Warrior Poet – Faith in Tomorrow

In recent times, my talks with youngsters of varying ages in North Queensland continue to reinforce my views of their immense potential for future leadership.  However, such assets may be lost, if we, as today’s torch bearers do not provide leadership including moral courage, social discipline, sense of purpose and more drive to protect our treasured values of life.

We can huff, puff and beat our chests and rightly claim with much pride, past achievements of our nation, yet such pride is diluted when we continue to have politicians wearing blinkers, labouring with heavy egos, and racing in sticky mud behind the pack. Our youth need to emulate leaders who lead.

Our tough and determined pioneers reached their goal of unity and independence by achieving Federation.  Our beloved ANZACs, their sons and daughters and subsequent generation have defended such unity and freedom with their blood, sweat and tears. In my view, the bible they passed on to us of “duty, honour and love of country” is gathering dust, and thanks to politicians of all types, has been replaced by a novel, titled “what’s in it for me?”

Today, not only is there procrastination and apathy but a willingness by our political leaders to appease and tug forelocks.  Our traditional cries of “A fair go for all” and “We are as one” have been replaced by a new Anthem; “Them and us” while political correctness is demanding we say and do what we are told to say and do. There must be sound example by all of us for our youngest generation to follow and emulate. If we fail to set the right standards, then we have betrayed those who lit the torch, and subsequent generations who carried it.  Have no doubt, even our fiery torch without the right fuel will die.

Our leaders at all levels need to roll up their sleeves, use the right compass and once more find and use the track which made our nation a lucky country. The youngsters who will carry the torch into their tomorrow are waiting.

George Mansford April 2019

            

  ANZAC Spirits visit Saint Mary’s College

With pride and joy, all students in the hall shout “We are as one’’
Such a strong call reaches for the High Heavens where life begun 
Via green fields, dusty paddocks and surf where heroes once played  Past shearing shed, factory, office or mansions where they stayed  Then become faint echoes bouncing to and fro as shadows grow tall Suddenly a whispering breeze reaches out with ANZAC coo- eeee calls

It brings a message where the fallen speak with pride of you
No better compliment, for they use the term, Young True Blues

“Stand tall, stay together and help mates who are falling behind
To share with each other and knowing the truth, speak your mind

The best way to protect your values of life is never to ignore its rules
Truth, respect, duty, honour, love of country are essential tools

Set the examples for the next generation which will follow you Freedom of speech and action are precious gifts to use; not abuse
Be alert for evil which can slowly surface to erode a free way of life Your strength is to be united, all as one, be it in peace or strife
Learn as we did, of those before us who also gave blood, sweat and tears 
They changed Colonies to Nation, slowly but surely, year after year.”
  

The gentle wind pauses and a brief silence again
Then in the distance the faint sound of tramping boots reigns

Column of ghosts gathering at Memorials we hold so dear
Ready to mingle with the living at the coming of dawn does near
For a short-time, the fallen are home again; waiting for a new sun
So proud of youngsters who yesterday had shouted “We are as one”
C

George Mansford © April 2019  

AND THEN AT DAWN – 25 April 2019

                      Rain Drops or Tears on ANZAC Day

Columns of Spirits wearing battered slouch hats join us as we mourn Soldiers from some generations, long before were born
They watch as many wreaths for them are carefully laid
Listening via crackling, shrieking microphone as tributes are paid That is not the wind rustling as the bugle sounds
It’s our confused, unhappy, restless ghosts flitting round and round

The Brown Shirts of Berlin with different names are back again Scheming, heckling, bullying, and threatening is part of their game Masters of political correctness vilifying those with other views Politicians still planning for yesterday know naught of what to do False green Prophets guide two legged sheep towards a Utopia never to be
The Spirits whisper “what worth duty and our sacrifice to keep Australia free”

Disabled war veterans searching empty pockets listen too
While buckets of gold are paid to retiring Suits for what they didn’t do
Our sovereignty stolen, be it farms, ports and so much more, day by day
Free speech is the cry, but toe the politically correct line with what you say
Now it seems.
diversity not unity, is the strength of our land
What odds of foreign compass and our heads soon buried in the sand?

Ghosts of Pioneers mingle with our fallen and groan with disbelief Freedom with their pain, sweat and tears slowly stolen by a thief More sad news on hearing that many nursery rhymes are taboo
Like Hitler’s bonfire of truth, some of our books are off limits too Drugs, home invasions, carjacks and fear of walking streets at night Rhetoric and band aids with flawed scales of justice never get it right

The parade is over and the Spirits from yesterday’s nation fade away Australia bleats, as politically correct shepherds gather more strays Teams of coloured shirts gather at polling booths on Election Day
Free to harass, pester and lie to ensure the vote goes their way
Dark clouds rumble and wetness falls from a darkening sky
Is it rain? or angry tears of the fallen as they ask “why?” 

George Mansford ©April 2019

Sabotage at its Best

Enough is enough. Today, we are seeing new rules of engagement being developed to appease a few and which are highly questionable. The very base of our proud military is being exposed to a new rule of “them and us” with some receiving special treatment. Do the experts really believe this will enhance team cohesion and spirit? And what of sense of purpose, individual and collective pride and battle discipline?

Thus my scribbles scrawled in haste and anger this very morning. I make no apologies for any of my comments.

George Mansford 

                 Sabotage at its Best

The military brass of the space age is at it again
Besotted by political correctness and seeking more fame
Bowing to Canberra Masters who know naught of bloody war
Changing the rules and not knowing what for

Who cares about extra risk to pilots and crew?
The bridge must be destroyed even if we lose a few
However, if women are gathering firewood in the area as well
To attack or abort is the decision for pilots to make and later tell

Orders are orders and the air crews think they know what to do
Ground fire is heavy and casualties more than few 
Is that a woman with firewood as the attack is about to begin?
A split second decision determines if they lose or win

No doubt, ruses from past wars will always be the go
Add to the list, lots of firewood carriers running to and fro
Our sky warriors, obeying such orders will suffer loss and pain
Then the fools who made the rules will each receive more medals again

When will this the madness stop which erodes purpose and spirit
Why blunt a very sharp sword with stupidity that seem to have no limit
Team spirit will dim and sense of purpose with pride will surely wither
Unless we rid ourselves of political correctness and Blimps who grovel and dither

George Mansford  2019

A Tribute to Our Caesar in Khaki and Jungle Green

Today, on behalf of all who at one time or another served under such an outstanding officer, I now write of him, Major General Ron Grey, OA, DSO, (rtd). A soldier we called Caesar and still do with immense pride.  

Our Caesar was God, and his bible was to be read and obeyed. It included commandments on many essentials so critical in war. He was tough and demanding. Failure was not included in his dictionary.  He was never forgiving in regards incidents of poor leadership, and always was his interest in the welfare of his soldiers, as well as an ability to recognise individual weaknesses to be rectified and strengths to be exploited.  Caesar never asked a soldier to do what he as a leader had not already done, and quite often led the way with soldiers who were yet to meet their first challenge. 

He administered military justice with the wisdom and force of Solomon and more often than not it was severe. Always was his objective to achieve a very high standards of battle discipline, be it peace or war, and he did.  He was very much admired by his troops; however, as is the way when enduring physical and mental challenges in a harsh and unforgiving environment, there were a few who had different views. Their service was brief.

From a young Lieutenant in Korea commanding an infantry platoon, then later as Chief Instructor of the Battle Wing at Canungra preparing troops for operations in Vietnam, followed by commanding an infantry battalion in Vietnam and ultimately as a General in charge of Australia’s Field Force.  In all commands, he left huge footprints for all who would follow.  A further challenge confronted him when the government of the day selected him to command Australia’s Federal Police. Yet again he was held in high regard.

So many soldiers who served under him, no matter when or where, still remember him with much admiration and respect. Perhaps such reflection by old warriors from far distant years is the most powerful accolade that any group of veterans could bestow.

It is a long time since we grounded arms and there is a common view within our ranks that before any more leave Planet Earth for distant places, there should be final tribute we can deliver. Thus a token of our recognition is enclosed below to remind the old bxxxxxrd of our high regard for him as a mentor, disciplinarian, comrade in arms, and commander who was, is, and always be our Caesar.

Hail Caesar

George Mansford

                             Caesar Still Lives 

                                             Major General R.A. Grey AO, DSO                       

                            A salute from all his centurions, living and dead

Find me the soldier who speaks of Caesar gone
Take his name, for he is so wrong
In dreams we follow him again into the fog of war, night or day
Look and you see him here, there, and everywhere, leading the way

Hear his sharp spurs to counter fear and capture pride
Laughter and camaraderie at camp fires with centurions by his side
See his torch of honour, love of country and duty burning bright 
A flame in our column forever and a day, and always in sight

Listen to the tramp of many willing feet marching as one
His stirring spirit going forward to the rhythmic beat of our drums  When the bugle calls, he is there as our flag’s raised high
His legions, eager for life, yet when duty calls, ready to die

Have no doubts, our beloved Caesar will always be there
Mid the ranks of today’s warriors standing fast and soon to dare
Now go find me the soldier who says Caesar has gone
Take his name, for he is so, so wrong

                      Hail Caesar

GM-©Cairns NQ February 2019

Running Free

             For those who have loved and lost

Running free, just the two of us together
Rain, hail, sun; who cares what weather
We were so young, you and me
Hand in hand together; running so free

Sharing the road of life
Side by side, husband and wife
Happy, carefree, undaunted and searching for tomorrow
Our strength was faith in the milestones we followed

Oh, the sweetness of our time
I was hers, she was mine
Such strong pulse beats of life as we ran free
We kept running, just the two of us, my true love and me

Today, the pace slows as I search the path behind me
No longer my beautiful mate can I see
My heart is heavy and I am so lonely
So many milestones and no longer am I running free

Silence broken by rasping breath and other faltering signs
Missing is the familiar fleeting shadow running next to mine
If only that flitting image was still dancing here and there
Yet than can never be, besides, sweet memories are every where

My love would not want my journey of life to quickly end
So I must gather pace before the next stone marker around the bend
Soon or late, I will find her at the end of my journey, waiting for me
Then, forever and a day, together, we will be running free

George Mansford ©March 2019

A Salute to the Space Age Florence Nightingales

I decided to let all of you take a rest from my cluttering scribbles and thus moved to into hospital for a short stay of five weeks, before I managed to escape via a tunnel I had dug with a stolen spoon. It was a good time to reflect on all those yesterday’s and how fortunate I was to have been born is such a lucky country as ours.

Mid the sick,  be they old and young and from all walks of life, there was always the grin, the humour  and respect for each other and often a humorous tale from yesterday. Above all was the highest regard and admiration we had for the staff, from the youngest of  the cleaners to the seniors within the medical profession.   Many of the teams were nurses, always at the front line, so to speak. They were constantly exposed to an environment of pain and suffering. Often was their soothing reassurance to someone in fear of the unknown.

Thus this short  note below was sent to their office, hopefully to be seen by all of them.

                                        THANK YOU

“It is close to my escape and it would be very remiss of me not to thank all of you for your tireless dedication and valued assistance in my rehabilitation.

There were so many wonderful qualities which all of you demonstrated in the course of your duties; they included tolerance, patience, cheerfulness, sense of purpose and many more.

The challenges you set were so appropriate, and in a short time the achievement of personal goals became addictive.

All of you deserve recognition for recovering those from illness and injuries then preparing health, mind and confidence for each and every patient’s tomorrows.

For my experience , all I can say is thank you.

My immense respect and admiration to each and every one of you.”

George Mansford – March 2019
Prisoner, Cell 6, Level 2

A SALUTE TO SPACE AGE NIGHTINGALES

“The magic lantern still burns bright”

          Nightingales so busy in towns and the outback far away
Where “I need help” is a common plea heard every day
Blood tests, sutures and injections are a few of many tasks
Always a reassuring smile when a patient asks

If you whirred back in time to a war long ago
You would find a weary angel at Balaclava, nursing to and fro
Guided by a flickering lantern in dark crowded tents for sick and dying Young and old, stricken by wounds, fever, misery, pain and heavy sighing

I know naught of Florence’s dreams for all those tomorrows
Yet history records her crusades to counter pain and sorrow
Always was the pride of her noble profession no matter when or where
She became a bible of discipline, team work, respect and care

New deeds are added to her path of never ending footprints every day
She endured with strong heart and clear sense of purpose in many ways Sleep sound, Florence;  those who follow will use your true compass well
In today’s army of mercy, your lamp burns bright for disciples with tales to tell

“Space age nurses standing tall have answered the call”

George Mansford – March 2019

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