Opinion – A Virus called Political Correctness

How ironic is it that on each Remembrance Day, we pause to honour those who made the supreme sacrifice to defend our most precious way of life, and yet continue to yawn and scratch as an increasing number of misguided fools are busily hell bent on destroying such a beautiful legacy.
How blind are we that we can reflect with pride on the unity of our nation as it once was, and yet today before our very eyes, fail to see it fracturing at a rapid rate.

How ignorant are we not to understand that our nation has been forged on the fundamentals of Christian beliefs that provided a true compass for our social discipline and intent. Where is the evil in a man (person?) who offered the gift “to love one another?”

How cowardly are we to tolerate increasing defiance of our laws which were established to ensure protection of all law abiding citizens?  How pathetic we are not to demand harsher penalties.

Above all, how irresponsible are many of us to readily accept the good things of living in a western society yet fail to confront the insidious threats to it.

One such enemy is a dreaded virus defined as political correctness which is cleverly designed to slowly but surely brainwash our young generations and those yet to arrive on Planet Earth.

Thus I do hope that this outburst and my scribble below is a timely reminder to those not yet infected.

Sadly, it is too late for most of our political representatives at State and National level.  They are already in the morgue and all we have to do is bury them.


George Mansford


                      One Upon a Time

Poor old Gingerbread Man, loved by many and killed this very day

Thanks to Revisionists, a brand new Gingerbread Person is on its way

Stolen and distorted are nursery rhymes loved ever since creation

Sly thieves claim such words are cruel with personal degradation

How sad that fairy tales are not what they used to be

Thanks to political correctness infecting our society

Taken away is the innocence of childhood which is surely wrong   

No more to read of Giants and Dwarfs and sing the Black Sheep song

A sin to dream of fairy tales, secret wishes, and Christmas soon  

So silly to believe there’s a man smiling from the magic moon

It’s old fashioned to happily sing the ABC and finally get it right

Increasing scorn for small prayers before going to sleep at night

And as well, no more “Ladies and Gentlemen“ or “He and She”

When youngsters seek work, there will be quotas, despite ability

Santa’s on the hit list and birth certificates minus gender are planned

Identity cards will not reveal if you are woman or man 

Instead of unity, division grows and common sense is not to be

Soon a land of cheerless robots and no happy infants running free


The questions which must be answered by our elected masters

Who are these authors of change and what authority now and after?

What reason to condone such madness within our nation?

Who of our elected leaders will stand up to fight such alterations?

Will we pretend it’s not happening, stay mute and keep out of sight?

Hide in the growing darkness and not to fight for what is right?

Oops, the thought police are knocking on my door so I must be away

George Mansford © October 2018

Remembrance Day

                 Lest We Forget  

Once upon a time on dusty lonely tracks, swagmen roamed

While Drovers by campfires longed for home

Teachers used tools of rote, chalk and black boards on the wall 

Cobbler, miner, farmer, blacksmith, clerk, grocer, nurse and all 

They heard the call to war and stepped forward as one

To serve their young nation until duty was done

To reflect on what was; if not for such heroes, where would we be?

The sacrifice and nobleness of their time to keep us free 

Brave deeds and mateship with a young nation’s flag held so high

To hear them singing “Australia will be there” as their battle cry

Loving families waiting for the casualty lists with hidden fear

An unwelcome knock on the door and a new life of countless tears

The tracks where swagmen trudged are now tar and white lines 

Drovers’ campfires are long gone, thanks to Father Time

A new generation of teachers with computer and flashing screen

Gone are the cobblers and others; yet Florence is still to be seen

Yet their ghosts still mingle with our people who remember    

Never to be forgotten by city and town to beyond the Never-Never

Concentrate and you will hear the rhythmic steps and see them again

Marching in columns, be it searing heat or icy drenching rain

Dreaming of their tomorrow to be home with loved ones once more

Homesick for distant blue mountains and golden sandy shores

Seeking peace, deep sleep, love, laughter and no more sad hooroos

Now the column is fading , yet their genes and spirit are still with you

In a troubled world, we “Down Under” must stay together

As one people, one nations, one flag, today, tomorrow and forever 

Going forward in armour forged with our precious values of life 

Never faltering as we defy storms of discontent or evil strife

New generations follow, learning of our history and soon standing tall 

What better way to remember and salute those who answered the bugle call

                                                  George Mansford © October 2018


Poem – Joanna Collett – Where’s the Aussie Aid?

Dear Mrs Collett

Goodonya lovely lady to write of problems in OZ which are rife

Thanks to Canberra Suits, our once lucky country is in big strife

Long ago with blood, sweat and tears, we became a free nation

Until a space age virus whacked Pollys with blindness and retardation

Hang in there lovely lady, let your voice be loud and never mute

I support your views with this letter to the Boss of Canberra suits

Dear Prime Minister,

Political correctness is gathering speed to change what used to be

While OZ burns, Parliament fiddles with debates on He or She 

Gladiators paint finger nails pink and chastened if foe are made dead 

Black is no longer black, and if you disagree, be careful what is said

Racist, bigot or homophobic is now used to counter opposing views  

Ape, dunce, midget, sheila and basxxtard are terrible words and taboo **

On TV, you quoted from Dot’s poem, of “Drought and flooding rain”

It’s been heard for over a hundred years by thirsty mobs in pain

Yet still with each flood, precious gold escapes freely to the sea

Sir, go abroad where lakes and dams are where arid land used to be

Let’s get off our arse and create a disaster fund this very day

You could start by reducing foreign aid until we can pay our way  

There are no leaders at the wheel and OZ is on a dangerous sea

Reefs of poverty, discontent, and disunity are near and soon to be

It’s time to change direction and once more be united as one

Time for true blue leaders to take us from darkness and find the sun

To rationalise immigration, debt, energy, kill PC and much more

Rescue our beloved OZ, stolen by a noisy few, or go find the* #*door

George Mansford  – August 18

***The reason I distort basxxxsrd is because a robot rejects all of the message to many recipients. 


Mrs Collett’s letter poem to the Prime Minister says:

G’day Mr Turnbull, I trust that you are fine,

Sorry to be bothering you, but there’s something on my mind

I listened to a bloke last week; he had a bit to say

You lot may have heard of him? He delivers all that hay?


He spoke of countless hours and the distances they drive

Feeding starving stock, to keep bush hopes alive

They do not get assistance from your tax funded hat

They do it on their own, all off their own bat


I’m not politically minded and I don’t have any clout

And I know you’ve done a tour, to learn about the drought

But there’s just some burning questions, that have left us feeling beat

Why did we fund a foreign land, to learn to cut up meat?


And what about those soccer boys, who went and got all lost

You pulled out all the bloody stops, plain just showing off

You’ve bigger problems here at home, there’s drought up to our necks

So what does your mob go and do?  Give them big fat cheques!


Don’t they have a government to deal with all this stuff?

Why should it be up to us, what’s with all your fuss?

Should we not be reigning in and look after our own

Have you never heard the phrase “charity starts at home”?


I realise there’s many things, that need an allocation

And I also can appreciate, complex trade relations

I’m not sure if you realise, but if our stock all die,

There won’t be any trade you see, your deals will all run dry


As a rule we’re not a whinging lot, our requests are but a few

Most of us who work the land, are tested, tried and true

We respect that we are guardians, and sustain it for the kids

But I often have to wonder, what future will it bring?


I guess all that I’m wondering, is “where’s the Aussie aid”?

Wrapped up in a swag of tape, only then to be repaid ! 

There’s Aussie blokes and chicks out there, putting you to shame

Helping fellow Australians, in their time of pain


I’m just a simple farmer, grazier, wife and mum

And even though we’re feeding stock, we’re better off than some

I’ve never had to shoot a cow, who could no longer stand

But many have before me, and I pray, I’m not dealt that hand


So will you take another look; admit that we’re in strife ?

And do more than bloody empathise, before another farmer takes their life ?

I’d like to think you’ll do what’s right and put Australia first

And help your own damn country, before this drought gets any worse

Joanna Collett
Wee Waa NSW

Poem – What Happened to the Soap Box in the Park

What happened to the soapbox in the Park?      

(A time when anyone could speak their views)

I am not sure I’m a full quid

After watching what the Vic police did

To keep opposing groups apart

Let’s look out at how it happened for a start


Law abiding citizens hired a venue to air their personal views

Which I thought was their legal right, the same as me and you

However, a tribe chanting “racists” arrived on the scene

Bullying and threatening just like Hitler, Mao and Stalin had been

The mob knew their murky history and knew what to do and say

The brown shirts of yesterday have arrived in OZ to have their way

They hindered the flow of movement and traffic came to a halt

Meanwhile law abiding citizens at the meeting were at no fault 

Enforcement of our laws is becoming more lopsided by the day 

More so when the innocent were charged a fee and must pay

Surely it’s a clear message to louts that they can have their own way 

While for lawful citizens, free speech is now what you’re told to say 

It’s time, fellow Aussies, to get our heads out the sand

There is a clear threat we are losing what was once a lucky land 

If you’re standing on soap box in the park to preach what you believe 

Soon will be Thought Police with arm bands, ordering you to leave

There is one suggestion I will leave you with this very night

Remind every politician that all Australians have rights

To stop appeasing a noisy few and reach out to make us as one

Give us back our way of life, or pack your bags and run

George Mansford July 2018


Why Bully Fairy Tales?

                      Why Bully Fairy Tales?

Today’s mad magicians have special wands to change everything

Sending the Queen’s English and common sense into garbage bins

Fling nasty curses and cast spells if you speak of “Sheilas or blokes”

Whatever you do, for goodness sake, don’t laugh, it’s no joke  

If you dare challenge or raise so much as a questioning hand

The Wizards and Witches will scar you with the dreaded racist brand 

Winnie the Poo is currently in their sights

The Bah-bah black sheep is now coloured orange bright

“Girl and boys,” a well-used salutation, will soon be taboo

“Ladies and gentlemen” is listed too; so what will I call most of you?

It’s “odds on” that Snow-white and her dwarfs will have to go

Painting faces black to honour yesterday’s heroes is a definite no  

If common sense is to prevail and what was is still to be

Please tell me what is racist with “drunk as a monkey”

A dumb ox; mad as a cut snake; stubborn as a mule; cunning as a rat

A mad galah; slippery as an eel; sly as a fox; blind as a bat

Imagine a scene from long ago if Thought Police had been around

When bush men yarned at the campfire and such terms did abound






Who are the phantoms driving without lights and changing our life?

Who finances it? And which of our authorities sanctions such strife? 

We must find an antidote to rid us of this terrible plague

It’s time for politicians to lead the way and to stop being vague 

To regain a way of life and end the thought of throwing in the towel

Before the basxxrds turn us into dingoes and all we can do is howl

George Mansford © may 2018

Poem – Today’s Ned Kelly

Questionable leadership by all political parties

Determining and implementing a tax regime which aims to keeps our nation content and productive, is clearly not an easy task. Given it would be mission impossible for many of us; we rely on our elected leadership to execute such measures to ensure unity, security, prosperity as well as planning  future  needs which will enhance our nation’s reputation as the Lucky Country.

Some of this we see and too much we do not.

Many of us are weary of political point scoring, bickering, the lack of mutual understanding and co-operation.  Ironically it seems, the only times we experience political unity (apart from personal gains) is when we go to war (often unwisely) or during serious tantrums by Mother Nature.

Many of us are weary of the poor standards set by governments of any brand with too frequent accounts of wasteful expenditure, lack of bipartisan support for future projects, splintering national unity and violating the very base of leadership with poor examples (Do as I say, not as I do) such as:
– Serious cuts to welfare and yet continuing to accept frequent increases to already lucrative parliamentary salary and allowances. At the same time
–  wasteful and expensive expenditure, individually and collectively, while urging thrift from the nation at large.

Among many questionable organisations is a very expensive Discrimination Board which far from being productive, spews out political correctness from an unedited homemade bible.   Far from uniting, it fragments our people with a theme of “them and us”

Spending billions on a conventional submarine fleet which will be operational in 25 years plus, despite the incredible speed of advanced science and technology as evidenced by the fact that other countries already have drone surface and underwater vessels on the drawing board.

The list goes on and on.

If only we had the vision to pay more attention to the basic essentials of our society which are needed to ensure there is a tomorrow. One of which is the education of our most valuable national asset, our youth, including physical, mental and social disciplines to meet the demands of an increasing complex society.  They will not master such essential skills by texting.

Tax by all means, but can we have more sense and purpose to what we do with it?


Today’s Ned Kelly

Ned Kelly robbed Banks to give to the poor 

He was a hero to the people, no matter where he rode

Today his iron is worn by others who steal even more

Their pockets heavy with coin as they dine in rich abode 

Politicians give from one hand and take more with the other

Always on Budget Night, smoke and mirrors are at play

Thus, no matter what is said, they’ll still tax your poor old mother

By hook or by crook, young, old and in between in many a sly way 

The fingers of Government are in every pie and prods you, soon or late

GST, Licenses, Registration, Tolls and many tricks and ruses unseen

Big Buckets, barrows and trucks of gold pour through treasury gates 

Yet national debt grows; and always is a red light and never, never green  

Whenever struggling folk dig deep into mostly empty pockets 

The greedy tax man is grabbing precious family crumbs as his share

If you dare to claim a deduction with a docket

Watch out for the red tape which will soon become your nightmare

Another budget speech has been given to all 

Glib political chameleons have spoken and confusion reigns supreme 

Our people have doubts with tomorrow’s journey and its Ports of Call

Mind you; we’re still not too sure where we’ve already been

Once were promises of infrastructure and intent for even the North  

New roads, dams, hospitals and the world’s food basket for all to see

The order was given for all of us to get ready to go forth

Now cobwebs and moss gathers where the rolling stone was to be


Ned of course knew none of this future deceit and foul play 

He was honest enough to say “Give me your gold or there’s strife”

If he had owned a crystal ball, and known of the legalized robberies today 

His last words could well have been “I was born too early; such is life”

George Mansford © May 2018

Opinion – ANZAC Message 2018 for Students – You are Them and They are You

100 years ago today, Australian troops played a major role in defeating the final German offensive of World War One. Against all odds, they achieved their victory by stubborn defence and aggressive counter attacks in the surrounds of a French village called Villers Bretonneux where even to this very day, the local community displays signs revering the Australian soldiers. 



One of the battalions was the 51st; your very own battalion which is still on the order of battle and is located here in Cairns. A member of the 51st Battalion, Lieutenant Sadlier was awarded the Victoria Cross for valour during the battle.

Before Gallipoli and the terrible years of war that followed, our soldiers had once been in schools not as expansive as yours and in a time when they wrote with slates and chalk.  Later, long before our space age, they learnt copy book writing with pen nibs dipped into ink wells.

Throughout our beloved land “Down Under” their footprints were seen and laughter heard in many a schoolyard.

They too questioned right from wrong.

They too tried every trick in the book to avoid or delay homework.

They too had their cowards and bullies lurking in the shadows.

They too were tempted to dare by what is now known as peer pressure.

As you can see, the challenges you confront, like theirs, are more than a few

Believe me, whatever your secret dreams, they too are not new.

When all seems to go wrong, just remember each and every one of those we honour had doubts of success and fear of failure, yet rolled up their sleeves and reached for the stars.

I knew some of the aging soldiers who had served in Gallipoli and subsequent campaigns in the deserts of the Middle East or muddy fields of France and Belgium. My stepfather was one of them. As an infant I watched many of their sons and daughters march through the streets on their way to another World War and then came a third generation who served in Korea, Malaya, Borneo and Vietnam. Since then many more have followed in bloody conflicts from Somalia to Afghanistan.

From Gallipoli to this very day, within our people has always been a sense of purpose, mateship, mischief, dry wit, humour and love of country. No matter where you were born, clearly the genes of national character are strong and contagious, for they are you and you are them.

Thus today there is a huge gathering of spirits who watch with pride as you young mortals confront life with its many challenges. The personal qualities of life which they demonstrated are precious gifts you can unwrap and use to pursue your tomorrow with much vision and hope.

In time it will be your turn to teach those yet to be born and pass on the same gifts as given to you, such as discipline, respect for each other, love of country, unity, sharing, caring and to keep going forward no matter the challenges being confronted.

You must never ignore such beautiful qualities of life that the ANZACs left as a legacy for you. They are not there to be prostituted but used wisely. Wherever you go and whatever you do, they too can be your strengths.

The following message has been printed for you, our leaders of tomorrow. Read and remember it well and then go forward with pride in who you are and confidence in what you can become.

God bless all of you, our nation, the ANZACs and all who have followed to protect our precious way of life beneath the Southern Cross.

GM April 2018



A Message from the ANZACs for Tomorrow’s Leaders

They watch with love as you, our youth pass by

They sigh with pride as at school, our flag flies high

They nod in understanding when you question right from wrong

They smile at your love of life, and why homework takes so long

They hear laughter in the schoolyard where they once did play

They too heard the bell and like you, a stampede to be on their way

They know too well of your dreams, for theirs were much the same 

They became ANZACs, and for you gave flesh, blood and pain

Their deeds and sacrifices are etched in history for ever and a day

At campfires mid the stars, in a message to you, they would say

“You are us; we are you and Down Under will always be our home

A special rugged land of rich beauty where true blues are grown

There are challenges to face, and many will be as a team together

Flood, drought or whatever; all as one from City to Never- Never 

Respect for each other; always going forward and never say die 

These are just some of the rules that were part of our battle cry”

Such are the wise words of ANZACs learnt from time gone by

Who left our shores to fight in foreign lands and where many now lie

They swore a sacred oath; believed in themselves and their nation.

The qualities they left us are not of war but from God’s creation

To share, care, love, master hope, courage and understanding

Going forward as one with purpose as they did at the historic landing

Read their message well to help arm for life in in your tomorrow

Stand tall; be confident of what you can do; now GO make it so


George Mansford © February 2018

Poem – Tic – Toc – Tic – Toc

ANZAC Day is reaching out and is a day when our nation stretches even taller.  Its main streets crowded with young and old mid a sea of waving flags. It is such a precious day which shouts to the world of our national unity and spirit. It is a time when we seek the past to reflect on who we were, are now and what we must strive to be. It is a stark reminder of those we honour who have defended a fortunate life now enjoyed by us. Our sacred duty, today, tomorrow and beyond is to keep it so. 

Today, we are living in what is rapidly becoming a fool’s paradise fertilised by political correctness and growing public apathy. Above all, with few exceptions are the inept politicians at all levels of governments who react far too readily to the demands of a noisy blustering minority within our society.

The consequence of our apathy is that our values of life are slowly but surely being eroded. Health, education and social disciplines are such examples, not forgetting our judicial system where the scales of justice have been tampered with to favour the guilty at the expense of the victims.

There are many contradictions in this frantic Space Age.

Our Politicians talk of unity yet all we hear is “Them and Us”

Once upon a time there was a beating of chests to claim one people, one flag, one nation and yet now we are running out of flagpoles for at least three flags which are to be seen in most government infrastructure. Is that national unity?

In parliament, so much squabbling and chest beating spent on trivia issues as opposed to unified efforts to pursue national matters, desperately in need of urgent repair

Once, free speech was a sacred right and yet now you cannot say what you want to say, without fear of being mocked, accused of racism or even worse.

We cannot sustain our chosen way of life unless we’re prepared to respect and protect it. You know it; I know it; the soldiers marching know it and those men and women from all those past generations who created and defended our nation with their own sweat, blood and tears  would have known it.





It’s time to roll up the sleeves and tell our elected political leaders to remove the blinkers and ear muffs. It’s time to tell all of them that enough is enough and take us forward, not as diverse groups but as one with a positive sense of purpose. The first step is for them to shove that political correctness where the sun never shines.   

George Mansford  April 2018


If you listen carefully as precious time ticks by

You will hear the spirits of our fallen in high pitched cry

Wailing with echoes bouncing to and fro of “Why, oh, why?”

As on wet park benches and gloomy dark streets; the homeless sleep

Gold coins for foreign aid are sent while our poor have none to keep 

Such irony that our past gave all to defend our nation with might  

Yet today, apathy abounds as values are slowly stolen without fight 

Sneaking closer are two legged jackals to steal, tear and bite

Read with awe of Kokoda where outnumbered youth stood fast

Sick, starved, wet and weary; defended our way of life to the last

Hear ghostly groans of despair as they study our space- age forts 

Carjacks, home invasion, terrorists, deadly ice and political rorts

No longer walking the streets at night unless with whistle and mace

In homes, security cameras, alarms and locks are always in place

Forget free speech; “the thought police” tell us what we can say 

Behind smoke screens, chameleons brainwash our young, day by day

Today, recreational drugs and joy riding in stolen cars are part of life

Fearing to be mocked if what you say is distorted as racist strife

The meek knock and wait; for others, red carpet and open door

How can you pay with empty wallets when tax men demand more?

In this maddening, changing place, just remember who’s in charge

Stricken circus clowns tumbling with visions from shimmering mirage

That noise you hear isn’t a Jumbo Jet or Tsunami in full roar

Its bitterness and anger of common folk, growing more and more

Past generations’ sacrifices were for a way of life to follow

Today, many a Judas takes pieces of silver to betray our tomorrow

Blood, sweat and tears is the call and no more national debts to seed

We must unite; regather past dreams and elect True Blues’ to lead

Only then, will we find happiness and pride, not despair and sorrow

Meanwhile, if you listen carefully as precious time ticks by

You will hear spirits of our fallen once more in high pitched cry

Wailing echoes still bouncing to and fro of “Why, oh, why?”

George Mansford ©March 2018

Poem – Memories The Ninth Battalion (Australia)

By Sun filled day and frosty night,

O’er rugged hills and desert sand,

We learned to work as teams, to fight

In jungles of another land.

From every city, state and town,

All the lovely countryside,

Impelled by Grim War’s cold, bleak frown,

Gathered we at fair Woodside.

And some of us were volunteers,

But mostly we young conscripts were,

With youthful hopes, ambitions, fears,

Young men’s dreams of love were there.

And lusts, for we weren’t choir boys,

Nor simpering wowser nor old maid;

We searched for brawling, drinking joys,

And chased the girls of Adelaide.

Oh, Adelaide, what wondrous pubs,

The Rundle, Gresham (Mind you Roy?);

The Western, Finden, all were hubs

Of social, sinful, youthful joy.

But scarce the city trips sublime,

Beneath the awesome stars our home,

And Sun-bronzed we became with time:

Leigh Creek, Cultana, ours to roam.

At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons ( honed our drills),

Formed section and platoon at Humbug Scrub – and that was fun.

We dug, dug, dug to prove to them that be our skills,

And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.

Canungra’s forest where, chilled to bone,

We learned to ambush, and by sudden flare to kill.

The Flinders Range, those hills of stone;

Shoalwater Bay did prove our skill.

And at the last and having passed our nation’s test

(for some a final accolade),

And to that question answered yes,

We bade farewell to Adelaide.

At Murray Bridge we fired our weapons (honed our drills),

Formed section and platoon at Humbug Scrub – and that was fun.

We dug, dug, dug to prove to them that be our skills,

And by night stood freezing piquet on the gun.

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.