Dear diarists, at last, another stirring piece from Sir Atney of Emo. Almost lost to us in recent months his resurrection is nothing short of a miracle. Truth eternal that sabre rattling at Nth Korea, or any other tin – pot dicatatorship is just the thing we need in these curious times. In this thrilling instalment he stirs our imagination with the glory of war and derring do. Indeed it is a fine fine thing to die for one’s country in noble sacrifice. Pity though, it’s the pollies who don’t go first. Sir Atney writes:
Preparations for Anzac Day are underway. Preparing soldiers for the glorious march.
For ANZAC Day to mean anything at all it should be set aside for quiet, sombre and dignified reflection on the utter waste of elective wars driven by armchair warriors – and the tragedy of so many young lives lost or ruined to little or no purpose.
As for the parades of of jangly-chested faux-patriots, or the pub gatherings of inebriates playing two-up, please include me out.
A match winning team. Captain and coach of the first eleven being interviewed after second Iraq test.
Super-patriots Dick Cheyney, Rumsfeld and Dubbya cheated their way out of donning their country’s uniform – but later relished sending other people’s sons to war. Imagine anyone dying for those criminals!
Remember that bellicose, ultra-hawk former president of the RSL, Bruce Ruxton? His total service in uniform was a brief stint in occupied Japan in 1946, as a company cook, later in charge of guarding the quartermaster’s provisions! Definitely putting his life on the line for his country in that law-abiding land.
The glory of war!
The men I ever met who actually saw the reality of war up close and personal (North Atlantic convoys, Changi prison, behind the lines in PNG, Battle of Britain, etc., never wanted to talk about their experiences and, as far as I knew, never marched on ANZAC Day.
No, Anzac Day commemoration has turned into a nice little travel industry earner and an opportunity for lollies to show us what jolly patriots they are. The rest enjoy a day off work and a BBQ with a beer or two. I’d like to see even half of all that outlay spent on looking after our neglected and damaged veterans.
And now here’s Therese May laying a wreath at the Cenotaph, while planning an election-winning conflict with Spain. And why wouldn’t she? Maggie T. did very well out of that Falklands buffo!
H.M. Forces, preparing to airlift Gibraltar to the Orkneys.
Anyway, it would be a great chance to show those benighted foreigners that Great Britain can still dish it out… and bugger their EU!
For perfect teeth. Enlist Now!!
We wonder what ” Falklands Buffo” could mean, and implore all readers to submit their suggestions to Mrs Krinklade of the editing department. And as a gesture of goodwill to all who serve, we include a thriling picture of one who served in the most glorious war for civilisation. And returned to our civilian ranks with the aid of Plastic Surgery. Toorak and Armadale matrons the world over. This could be YOU!