all experienced that exquisite feeling you get when you hear an evocative snippet of music.  An echo from the past.  I went outside to ask what it was.  It was Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Free Bird…   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0W1v0kOELA

Brazilian kiddie at pains to find any equivalent to NAPLAN

Reminds me of when Yuendumu came close to having its own Lynyrd Skynyrd episode.  A charter plane lost power on takeoff because the tanks had been topped up with the wrong fuel and had to make an emergency landing on the Tanami road. On board was the Lajamanu Teenage Band.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kpc1tlZlGg

 One of the interstate guests at the Warlpiri Encyclopaedic Dictionary book launch was a linguist who works for AIATSIS.  The Aboriginal Studies Press, an AIATSIS branch, published the dictionary.  Echoes from the past.  In 2014 this linguist led a group of Brazilian linguists on a tour of Australian bilingual schools.  When shown Yuendumu school’s Bilingual Resources Development Unit (the BRDU aka The Printery) they remarked that whereas we were far better resourced than Brazilian bilingual schools, Australia was far behind when it came to positive supportive bilingual education policies.

We at pcbycp are a little worried about this salute

 I received an email from Brazil, and I quote from it:

    “We’re back in Brazil after our long and eye-opening trip around the land of oz……we saw very little activism during our time there. What we did see, not only in Yuendumu, but also in the Torres Strait Islands, for instance was a lot of outraging government attempts to sabotage all language maintenance efforts and the possibility of living life in a different way. No right to be different in oz, it seems to me.”

Regarding the dearth of activism, I’ve seen it in inaction. The power imbalance at cross-cultural interactions makes effective activism almost impossible. Resulting in what has been described as ‘polite inattention’.

Languages are constantly evolving.  English now has a new verb.

Outrage- noun

Outrageous- adjective

Outraging- verb

The bane of Aboriginal Australia are those control freaks who are in charge. They are forever outraging!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vj5Uu6GkTm0&t=2s

Google engineer enthuses about the potential of A1 robots to salute with both arms simultaneously.

Obrigado

Frank

The New AUK-WARD Treaty Sub bases will be safe from flooding or tidal surges. Artists impression of planned Sub base for BROKEN HILL. Similar to that designed for ALBURY and ALICE SPRINGS, (a designated Dry Area)

Dear reader,

we return to our saga.

With no end in sight of sub-jokes we must just push on and hope that the sub-text is not sub-merged by sub-liminal messaging and Sub-versive sub- paragraphs.

As you may remember from our last thrilling instalment, no sooner had Sophie been released than she managed by dint of her pure survival instinct to displace the priestess and become the top dog (so to speak) of this primitive tribe of Savage BEASTS! 

The very same beasts who intended to have our trio, Ces, Quent and Terry for dinner.

A short reprieve ensued, just like the pause following the AUK-WARD Subs Treaty announcement, before the old Sophie, the indefatigable, indomitable and impetuous Sophie reasserted herself and in no time at all directed her anger to our trio. Will the new Sophie be more fair-minded Sophie than her look- alike Native Priestess?  At this stage it seems unlikely. For hell have no fury than an unleashed Sophie.  

Editor recommends Prince Harry’s noble Auto-Biography. Ghost written for easier digestion.

We return to our account and suggest for the frail, the weak minded and those who are nervous about the consumption of body parts, you skip this instalment and read a copy of Prince Harry’s excellent (and recently authenticated by HRH Prince Andrew), memoir, ‘Waaaah’.

‘I dunno, this looks like trouble’.

Neo Nazis are all aboard on the AUK-WARD TREATY SUBS!

With the fire burning brightly, the silhouette of the cauldron dark and imposing.  We watched in fearful anticipation as we witnessed the steam rising off the top of the cauldron and a huge spoon being agitated by an enormous native with a self-styled chefs cap.  The feet of the former priestess stuck unobtrusively out the top, and we knew that the new Priestess, our very own Sophie would waste no time. Time wasting was alien to Sophie. Sophie lived of the exercise of raw and undiluted power, and these natives would be her first step, her first cohort which would be used to establish herself as a supreme being and provide another challenge to the World Order. But we had no idea, as an exalted Fair Work Commissioner, she would be as a good as her word and get down to the business of POWER in seconds flat.

RAN Trialing New AUK-WARD PACT Submarine Recruiting poster.

‘I don’t like the look of this’, said Ces. ‘And’, (Ces paused as he mulled over any means of escape) ‘they’re getting closer.  Nor I’, Terry spluttered as he handed them all another Camel and they donkey rooted them into furious combustion. Ces, who had been asked to ‘Do Something’, mulled quietly.  The menacing throng got closer. With our Sophie at the forefront making the most fearsome and guttural cries, with menacing and suggestive use of the knife. She gave a gigantic leap, extraordinary for such a dollop like person.

(we the editors would like to apologise for this inadvertent body shaming phrase, but in order to accurately convey the stature and physiognomy of our principal characters feel it is necessary to maintain the gravitas and verisimilitude of real events taking place to the north of Australia’s undefended and unprotected shores)

The Duke of Windsor discovered that the Fascist Salute was ‘POPULARITY GOLD’!

Sophie and her vicious, unhinged, uncivilised, horde gained the ground between the cauldron and the Rotodyne. Until the crowd gathered as in a ring, closer and closer until we could once again, see the naked fury of cannibals.  Of individuals ‘ barely-human’ unrestrained by any civilised notion of grace nor compassion. The fearsome savagery of faces consumed by bloodlust and anger splayed in front of us through the opalescent and somewhat begrimed Perspex windscreen.

Childrens book giving instruction on the ‘Correct and Incorrect use of Salute’

‘Do something Ces… Fer Chrissakes Do something’!.

The ‘Correct” salute.

Minutes later, the crowd could no longer be stemmed. As in an anti-vax lockdown protest or more recently, a far right assemblage of looneys at an LGBT I Trans X Mutant, sub mutant, extra-terrestrial alien, Cyborg, Non-Cyborg AI Identity pronoun discussion paper meeting, could the braying for blood, for ‘retribution’, for ‘relevance’, for ‘Copy’, be stemmed no longer. The Perspex shattered in a convulsive explosion as several assegais and knockberries pulverised the thin aluminium exoskeleton of the hapless Rotodyne.  In a great tidal surge of pure evil, led by Sophie, Now Evil and vengeful priestess as well as an exalted Fair Work Commissioner they gained access through the pulverised wreckage and descended upon the fuselage with unrestrained fury! Their screams maddeningly shrill and their faces!  Such countenances as Brueghel or Hieronymus Bosch might contrive were beyond ghastly, hideous, and contorted with animal fury and unhinged blood lust. This was the end. The end of everything.  Worse than ‘Ukraine’, worse than ‘the Uighurs’, worse than ‘The Intervention’, because in their fury they’; ‘The Savages’ had eschewed a ‘rules-based world order’ to do terrible things.

HRH Princess Elizabeth demonstrates her Germanic ancestry.

But as they filled the fuselage, tearing, ripping, shrieking and smashing they realised, that their prey had flown. The Rotodyne was empty. Somehow by some artifice of desperation, the trio had escaped the trap. And somewhere beyond the shimmering cauldron and the fiery flames, they were stumbling, blundering, crawling and running to ensure that by morning sufficient distance lay between them and the savage host, which just might give them a chance.

Who’s chance?  Buckleys? Or the chance of betting agencies voluntarily endorsing a code of conduct?  Whatever the chance, we know only one thing. ‘That Hope springs eternal for those who are not entirely hopeless’, and as famously said by a very famous individual of whom we’ve forgotten. ‘At the end of the day, there’s always tomorrow’.

Country folk, (in Sth Australia) often have ‘ Quaint’ notions on ‘how things should be done’.

VIC POLICE. NO FASCISM HERE!!

and there’s always a silver lining….if you’re in the banking industry.

At least the Chinese didn’t forget Tasmania. And according to Paul, that’s the first place they’d target. In- breeding enhances compliance, and it started off as a Prison Colony anyway. Plus ca Change!

In a twist of fate more telling than Paul Keating’s dumping on the AUK-WARD Treaty, our heroes find themselves once again in hot water.  Hot water of the Sophie, (‘I have more publicly funded sinecures than you have’) Mirabella type.

Last time we looked in on our heroes were cocooned inside the stationary Rotodyne as it was being encroached by menacing Highland Villagers. We saw Sophie, as is her nature, clobber her Sophie look alike with forty kilos of anchor.

A pause ensued and from the reactions of the natives, we must assume that the displacing of their version of Sophie may not be such a bad thing. And the suggestions, tenuous at the very least that they may prefer the new Sophie as their undisputed priestess, goddess, and leader.

Telling AUK-WARD partners which way the loo is.

Is it too soon to tell, or do the natives know something about our Sophie that the rest of us don’t understand? Perhaps their native intuition? Or the legacy left behind by Rolf Harris who allegedly gave them the gift of civilisation and the superb and undervalued ‘Two Little Boys’ as a talisman of Australian Culture. We can only conjecture.  But if you hold on tight all will be revealed in the next few paragraphs, to lead us to who knows where? An addenda to the AUK-WARD Pact, an insight into the overcooked Lehrman Higgins fiasco? Or even just an insight into why the water goes down the plug hole clockwise in the southern hemisphere, and anti-clockwise in the northern hemisphere.

Synchronise your clock wises as the story is re booted. Courtesy Robodebt V.2

‘Jeez! , that’s torn it’.

Three pillars of INTEGRITY. The Anglosphere stands FIRM!

Terry, always a man of understatement let out a deep sigh infused with Camel and the acknowledgment that Sophie had what it took to quell the bloodlust of restless natives. ‘She sure knows how to handle a crowd. You bet, and the way the other Sophie looks, we wont be getting any more trouble outta her’. And sure enough barely after the priestesses downfall, our Sophie had picked up the necklace of shrunken skulls, the Bird of Paradise head gear and all the accoutrements of the native priestess and adorned herself with the finery.  And then, picking up the sceptre of sorts, fashioned as a knockberry with another skull she raised it, her jackboot firmly planted on the stilled torso of her victim and screamed in the most bloodthirsty and incomprehensible native argot of supreme triumph. We had no idea what she was saying, cept to acknowledge that she had clearly at some stage in her celebrated and decorated career, learnt many colourful languages.

Wasting no time, over her victory, she pointed to the cauldron, and motioned for the native host to gather the lifeless body of their former leader and place it in the cauldron. For Sophie that was all pure instinct.  She had what it took without the inhibiting emotional register of fear, empathy, compassion. She just knew what she had to do. ‘Jeez’, Quent enthused, ‘if Harry and Migraine did things this way they’d be running the chook- shed they call ‘Windsor! Too right!  And the pommy aristocracy would just have to stick it up their chinless noses’.

‘Dead right’, proffered Ces, ‘she really has the right stuff’.

Always a GONG in the offing for a well-licked BUM!

The natives busied themselves with carrying and unceremoniously plonking the priestess in the cauldron and then under the incandescent glare of the fire, which burned very brightly indeed they witnessed Sophie, raised upon a palanquin of sorts offer a another native as a sacrifice.

‘Jeez she’s only been here five minutes and she’s got the whole bloody culture sorted. She’d be a shoe- in for a spot on the board of the NDIS or the ABC. She’d shut the do- gooders up in five minutes and they’d be so bloody scared they wouldn’t ‘complain about the biscuits at tea breaks or their roster, or time in lieu entitlements. WE need people like Sophie back in Government’.

These sub genre films always start happy

No sooner had Terry said that when we noticed a change in the tempo. The priestess was cooking nicely, and they reassured themselves they felt safe. But with Sophie, ‘safety’ was just a notion handed out before the long knives were unsheathed. And sure enough, from the gloom and the fiery incandescence, they saw her raise her ghastly machete like knife and her skull adorned sceptre and direct her attention to our heroes.  The tempo of the drums changed. She let out another hideous and altogether bloodthirsty wail and the natives, sensing their orders, rejoiced in a similar display of savage beastliness and made it beyond doubt. The menu tonight, according to their new unassailable Priestess was to be the former Priestess augmented with traces of our trio.

‘Don’t like the look of this’, suggested, Terry. ‘Nor I’, said Quient.  ‘This could be it’!

Turning to Ces, they both pleaded, ‘Fer Chrissakes Ces, think of something’! To whit Ces grabbed another Camel, and puffed furiously as every atom of his being thought of an escape clause.

Is there an escape clause?  Are they more remote than a sanity clause?

Till reality kicks in.

As Chico famously said; ‘I donna believe in a Sanity Claus’’. Only the next few moments can tell, and time has a problem with reliability. Find out in the next episode; ‘the stopped clock tells the correct time at least twice a day’, or, ‘If its ticking and dangerous, it’s either Tik Tok, or Tok Tik, which is Chinese for ‘Dont touch the bloody thing and RUN’!

Here’s another un from Frank.

We think he may be having a go about systemic racism.

Racism that’s so ingrained that even the colour telly is black and white. It’s confusing and would be a bit disappointing if it were true. We thought that submarines is ‘where it’s at’! And underwater, (or at least twelve fathoms and beyond) everything looks much the same. Are fish colour blind?

The first adapted Virginia Class Sub HMAS Snedden is named in honour of our GREATEST pollie, Billy Snedden who died on the JOB. Like FDR, he devoted his life to a noble cause. The import of which we’ve forgotten about.

Too soon to tell, as our resident fish have made no response, (as far as we can tell) as to whether our blue and red and white striped miniaturised submarine is preferable to our bold red submarine with the gold stars. If fish can’t see the difference, it axiomatic that we can’t see the difference either.

It’s complicated, anything else would be just plain black and white.

Anyway. we’ve a few submarine images left over from our last missive and if you excuse us we’d like to put them in just to keep the running gag going.

Gag away.

Here it is from Frank…

 

Tomodashi,

Will these AUK-WARD Treaty subs be as useful as the Brewster Buffaloes we purchased from the Poms, via the Yanks which were meant to save us at Singapore?

I doubt there is a single room in the Northern Territory which has no White Elephant in it.

An elephant with capital R writ large on its flank.

Long before November 2019, when the Yuendumu sky fell in, a budding author wrote:

Our ethnocentricity dictates that none of us are entirely devoid of racism.

In the NT there is no racism. It has been euphemized out of existence.

When constable Murray set off on his posse, racism had nothing to do with it.  He set out to see that justice was done according to contemporary reports.

Our Camp Rolfe, (Formerly Yuendumu) family see no systemic racism anywhere in the NT. It’s a concrete FACT!

When the Yuendumu sky fell in, racism had nothing to do with it.  It was just someone doing their job.

In the current coronial inquest a debate rages.  Etymological questions are raised: is it systemic or systematic? Are there a few rotten apples or is the whole barrel contaminated? What can be done about it? Nothing that three hundred extra personnel and five hundred million dollars can’t fix.  If the medicine isn’t working, increase the dose.

On a lighter note China might have no interest whatsoever on what’s going on ‘downunder’, Perhaps that’s why their birth rate is falling.

Not a single Warlpiri denizen of Yuendumu has not been subjected to racial profiling and special treatment by the occupiers.

Odetta:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5TRwv9aOTc&t=2s

It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why babe,

Ifin you don’t know by now.

Sayonara

Frank

—

 Incredibly our heroes have survived, but inevitably, just as the corpse arises from the lake, and the skeleton walks out of the cupboard we know that their ordeal is far from over. When we left them the priestess who looked uncannily like Sophie their nemesis, was suggesting they be served for dinner or at the very least have their heads miniaturised via the genius of skull shrinking technology,

IN film and literature all sub-genre narratives end in tears. Could it be the sub text? Or the Sub- plot?

Either way it doesn’t look good, and with the toms toms beating a menacing pulse, they’re not sure of they’re the main menu or the entree. Either way it doesn’t look promising. We return to our saga, and be warned, there are traces of Nuclear Submarine in this forthcoming episode.

‘Can’t we do something?  At least we’re inside, and with a bit of luck if we do something it may forestall their dinner arrangements’. Terry quick as a flash pressed the large toggle switch labelled ‘landing light’ and turned it on. The effect was instantaneous, whereas just moments earlier they were being menaced; the entire crowd, the priestess and the drums disappeared. The light, being an airport strobe light blinked and illuminated the ghastly scene before them more clearly than before. When the mists and fugue had obscured all but the totem with the Sophie look-alike as the effigy perched menacingly on top.

Tony, Johnny and Georgie V.2,

‘Jeez that worked a treat.

Do you think we can keep the lights on all night,

‘Nup’ Terry answered phlegmatically, ‘the battery she’s just about run out’.

We could see behind the frames of the village buildings, the outline as myriad heads peering out from the cover of the buildings as they studied the flashing, pulsating strobe from the  Rotodyne. They were curious now. And from the very rear of the throng, the priestess, began to walk cautiously back towards the aircraft. This time she was carrying a very large knife. As she waved it in the air, we could hear the villagers cry in a mournful and melancholy chorus. It was worser than a rendition of ‘Up there Cazaly’ or ‘Advance Australia Fair’ at a cricket match, and worser still, (we apologise for our grammatical in exactitude, but we cater to a Queensland audience) than having to attend an AUK-WARD Pact submarine presentation, or an ANZAC Day event.

We at pcbycp are seriously disappointed. We sent the PM an entire slab of ‘ Crownies” to secure our logo on the PM’s head., Instead, he wears some indecipherable ‘woke-ish” brand. And our caps were quality control manufactured in China.

‘I dunno Quent this doesn’t look nice’. Stealthily and deliberately the natives no longer afraid of the light crept closer. The lights from the Rotodyne, blinked their last, and then, like the slow moving wreck of an AUK-Ward Class submarine they just faded and then died.

‘Well that’s torn it, got any more tricks’? Ces enquired.

‘That’s about it, cept for these signal flares, and the anchor. What’s the anchor for’?

In case we’re marooned at sea, you see the Rotodyne floats.

Fat lot of use that’ll be halfway up a bloody mountain peak. Well, ya never know’.

It was then that the drumming renewed its melancholy beat. And the natives, led by their Sophie look-alike who was now leaping and cavorting in an ecstasy of blood-lust drew closer and closer. Until once again, we could make out her hideous countenance making obscene gestures through the opalescent screen of the Rotodyne cockpit. Space age met Stone age, and whichever way you looked at it, it was not nice.

THE ol EMPIRE STRIKES BACK!

‘Think of something, it’s still early and from what I can see they’re starting a fire, and look over there’. Sure enough, as they looked incredulously, they could see the large sombre silhouette of a large pot, a mighty cauldron, being dragged to the centre of the village Square. The Sophie look-alike pointed to the pot and made bloodthirsty gestures directed solely at us…

‘We’re buggered, what the hell can we do’?

‘I dunno, think of something’.

Artists impression of first AUK-WARD Treaty Aussie Sub. HMS Snedden.

‘We’ve been in worse scrapes’.

Just then, as if by cue Sophie, the real Sophie bound and trussed let out a terrific roar; ‘Youse got one last chance, get me outta this or I’ll knacker ya, with my hubby’s elastrators, eat you fuckin entrails and stew yer brains in grandma’s camp oven. Let me out!  Do ya’s ear me’!!

‘All right then Sophie, but I warn you’, Ces demanded. ‘You’re on probation and I’ve gotta tell you, it’s a tricky situation and you might be able to help’?

‘Untie her’! Ces ordered, and busily we untied her. Sophie pushed, bit and punched at us, but it was small beer to being cooked and eaten. No sooner had she emerged she yelled; ‘What the fuck is going on? Are you frightened by a couple of natives. I’ll show you how to sort this out’.

With out so much as a bye your leave Sophie pushed us aside, grabbed the anchor and before we could stop her, opened the door of the Rotodyne and stood outside,

Moments later she stood face to face with the priestess.

Mock-up Aussie Sub built entirely of cardboard and blu-tak on display at the AWM’s GLORIOUS UNDERWATER ANZACS. Sponsored PROUDLY and NOBLY by numerous undisclosed Cayman Island based philanthropic trusts including Angus Taylor’s extended family JAM-LAND Interests.

The priestess was flummoxed, standing right in front of her was this white devil who looked exactly the same. The priestess pointed to the totem and said something in gibberish, and Sophie proudly, espying the native handicraft, burnished her glasses and pointed in Nicky Winmar fashion to her chest.  To her lapel, where in letters bright and bold it said, ‘Fair Work Commission Member, (accredited)’. The priestess touched the lapel, and then touched it again.  Then she licked it. Looked to her gathering throng. They moved closer. Sophie sensing the tension, did the only thing she knew.  It was pure instinct. Grabbing the anchor she heaved it with all her might and clobbered the priestess with 40 kilos of pig iron. The priestess collapsed. Sophie moved several steps forward and with jackboot firmly placed, plunged the sole of it onto the priestess’s torso and raised her arms in the air in a spirit of exuberant triumph. The crowd murmured, and then, to a man, they rejoiced. The new Sophie had conquered the old Sophie and the new Sophie perhaps was a promise of better things to come.

Or was she?

Not everyone’s rapt in AUK-WARD! Poor Sportsmanship we say. During the Opium Wars we made em grateful, and look how they repay our kindness?

Find out in the next AUK-Ward inspired episode, ‘Sophies crowning achievement might be bigger than the coronation’. Or ‘Sophie clobbers and conquers’.

‘High Noon’, being re- enacted by NT Police 2.00 pm Matinee, and half price for kiddies. Available on weekdays double matinee 2.00 pm and 3.30 pm on Queens Birthday. (even though she’s DEAD).

Dear reader,

another one from Frank of the Near North-West Frontier.

The place they now call ‘Camp Rolfe’, (formerly Yuendumu), where on any day at any given time, there’s a remake of ‘High Noon’ under the sun-drenched streets of this outback settlement. 

Yuendumu Locals still can’t get good mobile reception. I ARKS YA!

Will Gary Copper save the day?  Will Chips Rafferty walk on set and say something really profound like; ‘Jeez it aint arf hot’! Or will justice prevail and any local ‘n’er do wells’ will get their comeuppance from those who wear black and are determined to uphold the law so that the streets of Camp Rolfe are safe.

Safe from Jay walkers, Fare evaders, Fine Shirkers, and those who would suggest that a ‘ Police State’ may not be a viable alternative. to a lifetime of certain and cleansing INCARCERATION!

Stand with us, as we salute Frank. Who alone, remote and unrequited taps away on his Imperial. Cos out in the outback it’s pretty much colonial and Queen Victoria is still thought to be the sovereign of this wide and mighty land. 

Frank writes;

G’day amigos,

John Allen Paulos’ 1988 book ‘Innumeracy’ opens with:

Two aristocrats are out horseback riding and one challenges the other to see which can come up with the larger number.  The second agrees to the contest, concentrates for a few minutes, and proudly announces, “Three.”  The proposer of the game is quiet for half an hour, then finally shrugs and concedes defeat.

The premise of Paulos’ book is that Innumeracy is in comparison to Illiteracy very underrated as a serious problem in society.

 Two aristocrats when not Horseback Riding, taking the public for a ride instead. 

Let me throw some numbers at you:

Yuendumu police complex built in 2014 at a cost of $ 7600000

US military aid to Ukraine for year ended mid-January 2023 $US 46600000000000

Alleged street value of record Australian drug bust March 2023 $ 1000000000

Australian military aid to Ukraine $ 475000000

Amount pledged by Australian prime minister to help deal with Alice Springs crime wave $250000000

Qantas Dec2022 half year profit $ 1430000000

NT Budget mid 2022 NT Police $ 510000000

At the Coronial inquest the second highest ranking NT policeman talked about efforts to reform NT Policing.  He reckons 300 more personnel are needed as well as $ 500000000 to provide inter alia adequate housing to remote police.

Prisons cost the NT taxpayer $146600000 per annum

Annual cost per adult prisoner in the NT $ 122496

It all makes me feel like an aristocrat on horseback

First Continental prison founded in 1770. A proud day for the Incarceration military Complex.

Multiplication Bobby Daren

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDN_X_En-Ps

Bobbies on bicycles two by two Roger Miller:-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_niLa5xXLm0

Bill Haley & His Comets – Rock Around The Clock (1955) HD

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

One for the money, two for the show… Blue suede shoes Elvis Presley

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0bdvtJbM2Vg

And Bo Diddley He’s got all the whiskey. No numbers in this song but listen to those musicians!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSQ76ebEO-4

Chau

‘One for the money, Two for the Show’!

Frank

Barbara Windsor of the Royle Family at high tea with other members of the Royle Family, ‘The Krays”. A shoe in for the up-coming coronation.

Dear reader, beyond the profound and far-reaching decision by the Australian Government to deploy Virginal Class Submarines to Australian waters by 2525. We have the startling news that Princess Migraine and Harry have been allowed by decree from an all-white GOD to call their children, lilibet, Sports- bet, Archibold (princess Diana, Lord Mountbatten, scion a horse and Queen Victoria with a bit of Charles the second and the black Prince) with the official gong of ‘Prince and Princess dom’.

This is a win for equal rights, human rights and their chinless brigade.

Another savage blow for those who would wish to bring down the edifice of Saxe Coburg Gotha, now more meekly described as the ‘House of Windsor’. We wanted to get a quote from Barbara Windsor the more celebrated member of the royal family, but sadly she’s karked, it.  But were told by her publicity office to pick up a copy of ‘Big n Bouncy’ July 1972 edition to get a full appraisal on the Windsor assets and future directions.

Information we are sure will propel the AUK-WARD treaty to new heights of interoperability and interlocutory intransigence, per se.

‘Babs” inspects Royal Easter eggs with her equerry Lord Dunt. Coronation GOLD!

But are there bigger issues? The war in Ukraine, the release of Julian Assange, the batting line- up for the fourth test in India?

Sadly there is,

 Our heroes are still trapped, though trapped freely atop a remote New Guinea village. In a village that worships a very close look alike to their nemesis Sophie, (‘there’s another tax payer funded  sinecure  in the offing’) Mirabella, whom, by fate they have trussed and bound in the baggage compartment of their stranded Rotodyne. Not even Benny-boy can help them or his sidekick Julian, because they’re out of range, out of fuel and outta LUCK. How outta there do you have to be?

Find out in the next episode, which is about to start right now.

Arguably Prince Harry has made the Royals more relevant than never before.

‘I dunno’, Terry pulled out another Camel, ‘I don’t like the sound of them drums’.

King Charles going through the tedium of guest lists and an empty crown for the upcoming Coronation.

‘Nor do I’, said Ces.  ‘It’s something about the rhythm, it sounds like a funeral march, or’ Quipped Quient, who had an ear for music,’ the opening bars to Rolfs Two Little Boys. Jeez’! Terry quipped;’ if they know the opening bars to ‘two little boys’ they must be’, he paused as the idea occurred to him, ‘they must be, they must be CIVILISED’!

With that word ‘Civilized” they felt immeasurably reassured, reassured that at that very moment a symbol of civilisation, and good grace the word over, his HRH Prince Andrew might emerge from the jungle in his admiral’s uniform and restore order with a wave of his princely, and white gloved hand.

One can only hope. They listened, the drumming grew louder and louder, until just as the light faded to such an extent that the Sophie like totems began to be obscured by the stygian mists they saw approaching them a small group of people.  And one by one, the assembly grew, and became illuminated, ghostly and ethereal like so many nuns under a pallid spotlight at an ‘All Nun Revue’. There emerged from the gathering throng a woman.

‘If Rider Haggard had written this is still wouldn’t believe it. Nor I’ said Ces as he snatched another Camel from Terry’s fingers. ‘This is fucken, (we apologise for the use of profane language) unbelievable’! For there, right in front of them gathering closer and closer there emerged a woman, a vestigial priestess, dressed in priestly garb. Long slithers of semi-precious metal and bird of paradise plumes. A necklace of exquisitely shrunken skulls, nose-piercings that would make a Goth envious, and though her lips, coated in the darkest of pigments looked menacing, she possessed a set of the most perfect white teeth.

Will Prince Andrew attend the upcoming coronation? Who cares?

‘I don’t believe it’, Quent nudged Ces, ‘it’s the spitting image’, and then, almost by clockwork, a curse from the bundled and trussed Sophie; ‘let me outta here or ill fucken deck youse, strangle youse and use yer dicks for target practice with me slug gun when I get outta here’!

It was the other Sophie, the real one, or the unreal one? We couldn’t tell, and it seemed irrelevant. ‘Anyway, with two Sophie’s, what could be worse’? Ces mused.

‘I dunno’, Terry replied, caustically; ‘two Benny Boy Roberts Smiths, Two Gina’s, two Angus Taylors’?

Terry had a point, two times any of the aforementioned was always gonna be shit whichever way you looked at it.

The native Sophie walked up to the cockpit Perspex we should see her ghostly features, apart from the war paint and the ochre, she was identical to our Sophie. She tapped the Perspex, we waved, kindly to suggest we posed no threat. She smiled back at us.

Will this family of indigenes get an invite to the Royal Galah? Or will it be only handed out, (the selection criteria is immense) to their royal Dingo?

‘So far so good’, Terry murmured,

She tapped again, we tapped back.  She stood back, scratched her forehead and with one wave of her arm, commanded a native to come forward and play a short series of notes on the bongos.

The native played, it sounded familiar.

‘I think they’re trying to communicate’, murmured Ces.

Will members of the Russian Royal family get sorted by their English cousins again?

‘It’s a tune, and its strangely familiar’.

It came to Quent like a thunderclap. He tapped back onto the Perspex. The rhythm, the tune, the evocation all began to crystallise, the opening bars to ‘Two little boys’, Rolfe must have left his mark. We felt profound relief that another Australian had gifted these natives with music and grace.

We all relaxed,

The priestess then smiled again, pointed to us, and then as her faced changed to a menacing leer, she pointed to the shrunken skulls, then back at us, and at that precise moment the drum tempo changed to a more menacing beat.

Will Rolfe get an invite?

Is this their last foxtrot? Will this be their last tango in the Paris-end of Papua? Find out in the next episode; ‘Shrunken or shredded coconuts are best kept in a cool dry place’ or, “Two little boys turned out to be a requiem for three slightly more mature boys.”