Who authorised this Space Age stupidity?

Many years ago our nation was branded as “The lucky country.” Sadly, this proud signature envied by the old world is fading fast. Thought Police and Wimps masquerading as representatives of the people are slowly but surely eroding a legacy handed to us by previous generations.

There is increasing evidence of what can and cannot be said in the public arena, as well as false rewrites of our history. With sly censorship growing, there’s reluctance in the community to speak out. The consequence could be a return to days similar of the old world’s hated regimes where genuine concerns were being whispered behind closed doors.

The latest waves of Political Correctness discourage the use of Mum, Dad, Honey, Love, Sweetheart, merry Christmas and the list goes on. Regrettably, a confused and silent majority of our citizens are becoming immune to it all and wait for the next installment of instructions to be issued by our masters in Canberra on what we can or can’t do.  Where does it end?  Who authorised all of this nonsense?

Unless we apply the brakes and rediscover commonsense; future generations of Australians will never understand what used to be. Muteness and apathy combined with deliberate distortions of our past will be used as weapons to erode and eventually destroy our freedom as we know it.

For those who have been engineering such radical change to our society; it’s time to remove the blinkers, turn on the light and go read our history. Records show that despite immense hardships, a new nation was forged against all odds, complete with unity, independence, wealth, character and immense pride in being who we are. We must not allow our past to be distorted or smothered by a mindless minority. There is so much for all of us to be proud of.

GM March 2018


  Don’t Let Termites Destroy Our Proud Legacy 

Will we ever understand the spirit of those who came before?

Who rattled chains, felt the lash and dreamed of freedom even more

Farmers in stifling heat tilled with wooden ploughs again and again

Fevers, broken bones and child birth with bush medicines for pain

At lonely graves were brave farewells that masked grief and sorrow

Men and women scarred with failure still seeking bright tomorrows

Have we forgotten the rich legacies of life won for you and me?

A soapbox was the rostrum to speak your mind so free

A united happy nation that became known as the “Lucky Country”

A family home for all with a backyard for BBQs and kids to run free

An education system envied by others, far and near

Respect for the law and to walk the street at night without fear 

True blues with dreams created reality with blood sweat and tears

The Snowy Mountain scheme was completed despite cynics and fear

Across the vast Nullarbor Plain, a railway line linked East to West

Sydney Harbor Bridge, despite Doubting Thomas, passed the test

Thank God we were left a legacy of some major Dams and Ports 

Now, its talk and no action by a creaking Canberra void of thought

The spirit still lives; however gone is its very strong pulse beat

“A fair go” was part of the OZ bible, be it in the bush or city street

For a Swagman walking by, a farmer’s wife would give tea and pie 

At a bark hut, a thin weary face shared crumbs as travelers passed by

 “Pass the hat” for a bloke down on his luck was a familiar shout

“Hand me downs” was a sign of caring and what it was all about

Such pride when we became a united people under our own flag

Yet today, some fools would replace it with a trendy Space Age rag

The misery of the Great Depression never stopped the smiles and wit

Flood, fire, famine was a battle cry to roll up sleeves and do our bit

Love of country has been proven with the blood of youth in war

The torch is ours to keep alight; we should never ask “What for?”

Today there are serious threats that we, all as one must face

Political correctness in stampede mode is crushing us at rapid pace

“Thought Police” demand what we must say and do

Mum, Dad, Family, Sweetheart, Honey and Love are now taboo  

Jesus is back on the cross and Christianity is no longer at odds on

Fair Dinkum, it’s time to rattle drums before our way of life is gone

George Mansford © March 2018

  1. What odds “Gidday mate“ will soon be on the hit list?

Editor’s comment. George’s poem has invoked memories of this poem we learnt at School

We are the sons of Australia,
Of the men who fashioned the land,
We are the sons of the women
Who walked with them, hand in hand;
And we swear by the dead who bore us,
By the heroes who blazed the trail,
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.



Poem – Our Mate Billy

There are generations of Regimental Sergeant Majors who have aged quite quickly while disciplining wayward soldiers’ intent on challenging rules and procedures or creating their own. It is also true to say that the names of such soldiers were also well known to their commanding officers, who with rare exceptions developed facial twitches whenever such names were mentioned.

In the main, these rogues were among the old hands of the unit and knew all the tricks of the trade. To them, regulations and rule were there to be ignored or manipulated in the name of a fair go for diggers. They were bush lawyers after much experience from standing to attention in front of the Colonel’s desk. It was very rare for any of them to escape punishment which I might add, they readily accepted as a “fair cop’. However they should never be confused with shirkers, jack-men or whiners who after a short time of soldiering were given incentives to seek other employment.

The larrikins I write of were known to all who wore the same badge.  Some even became legends.  In my mind, despite breaches of  Barracks discipline, they carried out demanding tasks wherever and whenever; not because of pompous orders but because they were part of the military family and believed in it.

On operations, they borrowed, traded and liberated valuable and much needed resources from neighbouring allies who had more than they required. The hierarchy on most occasions in such circumstances turned a blind eye.

History records that in the fog of war and without guidance; more than one rebel stepped forward to lead.

One of the penalties in today society is that the powerful computer is slowly but surely removing the initiatives, judgment and authority from unit commanders. There was a time when the commanding officer with the advice of the RSM would decide the future of a reprobate within the family. Today, such authority is being consumed by hungry computers which then spit out the records of offences without any knowledge of the victims they have processed.   It is all in the name of enhanced administration.

Computers do not see the hidden assets so many of these warriors demonstrate when needed.  Good commanders and their experienced junior leaders do.

I have selected a Digger called Billy who is just one of many to have trudged the military track through barrack life and in the field. He readily accepted his punishment as part of the game and no matter when or where was true blue to his comrades and unit.  So here’s to you, Billy Boy, and all the others like you who were very much part of the military family and always there when needed. Let’s hope such genes will still be soldiering long after the Space Age.


                 Our Mate, Billy

Billy was the nightmare of every CO and RSM

Ran the Two Up and Dice Games in many a secret den

He was known to liberate Gurkha Rum from the Q store

Often forged leave passes as long as you paid at the door

The truth or not, swearing a sacred oath on a bible was survival for him

Thus there were times that Billy, according to military law, was free of sin

A bush lawyer, he knew all the tricks of the army game

Even Generals shuddered at the mention of his name 

The story of him finding unguarded bottled beer while on a troopship is true

The feat was celebrated on the lower deck by more than a drunken few 

He rigged a Melbourne Cup sweep so no senior rank could win

Alas, before the draw, their tickets accidentally fell into the bin

Threw a wild party for the rival team the night before the big footy game

Won a fortune backing his own mob and gained more fame

A young officer still wet behind the ears claimed to be the best of the best

So extra weight was hidden in his pack and he failed the endurance test

Today’s computers would mark Billy in red and a liability to all

Yet he was always there in the field when our bugle did call

No matter the hardships, danger, the fearful unknown and mile after mile

Always he was sharing, caring and making many a weary soldier smile

Then one very sad day, our unit radios spluttered the news

Billy’s luck had run out and the grief was felt by more than a few 

Old soldiers still talk of Billy’s time and such a great mate

Even the CO and RSM bet that he has already raffled the Pearly Gates

George Mansford ©January 2018


Editorial Comment.
We can all recall at least one person in our Unit that fits – Our mate Billy

Paul Hogan as Pat Cleary in “The Anzacs” mini-series 1985 would be one

Poem – Regimental Square ANZAC Day, 2017

I thought “I’ll march this Anzac Day,”

To Sydney thus I’ll make my way.

But then, to set my medals straight,

I pause a moment at my gate

To ponder ‘neath the starry sky

On where I’m going to and why.

To there, the Square on George Street.

The place where all we blokes do meet.

To greet once more to have a say,

Gathered there on Anzac Day,

To think for moments in that Square

About the men no longer there.



No longer there but always there

These ghostly memories on the Square.

Their presence felt as we give thanks,

Shuffling, murmuring in their ranks,

And as the bugle calls last post

We proudly stiffen with that host.

Standing tall with all those men

Who link our presence now with then;

Their bayonets, bullets, marching feet

Providing terms on which we meet:

Our bridge, our nexus, common ground

For sharing with them that sweet sound

Which gently fades away.

Poem – Shuffling in Clanking Chains or Running Free 

         Shuffling in clanking chains or running free 

No magic wand was waved to create our precious way of life 

Our genesis was pain and misery mid terrible strife

Of clanking iron chains, the lash and a dangling noose of rope

Despite such hardships over many years, there was always hope

Dreams of a new life gathered appetite and with it came a plate

A bowl of liberty and unity that even for the hungriest did sate

With blood, sweat and tears, those before us forged a proud nation

To challenge old worlds as it reached out for tomorrow’s station  

So why in this Space Age have we ignored lessons from the past?

Bending to noisy minorities groups eroding our way of life so fast

Our national spirit blurred by ignorance, mischief, greed and conceit  

Canberra’s reckless spending sprees will cause poverty and bare feet 

Balding Wigs of Court pampering felons and ignoring their victims 

Big brother is freezing tongues and twisting truth with sly systems

Misfits wanting, yet giving naught while dawdling in life at lazy pace   

Growing contempt for law of the land and no responsibilities to face

If only we could stop this mad stampede to quicksand

To recapture precious values in family castles within our land

To once more apply commons sense and sound reason 

Fight that political correctness poisoning us more with each season

To insist on social discipline and justice so essential to our way of life

Never to blindly follow drums and bugles into terrible strife

No longer mute and blinkered but speaking out to keep us free

To honour those whose dreams became reality for you and me 

If we seek shade and sleep under a leafless tree 

What of those yet to be born in a country once free?

Never forget that our way of life is based on a fair go for all

“United we stand or divided we will fall” must always be our call

To watch our course and steer true bearings we all understand 

To decide what’s first; the whim of a few or the voice of our land  

Our pulse beat of life must be unity, vision and never doubt or fear 

Stand tall now or bow meekly to clanking chains in coming years 

George Mansford © December 2017

Poem – Train to Win not Fall

Train to Win not Fall

Always is the pain and horror of war

No different from all generations before 

Nor changed is the bible of self-preservation for all

Still the battle cry screamed at recruits “train to win; not fall’ 


Our military is now under fire from politically correct fools

For them, war’s a game where they ignore proven rules 

Such amateurs cannot read past lessons, even in bright light

Besides, far better with heads in the sand to appease, not fight


A curse on Canberra’s recruit quotas to please a few

No matter who, selecting on merit is what you must do

Common sense demands soldiers who are the best

The smartest soldier from any quota may not pass the final test


Special badges and pandering to some is now a space age trend 

However, if you seek unity, it’s a dangerous message to send

In war it’s all about the team facing danger together

Obeying Gods with chevrons despite fear, hunger, thirst, or weather


Unity and mateship are the keys. 

Mid gore, blood, and mud, there’s no time for diversity

On the Field of Mars, soldiers will be required to risk all

Always going forward if “all for one and one for all” is the call


Combat is the ultimate test for discipline and caring for each other

Where the best of the best become true sisters and brothers

Forget quotas and rules for “them and us” at the starting gate

War is “horses for courses” where all must carry the same weight

George Mansford ©October 2017


Poem – In Memory?

A  poem written by Mick Shave at  Keswick Barracks in Adelaide on 14th November 2017  at 9 RAR’s reunion and commemoration of  its 50th Anniversary.

Old soldiers never die,
They just keep on marching by,
In revue or by the right,
Their legions prove a wondrous sight
When viewed in memory.

But looking on with memory,
Shows only what we want to see.
And while illuminating youth,
It hides from us the actual truth,
Does memory.

It never shows the blood, the fear,
It obfuscates the anguished tear,
And as those shadows march on by,
Do we forget they had to die – to live
In memory?

Poem -WHY?

A proud Caesar decides on what must be done

If the noble cause is to be won

Orders are issued through the chain of command

His legions obey and prepare for more carnage in the land

The seeds of defeat and victory have been sown

Life, death, fear and courage yet to be known

Such is the bloody arena of war

And too few politicians ask the questions “What for?”

In dark surrounds, weary soldiers hear the distant bark of guns

It is the signal for bloody work to be done

Soon Into the muddy mire of combat, soldiers slip and slide

Dreams of precious loved ones faraway are cast aside

Side by side and trust in each other

With the demands and harshness of war, they become brothers

When it all ends they count their dead and no more the battle cry

Later with the sanity and calmness of peace, veterans ask “why?”

The years pass and a new Caesar is on stage with terrible ire

Preparing for the field of Mars with space age laser and fire

While his soldiers in brand new uniforms march through the streets

A war widow watches and revisits another time and quietly weeps 

She recalls dreams, laughter and sweet love as it was meant to be

Etching two names with Eros and arrow on the trunk of a shady tree

Was it so long ago when her husband had waved a last goodbye

Now her son marches to war and she too asks “Why?”

George Mansford © October 2017

Opinion – A Legacy So Dear

                          A Legacy So Dear

Oh what have we done to our legacy, so precious and dear

Now with leaderless tribes and damaged moral compass I fear

Once so strong, proud, united and standing tall

With a free way of life envied by all

A nation built on faith, vision, blood, sweat and tears 

Now slowly sliding into a mire of apathy in recent years

Where Jesus has been blindfolded and stood against the wall  

Our history mocked and smothering PC revision is compulsory for all

So many miles of our journey since convict chains, pick and spade

Once a fair go, open doors and meals where conversation was made

Today, shut and lock crowded streets, pollution and blinking lights 

Sedated two legged sheep grazing on electronic text day and night

From prosperity to an empty treasury and not one brass razoo left

Family castles in cold darkness thanks to national energy plans bereft

Gone is our beloved soap box in the park to express a point of view

Now replaced by PC with many rules of what you can and can’t do

Where is the sense purpose and vision we so desperately need?

Why kill Unity by constantly sowing “Them and us” as toxic seed?

What of dams to taste sweet water and no bitterness of drought?

How can we sleep safely when night is owned by thieves and louts?

Are we robots mid crumbled concrete and windows of opaque glass? 

How can we be so blind to tomorrow and shun lessons of the past?

Can’t we see the angry dark storm clouds looming so very near?           

Oh, what have we done to our legacy, so precious and dear?

George Mansford © September 2017

PC—#***#% Political Correctness

Opinion – It’s Time to Stand Tall—No Compromises

We live in a world of increasing social changes and shrinking common sense.  Thus as we blunder into tomorrow without understanding yesterday, it does beg the question, “where are we going?

Can we really expect our youth, (tomorrow’s leaders) to march forward with confidence and sound sense of purpose when they are continually bombarded with new and questionable culture?  Surely it is a critical phase of development when they should be mastering the basic skills and values of life?

Can we really expect they will appreciate the  wonders and beauty of life including love, sharing , caring and responsibility when they are brainwashed in many dark corners of our society to believe it’s all a free ride without commitment and respect?

Do we believe that honour, duty, love of country, personal discipline and choice of spiritual belief will come from increasingly family breakdown, the current pathetic examples of political leadership or some drug dazed star on stage?

When did we decide that the education of minors provides no choice of their own to accept or deny religion?

Can we really expect a youngster to develop confidence and resilience when always wrapped in cotton wool?

How can you pursue the dream of enhancing one people and one nation when governments continually encourage the theme of “them and us” and more often than not at the expenses and inconvenience to the majority of our community?

Why should we demonstrate tolerance to those who publicly state their evil intent to destroy our society and its way of life?

Incidentally, is there a national plan in action for progressive and positive assimilation for migrants from day one of arrival? I think not. I remember clearly in early post WW2 years when my mother and other ladies met New Australian families (as we called them without malice or spite) and guided them to help adjust in the early phases after their arrival. Even youngsters were tasked to escort their new mates to school.

Attitudes and standards have changed dramatically since those days when once the law was enforced, regardless of circumstances.  Today, the opposite is true. There are examples where our government is turning a blind eye to illegal conduct. There are increasing numbers of incidents where exceptions to our rules dilute authority and breeds resentment. Masked polygamy, hidden child brides, defiance to court procedures and incredible leniency for the drug dealers who are poisoning our society are examples which already cause irritation and in time will develop marked hostility within our society.

How did all this deceptive and smothering social engineering start? Who are the authors and on whose authority? Just how many of us agreed to such monumental and very questionable change?

There is no doubt we should seek knowledge, master new procedures and pursue vision to enhance our society. However, it does not imply we charge hell bent into tomorrow and discard proven and well established values in our haste to go where we know not where.

The bitter irony of it all is that in past war when our way of life was threatened by alien forces, we were as one and gave all to protect such values. Today they are slowly being eroded, assisted by our apathy, political correctness and   obsession for compromise.

Like it or not, we are in war of social change and must defend our precious values. There is a real and urgent need for positive and sound leadership. We must stand fast in our beliefs. It is a legacy passed on to us by past generations who achieved it with blood, sweat and tears.

There is no room for compromise.


               A Changing World 

Forgotten are the silent scarred hills from not so long ago

Where once came screaming curses of friend and foe

Pain and misery etched in earth soaked blood

So many dreams and hopes lost in the mire of mud


Came the day white doves flew and church bells rang

Dancing in the streets and victory songs sang

Politicians preached of “peace and precious values for all”

For those lost in the hills came the sobs of bugle calls

Young and old gather on our special day of the year

To recall sacrifice in times of bloody strife and fear

Sadly, some still wet behind the ears with empty heads seek fame

They demand revision of our past and for war, we were to blame

Others intent on mischief to change our proud way of life

Slyly infect us with political correctness, so smothering and rife 

Space age bands blare with deceptive tunes called diversity 

While old choirs no longer sing that the power of a nation is unity

Illegal drugs, child abuse and faltering family structure  too

Xmas trees and friendly Christian wishes on cards soon to be taboo

Greedy inept politicians pick poor people’s pockets for more taxes

At schools, proven social skills and disciplines face sharp government axes 

On those now forgotten hills come the echoes of pain 

As restless ghosts whisper of betrayal, again and again 

Their youth stolen, dreams buried and a way of life lost bye and bye

Can you hear the wails of all past generations as they ask “why?” 

George Mansford ©August 2017


Are We Burning Our Bridges?

Are We Burning Our Bridges?

History is the soul of any proud nation

Deeds in a never ending journey via many stations 

A reminder of who we were and what we are now

A legacy from those who strived with shovel, pick, horse and plough

Recorded are the rights and wrongs and lessons to be learnt

Never should our proud past be shamed, scarred or burnt


There are those starved for recognition seeking to change history

No rules for such empty heads and their tantrums are common to see

Planned mischief is their aim and tempts the naive to follow

Going backwards seeking yesterday while stumbling into tomorrow

It’s all about manipulation of power to change our way life

Farewell unity and harmony –welcome diversity and strife


The new order demanded by revisionists is busily at work

Never a sound reason from its unknown authors who in shadows lurk 

Christianity is very much on the list as a whipping boy

Ridicule, no xmas cards, tinseled trees or magic toys

Sweet nursery rhymes censored yet blinkers used for drugs and hate in songs  

Jesus is mocked (and please tell me, “what did he do wrong?”)

So here’s to Namatjira, Henry, Banjo and Melba who helped open doors

The migrant, butcher, ANZAC, shearer, Drover’s wife and more

Revere the Pioneers who began the journey to make our country as one

Despite flood, fire, drought and famine, they always won

Shoulder to shoulder, we too must go forward; all for one and one for all  

“To seek tomorrow and honour our past” will always be our rallying call   

George Mansford © September 2017