Tweaking Madd - Volume 1 Issue 2

VOLUME 1: ISSUE 2 DaviD clifforD photography

Tweaking Madd Magazine is an online collaborative eMagazine by Communications students studying through Open Universities Australia.

index

contents

Meet the people..........................4Praise and recognition................5Unhappy Homecoming...........6-7History questions........................8When Fritz achieved hisprofound stupid..........................8One soldier’s story......................9Australia under attack..........10-11Studio..................................12-13Life changing news...................14ANZAC technology..................15The dawn of lies..................16-17The random power station........18Lists of Australians awardedthe Victoria Cross.....................19Australia...................................21Book reviews............................22Film review...............................23Food recipe...............................23Writing competitions................24Toenail Clippings......................25Find-a-word..............................25

creDitsEditor...Cheryl Van Hoorn

Assistant Editor...Manisha Kumar

Production Manager...Michelle Jenkins

Proof Reader...Tracy Ellison

IT Support...Alan TaylorMichelle Jenkins

Business Administration...Diane ConnorCarolann DavisCyra AlcockAnne ChampionAlison Payton

Policy Publication...Diane ConnorChristina Fox

Contributors ...Cheryl Van HoornChristina FoxManisha KumarMichelle JenkinsAlan TaylorTracy EllisonTami BrowElleran Field-LaganKathy PK ThompsonKylie CoulterRyan Van HoornKylie CoultierDanika Allen-McAuliffeCarolann Beardmore

Cartoonist ...Tony Jenkins

[email protected]

facebook... https://www.facebook.com/groups/238459382898809/

twitter...@TweakingMadd

Blog...http://tweakingmadd.blogspot.com.au/

eDitor’s letter

It is that time of year once again...Anzac Day; the day we honour those who have gone before us and the sacrifices made by both men and women at home, and abroad. This leads to reflection on the current status of our armed services and those past.

We have been under the erroneous preposition that our great country has remained safe from invading forces and from bombardment but this is not the case. Our country was invaded; our country was in flames. During WWII Darwin was bombed and Sydney Harbour was invaded by the Japanese. This edition of the magazine will examine the sacrifices made by all our Anzacs.

The role that women played within the war effort was significant, many single women and mothers going to fill the roles their men folk could no longer do whilst they were overseas at war. This is an area of unacknowledged sacrifice and effort for an entire nation and one we need to be proud of.

Then there was the sacrifice of the men themselves, whether it was the trenches of Gallipoli, to the fields of Flanders to the deserts of Afghanistan and Iraq, bought about by the senseless violence of 9/11 and Bali. We will endeavour to honour those who have sacrificed their lives so we can live with freedom and with honour and with choice.

CheersCheryl Van Hoorn

ISSUE 02

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Alan TaylorAlan left school at 16 and studied signwriting, mixed with design. When the industry moved from hand-painted signs to computers, Alan switched careers and entered IT. After working in IT for 20 years and staring at server event logs became a bit of a chore, Alan decided that his creativity wasn’t being exercised, so he decided to try his hand at writing. He loves reading thrillers and his spare wardrobe is full of books which he decided he’d better not add to, so he went to Kindle instead. Alan lives in Sydney with his wife and no cat or dog.

Christina FoxKnown to her close mates as Cricket - is originally from Ohio but now calling Adelaide home since September of 2000. With her daughters Kendria and Alisha, along with Alisha’s husband Tyler and their new daughter Elizabeth all back home in the USA, becoming a published writer has been a lifelong dream and it was time to fulfil that promise Cricket had made to herself all those years ago when she put her life on hold to have a family. Growing up in a rural farm community reading and writing became a way of escaping boredom. Cricket was almost always found with a journal or notebook writing about events happening around her or what was going on in the rest of the world. Now along with new life experiences and a fresh voice it’s time to explore her new life with her husband Phil of eleven years and life in Australia.

Kathy PK ThompsonPK is a long-time student who started studying in 2005, because she needed something to do to get her out of bed in the morning. Depression, Anxiety (social and general), Fibromyalgia, Carpel Tunnel Syndrome and a number of other health problems means that she can only study one subject at a time, and since PK has changed her degree goal since starting, it is still a few years before she is finished. Digital Scrapbooking is her main hobby outside of study, and took it up at the start of 2010 as a hobby that didn’t require physical strength. PK doesn’t work for money, but does volunteer work for the Anglican Diocese of Rockhampton, looking after their website and being editor of their monthly publication. (What does PK stand for? That depends….)

Manisha KumarCurrently residing on the Gold Coast, Manisha lives with her lovely husband and two boys. She will be studying Bachelor of Arts (Professional Writing and Publishing) at Curtin University and is looking forward to the new challenges. She enjoys eating, reading and writing in her spare time and entering writing competitions all over the world. She placed Third (3rd) in the Western Pennsylvania Romance Writers 2010 Annual Bump in the Night Competition. Manisha’s aspirations are to one day open up her own publishing company. Her favourite authors include Maya Banks, Lori Foster, Lora Leigh, Jessica Shirvington, Kresley Cole, Becca Fitzpatrick, Victoria Dahl, Lauren Kate, Richelle Mead, Hannah Howell, Jennifer Rardin, Suzanne Collins, Christopher Pike, Rachel Cain, and Susan Elizabeth Phillips.

Michelle JenkinsMichelle joined the Tweaking Madd team in December 2011 when they were looking at publishing the first issue. The ever so enthusiastic student, she was thrilled to be involved in digitally producing such an exciting project. Michelle is studying towards a Bachelor of Internet Communications through Curtin University. Her background is in administration and she fondly remembers learning to type on an old Canon electric typewriter which her mother had brought home from work when the company upgraded to their very first computers. Fast forward twenty odd years and now she has a whiz bang Mac with all the bells and whistles....studying web design. She married to her child-hood sweetheart, has two children and lives on the Central Coast of New South Wales.

Tracy EllisonTracy is a stay at home mum of two little boys who are two of the greatest parts of my life. Besides having a diploma in Interior Design and Decorating, a diploma in Professional Proofreading, Editing and Book Publishing, she is in her second year of earning her Bachelor’s in Arts, along with studying for my diploma in Creative Writing. She loves reading and writing for her kids, trying to keep her two dogs (but not succeeding) out of her garden and watching movies. Any other free time she manages to get is spent thinking of ways to redecorate her home.

Meet the people

Tami Brow Tami is studying for a Bachelor of Arts in Professional Writing & Editing, alongside a Bachelor of Accounting She is married with 3 children and enjoys movies, music, reading and of course studying. Her goal is to be able to one day write a novel.

Cheryl Van HoornCheryl was born in Australia more years ago than she cares to remember. She is married with two teenage sons with a few surrogates as well. Quiet often it is not surprising to wake up in her house with two or more strange children sleeping in various places.

Cheryl began her working career at McDonald’s Kings Cross which she found interesting in the extreme. Some of her greatest friendships have arisen from this period of her life.

Cheryl entered the University of Sydney as a mature age student studying a Bachelor of Applied Sciences, Nursing. She matriculated in 1991 and commenced work at Prince Henry Hospital where she was to meet her future husband and the father of her children.

Around the time of the birth of her second child Cheryl experienced an onset of pain throughout her body and she has since been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and Mixed Connective Tissue disorder.

For the last ten years Cheryl has been a stay home mother and dealing with her disorder. She is currently studying a Bachelor of Communications with a double major in Film and Creative Writing.

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After the release of Issue 1, staff at Tweaking Madd received an email from Griffith University praising us for our professional publication...

Dear Cheryl

Firstly, well done! What a fabulous idea and achievement. I think it is great that you have been so proactive and have created your own e-zine. I am copying this email to our Head of School and Colin, your COM14 tutor.

Cheryl, would you mind if I pass this information to our external relations people and our School of Humanities web developer? I would like to see at least one of those areas showcasing your achievements. I can’t promise this will happen but I do think it deserves recognition.

Are you all Griffith students? If you can give me an appropriate contact name, I will get in touch with a couple of people and see if I can get you some publicity. I think such achievements by our students should be celebrated.

Well done again and best wishesElizabeth Burrows,Griffith University

praise anD recognition

Kathy pK thoMpson

katHy pk tHOmpsOn


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After the horrors of fighting in World War 1, Australian servicemen were looking forward to returning to their

home country. What they came home to was not what they expected.

They came home expecting a welcoming public, the same public that was so proud to send them off. They thought they’d resume old jobs, start new ones offered to them by admiring employers and be looked upon as the brave men they were. It was not like they were looking for kudos on their war effort, they just wanted to be able to resume their lives but this did not happen.

The harsh reality was that many were injured, broken and lonely. The mateship they’d formed on the battlefield was so intense that no civilian relationship could compare to it. Jobs, which they thought would be waiting for them, were in the hands of men who hadn’t volunteered for service, and women, who were being paid lower wages. There was no room in the workforce for the numerous men returning from war.

With their futures uncertain, many withdrew into themselves. In mateship it was an unspoken code; you did not speak about the war. It was too personal and it what they experienced was not fit for peace time. This coupled with a society that had changed, they felt they had no place. And so began the RSL’s. Often they would meet up in what was then known as the Returned Soldiers’ Club Rooms. There they could talk easily with each other about what they’d been through, what they were currently going through and help others who were worse off. They would also use this forum to set up memorials for their fallen mates.

These meetings eventually grew into an organisation called the Returned Soldiers’ Association. The Association grew and in 1916 it became Returned Sailors and Soldiers Imperial League of Australia. In 1940 the name changed again to Returned Sailors’ Soldiers’ and Airmen’s Imperial League of Australia, and eventually in 1990 changed to Returned & Services League of Australia – more commonly known as the RSL.

“The RSL formed up as a lobby group but also to support one another and they were able to continue that personal contact they had. They all had something unique that the rest of Australia never had,” says Don Rowe, State President of the RSL in New South Wales.Countless soldiers needed the support, as anger and frustration set in over not being able to find employment. Broken promises by businesses not willing to re-employ returned soldiers also fuelled these emotions.

For some employers, this was justified, as many men sustained injuries and could no longer work in the physical capacity they were able to before joining the war effort. “Many guys came from rural areas. The jobs weren’t there. And they had injuries also. If you look at the casualty lists, it’s not just those who got left behind on the battlefield. They came back with injuries and diseases that people had never heard about such as mustard gas or trench foot,” says Don Rowe.Mustard gas was used as a weapon by the German army in 1917. It was dispersed using artillery shells and was absorbed into the body not only via the lungs, but also by the skin.

It caused golf ball sized blisters, irritation of the eyes, blindness and internal blisters in the throat which, in severe cases blocked the air passages.

Trench foot however, was not a weapon. It was caused by exposure of the feet to cold and damp conditions. The name came about as soldiers, fighting in the trenches that protected them from small arms and artillery fire, suffered it due to water settling at the bottom of the trenches. It caused numbness, swelling and blisters leading up to gangrene and, in more serious instances, amputation.

Despite permanent disablement and other types of trauma, there were no pensions, no compensation and no counselling of any type. The servicemen realised that they had to not only help themselves financially but voice their concerns to the government.

“A lot of the funds that came through were raised by the servicemen, but the main thing they did was to lobby the government and the government finally recognised that there was this whole generation that suffered because of its service,” says Don.

As if financial hardship wasn’t enough, the ex-servicemen found it difficult to integrate back into a society that, at times, was openly hostile against them and the war. The RSL was central in overcoming the difficulties they faced.

“The RSL was instrumental in integrating the soldiers back into society. There was no other organisation, but the most important thing was that those who returned bonded together to look after those mates who weren’t as well off. They all struggled however. “But they wouldn’t have gotten through without the help and support of one another,” says Don. “If you talk to your family about it they’d say ‘Johnny wasn’t the same when he came back home to what he was when he went’. Of course he wouldn’t have been. And they never really understood why he changed when he came back. He couldn’t talk to mum or dad because what he was talking about, they had no idea of. They couldn’t relate to him. That’s why the RSL became such an important and strong mob to them. They got together, they socialised, met up. They looked after one another.”Although they had the support of their fellow soldiers, many suffered greatly from the effects of war. Some soldiers fell into a deep depression and committed suicide. Later wars and battles have also deeply affected returned soldiers.

“In the Vietnam War, it took a long time for the governments to recognise post-traumatic stress and the effects of chemicals. In the First World War the soldiers were just referred to as having shell-shock which these days would be diagnosed as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” says Don.

Shell-shock, as it was known at the time, was greatly misunderstood. Soldiers were fighting in extreme conditions at the bottom of trenches that were filled with limbless and dead comrades. They lived constantly with the fear of being severely injured or killed themselves by the constant barrage of artillery fire. It affected soldiers in a wide variety of ways including nervous tics, panic attacks and mental and physical paralysis.They were ridiculed on the battlefield as they were looked upon as cowards. In the British army, some soldiers refused to obey orders and were shot on the spot. Others were court-martialled and executed. Eventually it was recognised as a very real condition and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is still a relevant topic today.

Troops coming home from the Middle East and other areas of service are still affected and it is still an issue for returned service men today. However it isn’t just the well-known effects of war that has captured attention. There are also the unknown affects. Studies have found that there are a number of conditions that could have far reaching impact on our young soldiers in the future. One of those is Repetitive Concussion Blast.

“There’s a lot of study at the moment of Repetitive Concussion Blast. They’ve discovered in America that the same thing happens with Gridiron players. Even though they wear helmets, a number of them have ended up with severe multiple concussions and they found out later on that it brings about early dementia and loss of brain capacity. So the Americans have done some interesting work on that. They actually have their troops wear a little gauge inside their helmets and if they are subjected to a severe concussion, they’re taken out of the battlefield. It all depends on the reading of the blast. If it is minor they might have up to a week off the battlefield. But if they suffer a major concussion blast they might have two or three weeks off the battlefield, for complete rest.”

With conditions such as these, Defence authorities need to be aware of the impact on deployed troops. Australia currently has approximately 3300 Defence Force personnel deployed to a number of different locations.

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“In the Vietnam War, it took a long time for the governments to recognise post-traumatic stress and the effects of chemicals. In the First World War the soldiers were just referred to as having shell-shock which these days would be diagnosed as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” says Don.

Shell-shock, as it was known at the time, was greatly misunderstood. Soldiers were fighting in extreme conditions at the bottom of trenches that were filled with limbless and dead comrades. They lived constantly with the fear of being severely injured or killed themselves by the constant barrage of artillery fire. It affected soldiers in a wide variety of ways including nervous tics, panic attacks and mental and physical paralysis.They were ridiculed on the battlefield as they were looked upon as cowards. In the British army, some soldiers refused to obey orders and were shot on the spot. Others were court-martialled and executed. Eventually it was recognised as a very real condition and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is still a relevant topic today.

Troops coming home from the Middle East and other areas of service are still affected and it is still an issue for returned service men today. However it isn’t just the well-known effects of war that has captured attention. There are also the unknown affects. Studies have found that there are a number of conditions that could have far reaching impact on our young soldiers in the future. One of those is Repetitive Concussion Blast.

“There’s a lot of study at the moment of Repetitive Concussion Blast. They’ve discovered in America that the same thing happens with Gridiron players. Even though they wear helmets, a number of them have ended up with severe multiple concussions and they found out later on that it brings about early dementia and loss of brain capacity. So the Americans have done some interesting work on that. They actually have their troops wear a little gauge inside their helmets and if they are subjected to a severe concussion, they’re taken out of the battlefield. It all depends on the reading of the blast. If it is minor they might have up to a week off the battlefield. But if they suffer a major concussion blast they might have two or three weeks off the battlefield, for complete rest.”

With conditions such as these, Defence authorities need to be aware of the impact on deployed troops. Australia currently has approximately 3300 Defence Force personnel deployed to a number of different locations.

These include Afghanistan, East Timor, Egypt, Iraq, Middle East, Solomon Islands and South Sudan. Approximately 400 are also on active duty protecting Australia’s borders. In Afghanistan alone, 33 Australian soldiers have been killed since troops have been deployed.

“Sadly, we don’t have to think about it until we have a casualty and then we realise what is happening there. These days also, many of Australian troops have multi-deployments. Many have been back there up to seven times in some cases. A lot of the time they do their time there, come back home for a while and go for another six months. It is a lot different to the First World War. Some of those guys went away in 1915 and didn’t come home until 1918.”Whilst Australian soldiers no longer are deployed for three or four years, it is comforting for them to know that they have a network of support that the older veterans fought to establish. And although the government has stepped up under the influence of the RSL, the RSL still has a vital role to play.

“The RSL still assists those coming back from the Middle East. We’re finding more and more of them are coming to us for help. They are still looked after by the Department of Veteran Affairs or the military but we provide help with documentation and advice and the way to go forward. The other things we are doing more of, is helping those in the Defence Force who are ill and their families as well. Even those families whose spouses are overseas, we’ve helped a number of them with issues.”

While the RSL provides substantial help for families, another service is also available. After returning from the Vietnam War, veterans founded a free service called the Veterans and Veterans Families Counselling Service, commonly known as VVCS. Its staff are specialised in providing service-related counselling for veterans, peacekeepers and their families.

There are other organisations that also look after Veterans and their families.

These include:Legacy – Cares for the families of deceased and incapacitated veterans http://www.legacy.com.au/

AVCAT – Assists with the costs of full-time tertiary education for veterans’ children and grandchildrenhttp://www.avcat.org.au/Home.aspx Vietnam Veterans Association of Australia – Formed to highlight Vietnam Veterans’ health issues with Agent Orange http://www.vvaa.org.au/index.htmThe dangers are still there and for today’s soldier war is still far more than a video game and the follow on affects can last for years. However, with organisations dedicated to look after Australian soldiers and their families and to provide a voice for them, hopefully the horrors that afflicted the early veterans will be far less of an issue in the future.

With days such as Anzac Day increasing in popularity it’s good to see Australians learning from the past and remembering the sacrifices paid by soldiers in the battlefields. Sacrifices that weren’t just lives lost in war but futures lost back home.

To encourage Australian troops today, messages can be sent via the Australian Defence Force website.

Please visit the link below for more information.http://www.defence.gov.au/people/message_to_troops.htm

For more information on the Veterans and Veterans Families Counselling Service see their webpage via the following link.http://www.dva.gov.au/HEALTH_AND_WELLBEING/HEALTH_PROGRAMS/VVCS/Pages/index.aspx.This service can be accessed 24 hours a day by calling 1800 011 046.

Alan Taylor

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http://www.legacy.com.au/

http://www.avcat.org.au/Home.aspx

http://www.vvaa.org.au/index.htm

http://www.defence.gov.au/people/message_to_troops.htm

http://www.dva.gov.au/HEALTH_AND_WELLBEING/HEALTH_PROGRAMS/VVCS/Pages/index.aspx

http://www.dva.gov.au/HEALTH_AND_WELLBEING/HEALTH_PROGRAMS/VVCS/Pages/index.aspx


a n Z a C d a y - H i s t O r y Q u e s t i O n s / w H e n F r i t Z a C H i e V e d H i s p r O F O u n d s t u p i d


Being an American, it’s taken a bit to fully understand why it’s so important here on ANZAC day. War is a difficult time anywhere in the world but here especially I have come to discover...Aussies

are an extremely proud bunch, just as the Americans are but for some reason the value and history is the difference.

History is the key I am beginning to discover. Sure in school we learn about the wars and everything that has taken place, but how many of us have truly gone to the places that we have studied in school. The knowledge that the guys and gals have about that time is invaluable. Sure in America we take the time to stop and remember those we have lost but how much do we honestly know about that time?

I think that time is the key to all of this, it’s events in history that have changed the way we think, how we feel and what we know. It’s what we have learned, who we have lost and have we taken those stories and ideas and passed them down through the ages to those in the younger generation who are connected to the history from their grand-parents and great grandparents.

In the USA, the older folks of that time are not really valued, talked with or their stories recorded for future generations. I truly think that is sad because of the lost knowledge that is dying with each digger that we lose. It’s those men and woman who have shaped our country. Why is it that the most important people, with the most important information about our history are not valued more?

It’s the stories of those people who were there when history was made. No matter what part they played, it’s those stories that tell the history of what happened. The medals and what they stand for, if they were on the front line or just a cook in the mess, all of the stories are important. Those stories need documented in books, blog, videos any way to safe them for future generations to learn. The medals need to be passed down, along with photos to preserve those memories. My husband Phil served as a cook in 3 battalion and shares stories with me about things he did and places he went. Those stories are as important as those who served on the front line in any war.

The two places I would love to visit are Pearl Harbour and Gallipoli, two places steeped in history and full of stories. I can’t even begin to imagine what those men and woman went through in those places. It’s not only the people that were there but those waiting at home, fathers and mothers, extended families and what they went through waiting for news of their loved ones. I can’t even begin to imagine what they went through just waiting for word. We take for granted how priceless those letters from home would really be.

This piece started out one way and has turned to another, it has become a reflection of questions that need asking, and things that need to be recorded for future generations Stories and places that need to be preserved for the future generations to come. We are all connected to history in many ways, I don’t know how or what history I am really connected to but here’s the question…..

How well do you really know your countries history and can you pass it on to future generations?

Christina Fox

history QUestions

When fritZ achieveD his profoUnD stUpiD

There is a look of embarrassment that cats achieve when they do something profoundly stupid. It occurs in all ages and with all breeds and does not spare the dignity of the individual. Each

cat achieves it at some point in their lives and assiduously avoid it. This is the story of how Fritz achieved his profound stupid.

Fritz, the elderly cat, stood in the field of sun-raised golden dandelions and rich lush grass. Right there, straight ahead of him stood the bird. It had alighted in front of him as he slept. Fritz was stretched in the warmth of the sun, its radiance the only buzz he needed until the sound of wings woke him. He opened his eyes to the sight of the bird.

There was nothing special about this bird, Fritz was hardwired to rise to the chase. These days he was getting a little more selective about who and what he chased. He breathed in deeply and the smell of the bird saturated his senses as he took a cautious step forward. In another step he would be in pouncing distance. With one more sniff he took that step.

Just as his instincts had alerted him to the bird, his heightened hearing picked up a strange beating sound that caused his heart to hammer harder. His ears twitched but he did not take his eyes off the bird which was now grooming itself, loose feathers flying: Fritz tensed his muscles, ready to pounce. As his front feet left the grass it happened.His nose tickled and his body reacted in shock. Rather than the graceful leap that the cat had envisaged, his dignity mocked him as he went spread-eagle on the grass in front of the bird which flew off in a startled flap of wings.

Fritz lay there for a moment, contemplating his lost dignity, the expression of embarrassment frozen in place, only the grass and the bird witness to it. Swatting at the butterfly that had landed on his nose he rolled over shaking his body. He looked across the field and with a puff of dignity, curled up in the sun again.

Cheryl Van Hoorn.


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one solDier’s story

Patrick Seymour-Allan was little more than a boy when he signed up with the 2nd Battalion AIF to fight in the Great War.

He was born in Surrey, England, in 1897, the eldest of two sons, to his English father Charles, an engineer, and his Australian mother Eveleen, eldest daughter of Brisbane brewer, gold prospector and politician, Patrick Perkins.

A family history of creative personalities and scandalous events would prove to cost him dearly in his army career.

The divorce of his parents and the alleged theft of his mother’s jewellery by his father were reported in the Truth newspaper in the 1890’s and brought about an infamous libel case against the paper.

Charles Seymour-Allan was awarded 1,000 pounds compensation even though the newspaper story was, for the best part, true.

Patrick attended St Ignatius College, Riverview in Sydney where he was a keen musician playing violin for the college orchestra and was a noted scholar for French and Writing.

In 1915 at age 18, he enlisted in the army at Warwick Farm where he was declared fit to serve and was transported from Sydney on the troop ship ‘Euripides’ to Europe.

A colourful career ensued in the following four years.

Patrick was well known for his disagreements with authorities and for his ‘inability to resist temptations when on leave’.

In 1916 he was transferred to the 53rd Regiment, 2nd Battalion when it was raised in Egypt and during that year he fought at the Somme in France and in particular the terrible battle of Fromelles in July 1916.

Fromelles was the first battle fought by the Australians on the Western Front and losses of more than 5,000 men were recorded.

The attack was intended as a ‘feint’ to draw the Germans’ attention away from the Somme offensive however it was quickly recognised as a ruse and had little impact on the battle at Somme to the south.

During his time in France Patrick was charged with two counts of military misconduct being ‘absent without leave’ and further ‘hesitating to obey an order’.

The fines for these were ‘the forfeiture of two days pay’ and ‘three extra days fatigue respectively’.

He survived the battle at Somme and the second battle of Bullecourt and Polygon Wood.

His light hearted, devil may care attitude soon landed him in trouble again in 1917 when he was court marshalled for going absent without leave in London whilst in possession of a leave and railway ticket that did not belong to him.

This time his penalty was 160 days in detention and the forfeiture of 185 days pay.

During this time his mother, Eveleen, was unaware that her son was in detention and finding her letters to Patrick unanswered for this period she feared the worst.

He served 100 days of his detention and was given a remission of sentence for his good conduct and application to training and rejoined his unit in June 1918.

Patrick was in charge of a Lewis Gun team and took part in attacks at Morlancourt, Peronne and Bullecourt.

The Germans needed to succeed at Morlancourt as this would give them access to the British front lines, the area where the railway line passed through Dernancourt, and eventually the more important railway centre at Amiens.

The Australian third division fought at Morlancourt between March and May of 1918 and were successful in halting and causing the retreat of the German front line until they were relieved by the second division, of which Patrick was a member.

In 1918 he was noted in a congratulatory message for his initiative and tactical understanding, extraordinary courage and bravery by General Sir Harry Rawlinson.

The Corps commander singled Patrick out for gallant service in providing extensive covering fire and for courage and bravery and he was awarded the Military Medal with Bar and was promoted to Lance Corporal in December 1918.

His promotion was considered remarkable in light of his prior record of misbehaviour.The Military Medal was considered to be a prestigious award, given for bravery in the field and was considered the ‘field’ equivalent of the Military Cross.

Australian War Memorial records show that of the 416,809 men who have fought for Australian in the First World War, 472 men were awarded the Military Medal with First Bar.

Patrick returned to England in 1919 and a short time later was transported back to Australia.

The gas attacks that he had endured in 1918 left him with an incurable condition and at the age of 22 he died of tuberculosis at the Woodville Red Cross Home at Randwick that same year.

Patrick was one of the ‘lucky’ ones who returned to Australia even though he died from the effects of war a short time later.

Over 60,000 men died at battlefronts fighting for their country and 156,000 were wounded, gassed, or taken prisoner.

Lest we forget.

Acknowledgement to family members and to James Rodgers, author of “To Give and Not To Count The Cost”, a history of Riverview and the Great War.

Carolyn Seymour-Allan (Patrick’s great niece)

On a bright sunny day in Darwin it began raining bombs. It was the 19th of February 1942 and the war came home to Australia.

Darwin was, at the time, a small outpost town that was growing through the America’s use of the Territory as an Air Force base. A small squadron of Kitty Hawks were stationed at Darwin, all in various states of repair. The attack on the harbour was a prequel to the attack on these American planes.

Japan had already taken Singapore along with China and it was a bare three months after the bombing of Pearl Harbour. This attack was led by the same Japanese commander and off the same aircraft carriers that were used to bomb Pearl Harbour.

The only strategic point to the mission was not for invasion of Australia. It was aimed at demoralising us as a nation and testing our defences which at the time were critically low. Most of our service men were in active duty overseas, caught in a bloody war of attrition in Europe that was as desperate and as frightening as any war in the history of our world for in loosing this one we would lose freedom and ethnic cleansing wold be part of the norm.

The bombing commenced around 10.00am that day with little warning. A stray plane had flown over head and by the time it as recognised that it was not of our making it was gone and the long range bombers were moving in in a V formation. The primary target of this incursion was the harbour and the town itself.

The first bombs struck the harbour, aimed at the over 250 ships docked there. Some Australian and some American. Exploding ships caused fuel and oil to spill out and the fire from the explosions ignited this fuel, spilling into the harbour and setting the sea on fire. Many of the men stationed on the ships were either thrown into the harbour or jumped in to escape the flames only to find themselves engulfed.

The bombers moved further into the town aiming their missiles at the post office to knock out communications and the Air Force base in order to knock out the planes. Many were destroyed however fighter pilots were able to field some planes into the air and strike a counter attack. They were severely hampered by lack of ammunition, the wrong ammunition and elderly planes. It was an attack that no one had expected.

The post office managed to evacuate before being hit. Those employed there gained the relative safety of the bomb shelter that was said to be the best in town and that it would take a direct hit to know it out. The bomb that found it was a direct hit and all inside perished.

The service men in the town were scrambling for defence. There were gun turrets and defences but again the ammunition was of poor quality and they struggled to shoot man to plane. One service man that became renowned was in the shower when the bombs hit. He ran out wrapped in a towel and in his boots, grabbed the nearest weapon he could and began firing. During the course of this his towel slipped and fell and he stood firing on the Japanese planes in all his glory. There was no time to retrieve the towel such was the urgency of the situation.

Back at the harbour things were grim. The sea was on fire and in that fire men were dying. The wharf had been hit and service men were either cut off with fire below and fire ahead. Some took their chances in the seas and others held hope of rescue. Soon, however, the rest of the wharf was destroyed by a Japanese bomb.

There were great acts of courage that day. The man with the towel, the men who saw the danger and launched a boat anyway into a burning sea of fire to rescue as many as they could and the men that towed the injured into shore with no thought for their own safety.There was cowardice as well. There was only nominal governance of Darwin at the time, it was not a State and as such had no Premier. The man in charge of the town, instead of rallying troops in the aftermath of the initial bombing, set to clearing out the official residence of its fine wine and china. In the aftermath of the attack he was relieved of duty and widely criticised for his actions.

The initial raid lasted for approximately an hour. There was a respite of another hour and then the bombings commenced again. This raid was mainly centred on the air field this time and the town and the base could do little but hunker down and wait for it to end. This raid ceased after an hour as well. In the days after the raids the citizens of Darwin evacuated in droves, including the military and headed for Adelaide River. It became known as the Adelaide River run.

Incursions and bombings into Darwin lasted well into the next year and prompted Prime Minister Curtain to move to bring our troops back home for defence over the objection of the British Military.

This is a story that I grew up with. The invasion of Sydney Harbour. It was a part of our family folklore. My grandfather was a Marine and had been in service with the British Navy until he immigrated to Australia with my grandmother and my mother. He then transferred to the Australian Navy and served until his death. He was on duty on Garden Island as part of the Military Police the night of the 31st. I have his medals that he earned that night. My sons have worn them with pride to Anzac Day celebrations.

It started out as a quiet night. The usual in patrolling, checking the ships and boats in the harbour; the USS Chicago was in and the ferry the Cuttable had been refitted as a accommodation vessel and housed Australian and English service men. There was time for

a chat with mates and a smoke too. It was Sydney Harbour; no one truly expected an attack even in

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The initial raid lasted for approximately an hour. There was a respite of another hour and then the bombings commenced again. This raid was mainly centred on the air field this time and the town and the base could do little but hunker down and wait for it to end. This raid ceased after an hour as well. In the days after the raids the citizens of Darwin evacuated in droves, including the military and headed for Adelaide River. It became known as the Adelaide River run.

Incursions and bombings into Darwin lasted well into the next year and prompted Prime Minister Curtain to move to bring our troops back home for defence over the objection of the British Military.

This is a story that I grew up with. The invasion of Sydney Harbour. It was a part of our family folklore. My grandfather was a Marine and had been in service with the British Navy until he immigrated to Australia with my grandmother and my mother. He then transferred to the Australian Navy and served until his death. He was on duty on Garden Island as part of the Military Police the night of the 31st. I have his medals that he earned that night. My sons have worn them with pride to Anzac Day celebrations.

It started out as a quiet night. The usual in patrolling, checking the ships and boats in the harbour; the USS Chicago was in and the ferry the Cuttable had been refitted as a accommodation vessel and housed Australian and English service men. There was time for

a chat with mates and a smoke too. It was Sydney Harbour; no one truly expected an attack even in

light of the bombing of Darwin February and the recent bombing of a Russian ship in Newcastle Harbour. It was Sydney Harbour.

The first hint again came with a low flying plane launched again from the same air craft carrier that had been responsible for the bombings of Pearl Harbour and Darwin. It was noted by the USS Chicago and logged. No one thought much of it.

Off the heads of Sydney there were three Japanese submarines that carried with them two miniature submarines a piece. Manned by two Japanese sailors these subs made their way into the harbour, riding on the back of the Manly Ferry. Due to this the sub was not discovered as it was under the radar. All that registered was the ferry. This miniature submarine became entangled in the anti-submarine cable. The sailors attempted to cut themselves free and this attacked the attention of personnel on Garden Island. One service man rowed out to see what was happening. He was startled to discover the entangled sub. His own astonishment was mirrored in the response of those in command; it took him nearly two hours to convince them that it was actually there. The captain of the submarine, realising that he had been detected detonated the vessel killing all on board.

Once there was confirmation it was too late; another sub had entered the harbour. This one was not submerged however and the USS Chicago sited the mini submarine, raised the alarm and fired upon the ship. The ship was not hit and veered, the Chicago fired again. The submarine submerged only to surface again near the HMAS Canberra off Farm Cove.

The first incursion of the submarines was at approximately 8.00pm; a blackout of the harbour and surrounding areas was not ordered until 11.00pm and the air raid sirens were sounded. The Navy mounted and fired from the gun turrets that dot the shores of Garden Island. The guns fired for 15 minutes as Sydney fought back. Residents, not sure what was happening retreated to their bomb shelters to wait out a nervous night. Again the midget dove to the bottom of the ocean; again it was a waiting game.

The same submarine resurfaced an hour later between the USS Chicago and Bradley’s Head. This time the submarine fired his tow torpedo’s at the USS Chicago. The first torpedo missed, the Chicago berthing onto the shores of Garden Island and did not detonate. The second one missed the Chicago again, went under a Dutch submarine and landed again on Garden Island. This one did detonate causing the bulk of the damage that day. The blast sank the HMAS Kuttabul, killing 19 Australian servicemen and two British sailors who were asleep on board. The others were wounded in the explosion.

Although 3 subs entered into the harbour that night only the second one caused damage. The other submarines either made their way back to the mother ship or were entangled in the lines of the antisubmarine cables strewn through the harbour. With the third one caught and no hope of escape, they again took their own lives.

In an act of supreme courtesy and respect the Australian Navy buried these Japanese sailors with full military honours. It was an act of courage that did Australia proud.

My grandfather was awarded 2 medals for his work that night. My grandmother told me that the day he received the medals he sat on the bed and he laughed. He did not think that they were heroes. He said that no one knew what they were doing and it was an act of controlled chaos. He said they just did their jobs.Just doing their jobs was what was needed. Their courage, strength and dedication in one of the darkest hours in Australian history have not been forgotten. It envelops everything that Anzacs are about and the courage that has defined us.

Cheryl Van Hoorn

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Now you would think that snow would be sort of soft to crash

into, not so when you're an airplane. So when a small plane crashed over snowy hills in the middle of nowhere, seriously injuring everyone on board , including a baby girl, she was very lucky that a hermit witnessed it all and managed to save her. He nursed her back to health, raised her on his own, giving her all the love, wisdom, education and happiness he could. The old hermit had no teeth of his own left in his mouth and false teeth hurt his gums, so when he tried to teach the baby girl to say 'Pat' it kind of came out as 'Pud'. And so that's what she called him- Pud. He named her Studio. Studio grew up fiercely independent, living in the

middle of nowhere. Surrounded by snowy mountains all year round and never seeing another human face apart from 'Pud', you'd expect no less. Once every so often Pud would hike off into the wilderness and return with food and supplies a few days later. Studio loved the days she got to herself while he was gone, it left her free to roam further up the mountains than she had been before, to venture out on the frozen water and to chase foxes and other wildlife without Pud following her around telling her she must be careful. Sometimes she wondered what other places were like, how many other people there were, and why there was no one else living near them in their snowy wonderland. As she got older she would pester Pud more and more to take her with him when he went, wherever he went, to get supplies... “No.” was always his answer. But she never gave up hoping to wear him down. Now as I'm telling you this it is almost that time again, to go and get supplies. Studio has packed a rucksack with enough food, water and clothing to last her the five days it normally takes Pud to make the round journey- six if the weather turns bad.

“You're not coming,” said Pud gruffly, “we go through this every time and the answer is still no.”

Hauling her pack onto her back defiantly, Studio disregards what Pud has said and stares him straight in the eye.

“How long do you think we'll be gone for? The weather looks pretty clear. We could carry twice as much stuff back with two of us, so we'd only have to go half as often.”

Pud exasperatedly huffs “You are not coming! I have said it a thousand times. You cannot come with me to get supplies. Can't you hear what I am saying?” Pud asks shaking his head. Studio's eyes brim with tears as she shrugs her pack from her back and throws it at him.

“It's really not fair. Why do you hate me? Why are you so nasty to me? You don't let me do anything!” Studio almost knocks Pud over as she pushes past him to get out of the room, her vision clouded with tears.

Pud slowly takes his pack off and lowers it to the floor shaking his head, he'd never seen Studio so upset before. Perhaps, he thought to himself, she could come this time, perhaps he had been wrong not to take her earlier. He set about making a cup of tea, and waited for her to return. Now I’m not sure if you are aware, but at higher elevations the pressure on water is reduced, meaning the temperature at which the vapour pressure equals atmospheric pressure is also reduced. Basically, water boils sooner at higher elevations, and it also boils at a lower temperature, so when it boils it’s not really hot, hot. So Pud had time to make two or three slightly warm cups of tea and drink them while imagining that they were toasty hot, before Studio returned. While she was gone Studio stomped her feet, punched the snow, waved her fists at the sky, lay on the ground sobbing, cried and yelled and screamed at the mountains until she had no more energy left. When she was exhausted she made her way back to the cabin expecting to find that Pud had left with out her. As she entered the cabin she didn’t see Pud quietly waiting for her. She continued wiping tears from her eyes and bent down to take off her wet things.

“I apologise for being so adamant and closed-minded about you coming with me.” Pud took a step toward her as she stood up. “But there are things you must know about the outside world before you venture into it, and things you must know about yourself. Please, sit down, I have much to tell you”. Two days later, having come to a mutual agreement, Pud and a newly enlightened Studio began the long, slow descent down from the snowy mountaintop, over the icy cliffs and across glaciers into the nearest village for supplies. There were strict conditions that Pud had set, that Studio had to agree to for him to allow her to go with him. She must stay by his side. She must not run ahead. She must not talk to strangers. And she certainly must under no circumstances take off the boots he had made her wear, or the mittens – for reasons which will soon be clear. By the time

Pud had finished laying all the ground rules Studio was so eager that she would have agreed to anything if it meant she could go. It would be a strange new world for Studio, a strange new world that would make her brain tingle with excitement. As they neared the village her excitement got the better of her and she forgot everything Pud had told her earlier and ran ahead. “Studio, no! Come back!” Pud cried out and quickened his pace in a desperate attempt to catch up to her. Studio either didn’t hear Pud, or chose to ignore him and continued running on ahead. She entered the village like a little kid in a lolly shop for the first time, as excited as anyone ever could be, her heart pounding with anticipation. Now when I say village, I don’t mean town, I mean teeny, tiny remote-in-the-hills village. 15 people, tops. People live their whole lives here in this teeny, tiny village without stepping foot outside it. There was little or no electricity depending on the weather. No phones, and definitely no outsiders - except Pud, but he’d been going there so long he was basically a local now. These people where so remote they had only heard of what a big city was like and seen pictures, but had never been to a village bigger than theirs, let alone a city.

stUDio: faDe in

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Hauling her pack onto her back defiantly, Studio disregards what Pud has said and stares him straight in the eye.

“How long do you think we'll be gone for? The weather looks pretty clear. We could carry twice as much stuff back with two of us, so we'd only have to go half as often.”

Pud exasperatedly huffs “You are not coming! I have said it a thousand times. You cannot come with me to get supplies. Can't you hear what I am saying?” Pud asks shaking his head. Studio's eyes brim with tears as she shrugs her pack from her back and throws it at him.

“It's really not fair. Why do you hate me? Why are you so nasty to me? You don't let me do anything!” Studio almost knocks Pud over as she pushes past him to get out of the room, her vision clouded with tears.

Pud slowly takes his pack off and lowers it to the floor shaking his head, he'd never seen Studio so upset before. Perhaps, he thought to himself, she could come this time, perhaps he had been wrong not to take her earlier. He set about making a cup of tea, and waited for her to return. Now I’m not sure if you are aware, but at higher elevations the pressure on water is reduced, meaning the temperature at which the vapour pressure equals atmospheric pressure is also reduced. Basically, water boils sooner at higher elevations, and it also boils at a lower temperature, so when it boils it’s not really hot, hot. So Pud had time to make two or three slightly warm cups of tea and drink them while imagining that they were toasty hot, before Studio returned. While she was gone Studio stomped her feet, punched the snow, waved her fists at the sky, lay on the ground sobbing, cried and yelled and screamed at the mountains until she had no more energy left. When she was exhausted she made her way back to the cabin expecting to find that Pud had left with out her. As she entered the cabin she didn’t see Pud quietly waiting for her. She continued wiping tears from her eyes and bent down to take off her wet things.

“I apologise for being so adamant and closed-minded about you coming with me.” Pud took a step toward her as she stood up. “But there are things you must know about the outside world before you venture into it, and things you must know about yourself. Please, sit down, I have much to tell you”. Two days later, having come to a mutual agreement, Pud and a newly enlightened Studio began the long, slow descent down from the snowy mountaintop, over the icy cliffs and across glaciers into the nearest village for supplies. There were strict conditions that Pud had set, that Studio had to agree to for him to allow her to go with him. She must stay by his side. She must not run ahead. She must not talk to strangers. And she certainly must under no circumstances take off the boots he had made her wear, or the mittens – for reasons which will soon be clear. By the time

Pud had finished laying all the ground rules Studio was so eager that she would have agreed to anything if it meant she could go. It would be a strange new world for Studio, a strange new world that would make her brain tingle with excitement. As they neared the village her excitement got the better of her and she forgot everything Pud had told her earlier and ran ahead. “Studio, no! Come back!” Pud cried out and quickened his pace in a desperate attempt to catch up to her. Studio either didn’t hear Pud, or chose to ignore him and continued running on ahead. She entered the village like a little kid in a lolly shop for the first time, as excited as anyone ever could be, her heart pounding with anticipation. Now when I say village, I don’t mean town, I mean teeny, tiny remote-in-the-hills village. 15 people, tops. People live their whole lives here in this teeny, tiny village without stepping foot outside it. There was little or no electricity depending on the weather. No phones, and definitely no outsiders - except Pud, but he’d been going there so long he was basically a local now. These people where so remote they had only heard of what a big city was like and seen pictures, but had never been to a village bigger than theirs, let alone a city.

As Studio walked into the village the locals saw her and fled in horror. Some gasped, some ran in their huts and slammed the doors, only to peak out through the windows looking scared. Some even yelled out in their native tongue, “A demon!” which luckily Studio didn’t understand and she chose to imagine they were saying hello and she waved at them and smiled. When Pud eventually caught up to her he was out of breath and puffing madly.

“Are you alright?” he asked Studio who was looking a little forlorn. “I told you not to run ahead didn’t I?” He placed his hand on her shoulder and steered her through the rough huts scattered around – the village was too small even for roads, so all the buildings were kind if jumbled together in a higgledy-piggledy fashion. “Come on. The trader is this way.” As they made their way to the traders the locals ran together from hut to hut and all came out to have a look at Studio as she went past. Occasionally one would gasp on seeing her, but mostly they would whisper between themselves. Studio was starting to feel terribly self-conscious about the reaction she was getting from the locals, she had stopped waving and smiling watching them whisper, and couldn’t hide it as her eyes filled with tears. Her head hung down as she looked at the ground before her and kept walking. When she looked down she saw that one of the boots Pud had made her wear had fallen off, presumably while she was running. No wonder all the villagers were reacting the way they were on seeing her. Pud had warned her and she had no one to blame but herself for running ahead and entering the village without him. She tugged at the back of his coat.

“One of my boots has come off.” He turned to look without stopping, “Never mind. Can’t be helped now, they have already seen.” He held the front door of one of the huts open and motioned to her to go through. “Here we are.” he said as they made their way into the traders hut.

The traders hut was very warm and cosy. It was mainly cosy though because so much stuff was crammed into such a small space you could hardly breathe, let alone move. So cramped in fact that the warmth from their breath was nearly enough to heat the hut, cold as it was outside. A funny looking little man popped up from behind a heavily laden shelf and greeted Pud in bad English.

“Eyo vere!” He said turning his gaze to look at Studio over the top of his glasses. “Huh?” He said to Pud pointing at Studio “Boo zis?” presumably saying “Hello there! Who’s this?”. “This is my daughter, Studio.” Pud replied. “Remember the baby I used to bring here all those years ago?” The trader scratched his head and looked at the roof like he was trying to scan through the oldest shelves of his memory.

“Dah! Mess! Di belember! Pot roe qinndle ow!” What he was actually saying was, “Ah! Yes I remember! Not so little now!” He smiled at Studio as he looked at her until his eyes fixed on where her missing boot should have been. He lowered his glasses down his nose and shook his head making a tut-tut sound, “Hag egg poo ticks led...” which meant “Bad leg not fixed yet?”

To be continued

Elleran Field – Lagn

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14 t w e a k i n g m a d d i s s u e #002 — a p r i l 2012 Follow us on twitter

life changing neWs

“We have breaking news from the USA.” With these seven words, Sandra Sully changed our lives forever. Phil and I always watched channel 10 nightly news with Sandra Sully airing late at night it became a habit was and part of our evening routine. Phil was in

the kitchen making coffee and I was changing into my jammies when we heard those words.

There was gravity to Sandra Sully’s voice that caused a mad dash to the lounge room to find out what was going on. As I settled into the lounge I discovered that the first plane, American Airlines Flight 11, had already flown into the North Tower. It was surreal, my mind refused to take in what I was seeing on the screen. It was like the twilight zone, being stuck in a place where everything had stopped. As we were sitting, this story unfolding in front of us, United Airlines Flight 175 came into the shot and to my horror, flew directly into the South Tower. Neither Phil nor I could believe what we were seeing. The world as we knew it changed for ever.

I was sitting in the lounge room of my newly adopted country watching my homeland under attack from an enemy that we had little idea of. All I could do was watch in horror, helpless as many lives were lost; people would never again see friends and family, see a sunrise or celebrate all the little things we take for granted. It did not stop with the assault on New York, but continued with two more planes that were still in the air: American Airlines Flight 77 flew into a corner of the Pentagon killing nearly 300 people, and United Airlines Flight 93, was headed for the White House or the Capital Building.

In the coming hours, we sat and watched as New York City came to grips with what was unfolding. With transport and communications shut down. The only way home was to walk. All forms of emergency personal were deployed and many of these same emergency services personal personnel lost their lives in executing rescues. Entire companies lost their men. It was like watching an apocalyptic event and there was not a thing I could do. I don’t think I have ever felt more helpless.

I have two daughters who live in the US and fortunately they were safe in other parts of the country, but this did not mean that I felt secure in knowing that. I felt the urgency to call them. Due to the sheer number of calls to the US, it was difficult to get through. Even though I knew my girls were OK, I still had to talk to them, make sure they were coping with all that was going on. After a short conservation with them, I was relieved to know that they were coping OK; their lives, like those of the rest of the world had changed forever and there was nothing I could do to protect them. Every parent everywhere could do little to protect their children from this. It was an attack on a magnitude that was unforseen and unimaginable. Even the attacks on Pearl Harbour did not cause the same devastation to the psyche that this one day had caused. It was inescapable all over the news, and raised many questions. The overwhelming question being ask was a simple: “WHY US?”

Later I was talking to a close mate of mine in Pennsylvania to see how she was coping when she commented about a low flying plane over head. We kept talking as she moved out to her front porch and commented how low it was. I got word from her later that the plane had gone down near her, in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. It was Flight 93, and in one of the greatest shows of courage, when the passengers who were able to get phone calls out, were told by friends and family of the news of the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. When these passengers became aware that their own plane was high-jacked, they took decisive action and gained control of the cabin and forced the plane down to prevent a repeat of the World Trade Centres and Pentagon incidents. Their selfless courage saved many lives on that day in 9/11. In the days after 9/11 just being out and about in Adelaide was a bit of a challenge and a change. You could see that everyone was on edge, and on public transport it was unusually quiet.

There were times that Phil and I were in the city and people overheard my accent and stopped us. I had no clue who these people were; they were strangers who enacted a simple act of kindness that helped to cope with the devastation of my homeland. All they did was to ask how I was and to give me a kind word or a cuddle. For some strange reason, it was a comfort; just to have that little bit of support from strangers I didn’t know drew us together by an event that was meant to be decisive.

As bits and pieces came in over the next hours and days, more and more of the story unfolded. Airspace over the USA was shut down completely and information began to emerge of the amazing air traffic controllers who had the unenviable task of sorting out which flights had been taken over and which flights were safe. Stories emerged from the towers of acts of bravery and courage that brings tears to my eyes today. Stretched and overwhelmed, these men and women did a tremendous job, risking their lives, sometimes with the knowledge of certain death. The cost to America was tremendous. Not just in loss of life, the cost was far more than fiscal; it was devastating and brutal. Whole station houses lost their rescue crews, morale was gutted and the country was crippled by uncertainty, waiting for fresh attacks.

However this act of terror, the burning buildings, the crashing planes, and people jumping to their deaths to escape a fiery hell, was well served by New York’s Mayor at the time, Rudolph Julianne. A steely determination emerged from the wreckage. During a period of time clouded by uncertainty he stood tall and led the city through its darkest hour.

The years have slowly passed and we have done what Doctor Phil calls “A New Normal.” Figuring out how to get on with life, still protecting ourselves but taking the time to stop each September 11 and remember how life changed that day. A few years ago I saw a movie called “Flight 93”. It was the real life depiction of what had been known as the missing flight, Flight 93. You get drawn into the movie and begin to know some of the people who were on that plane. This is what makes all that transpired all the more gut wrenching. As the movie draws to a close, you see the plane heading straight for the ground, the screams and the sounds of the plane going down cause a counter point to the sudden and final silence that follows as the screen goes black. The impact of the movie is profound and honours those who died on that plane in that field in Pennsylvania You could hear a pin drop, the silence is so total. There is not a sound, not a breath; there were chills and tears as we all looked at each other, not saying a word as the credits rolled. Mary Elizabeth Frye wrote a poem that I think we can all take some comfort from:

Do Not Stand At My Grave

Do not stand at my grave and weepI am not there, I do not sleepI am a thousand winds that blowI am the diamond glint on the snowI am the sun on the ripen grainWhen you awaken in the morning hushI am the swift uplifting rushOf quiet birds in circling flightI am the soft star shine at nightDo not stand at my grave and cryI am not there, I did not die

Christina Fox

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When people think of technology, they mostly think of computers, TVs, smartphones, etc.

According to Merriam-Webster however, the word ‘technology’ is defined as “a manner of accomplishing a task, especially using technical

processes, methods, or knowledge”. So when Britain didn’t have the technology with which to cripple Germany’s dams at the heart of the German war industry, they created it. The dams provided hydro-electric power and clean water to factories for manufacturing steel.

Taking out the dams would not be easy. A dam wall is thinner at the top so dropping a bomb would need to be accurate. Accuracy however, would be difficult as the dams were heavily guarded with anti-aircraft guns. Another idea was to use a bomb of ten tonnes and drop it from 40,000 feet. Accuracy was not important as the huge bomb would bury itself in the ground and the effect of the explosion would simulate an earthquake. At the time though, the RAF did not possess an aircraft capable of lifting a bomb that large to such a high altitude. Firing torpedoes at the dams was also dismissed as the dams were protected by anti-torpedo nets made of large steel rings.

The solution to the problem seemed almost impossible. However, a man named Barnes Wallis remembered that in the 19th century the British Navy would bounce cannon balls across the water to increase their range. He set about designing a bomb that would eventually destroy two German dams and impair a third, using the same delivery method.

In 1942 he started tests in his garden using a catapult, marbles, a tub of water and a board. He shot the marbles using different speeds and angles and marked the distance on the board.

Later that year he moved to the National Physics Laboratory in Teddington. He had a small dam built there and tested a little amount of explosive on the wall of the dam. He was focused on his idea and tied up the pool for 5 months, much to the annoyance of the committee there. The progress he made enabled him to design a full-size prototype.

Early prototypes were sphere-shaped, with dimples like a golf ball. Testing proved that this golf ball model was unpredictable in its bounce. The tests also showed that a spherical casing would shatter on impact with the water. Further experimentation showed that an oil drum-shaped bomb would follow the path it was dropped at and remain intact. Spinning at 500 rotations per minute (rpm) in an anti-clockwise direction, the bomb would hit the dam wall and instead of rolling up, would roll down the wall into position where it would detonate. The resulting shockwave would weaken the dam wall. The pressure of the water behind the wall would do the rest.

The odd shape of the prototype presented its own problems. The RAF did not own any aircraft capable of launching a four tonne cylinder-shaped bomb. Being an aircraft designer, Wallis modified a Lancaster bomber. The modification allowed the bomb to hang underneath the plane, spinning anti-clockwise at its required 500 revolutions per minute by a Vickers hydraulic motor.

The anti-clockwise revolution wasn’t the only discovery Wallis made. He found that the planes needed to fly at 390 kilometres per hour, 18 metres off the surface of the water. At such a low altitude, the pilots found that their altimeter could not be relied upon to keep them flying at the correct height. Engineers found a simple solution to this. They placed two lights underneath the aircraft, one under the cockpit and the other behind the bomb. When the two pools of light merged forming a figure ‘8’, the aircraft was at the correct height of 18 metres. The combination of aircraft speed, altitude, bomb backspin and design produced a bomb that was capable of bouncing up to seven times across the top of the water.

With testing underway, choosing men to fly the planes was the next step. The whole project was veiled in secrecy. The air-crews chosen were not told the mission objective until the very last moment. Of the 133 men chosen, 13 were Australian and two were from New Zealand. RAF Wing Commander Guy Gibson was given the task of turning the airmen into an elite squadron of precision pilots. All had to undergo low-level flight training.

“We were tearing around this country day and night, flying just above the treetops and everybody was complaining about it. The public were in an outrage. I mean, you’re going to bed at night and a Lancaster comes over at about 50 feet, over your house, you’re not very happy about it,” said Ray Grayston, one of the flight engineers.

“On one occasion we ended up at the bombing range to do a practice bombing run. We were flying at 30 feet, and somebody flew underneath us,” said George Johnson, a bomb aimer in one of the air-crews.

Once they were trained in low level flying and the day of the mission arrived, the air-crews were told the objective. The mission was organised in three formations with a total of 19 aircraft and 133 airmen. The dams were full of water from the spring rains. The night was moonlit and clear; the ideal conditions for breaching the dams.

Weather conditions were ideal, but flying into enemy territory looking for a target that was heavily guarded, was not. The flood lights on the aeroplanes, that enabled them to fly at 18 metres, were seen by the enemy from three kilometres away and the aircraft came under heavy fire. The men continued on with their mission though, with plane after plane lining up to continue the attack. A number of planes were shot down. One was severely damaged and crashed when it was caught in its own bomb blast after the bomber had released the bomb too late. Two dams, the Möhne and Eder Dam, were significantly breached in the operation. A third dam, the Sorpe, was damaged but not breached.

The air attacks were costly in terms of human life; 53 airmen died in the attack. Meanwhile, according to later estimates, around 1,600 people died when the water from the damaged dams flowed into the countryside.

The attacks came under scrutiny in later years due to the human cost involved. Critics have challenged whether the destruction off the dams had as much of an impact on the war as first thought. One thing that cannot be challenged is the huge increase the mission had on British morale.

Below are the names of the Australian and New Zealand Airmen who flew in the “Dambusters” attack:

Australian Airmen

• Pilot Officer Frederick Michael Spafford• Flying Officer Anthony Fisher Burcher• Flight Lieutenant Harold Brownlow Morgan Martin• Light Lieutenant Jack Frederick Leggo• Flight Lieutenant Robert Claude Hay• Pilot Officer Bertie Towner Foxlee• Flight Sergeant Thomas Drayton Simpson• Flight Lieutenant David John Shannon• Flight Lieutenant Leslie Gordon Knight• Sergeant Robert George Thomas Kellow• Flight Lieutenant Robert Norman George Barlow• Flying Officer Charles Rowland Williams

New Zealand Airmen

• Flying Officer Leonard Chambers• Flight Lieutenant John Leslie Munro

Alan Taylor

anZac technology

“Bankers, bootmakers, bakers and broompushers. Come one, come all. Sign up to fight the Hun alongside ya mates. What awaits ya? Prestige, praise and honour, that’s what. Where boys become

men and men become heroes.”

I wish I’d ignored that call back in 1915. Truth be told, I didn’t know any better. I was a farm boy and the only excitement I got was a weekly glimpse at my best mate’s sister’s undergarments on wash day. Youth, a future, bliss, all lost. Enlisting was voluntary. Idiot I was. Oh don’t worry, we patted each other’s backs and celebrated by gorging on booze and tobacco. We looked to Mother England for guidance.

Lies.

All of it.

And as I sit here in my wheelchair fifty years later on ANZAC day, I want to scream at these idiots proclaiming us heroes.

Dawn service; what a stupid notion. I hated being up this early, but I hadn’t seen a full night’s sleep since I was enlisted anyway. My mind always had to be awake for 5 AM. 5 AM. Every day, 5 AM. But I still hated it. Too familiar, the quiet on the breeze, the growing chatter of waking animals. It’s when we would attack; it’s when the raids happened. It’s when my friends died.

Back then, every first light was a possible last day.

“Grandpa, are you okay?” Emelia, my daughter’s youngest child reached out to hold my hand. Her bright eyes sparkled with life and hope. This day out of all days the anger whirled inside of me; the flashbacks raged like a violent storm in my mind. Was I okay? I had never been okay and I never would be.

I moved my eyes to look at her and she smiled at me knowingly. I couldn’t give her much more of a response, but she knew. She was smarter than these fools with their flowers and sentiment, grieving into their handkerchiefs. They keep telling me that this was what I’d fought for, for my children’s future, for my grandchildren’s future. But what did we accomplish that day?

Now, men in uniform walked past me and saluted. Saluted me? Back then I was just a numeral, a pawn on a chess board. Today, I’m all dressed up and revered you see; wearing my slouch hat, medals and uniform. Government issued. They give me a free one every year, formal attire for a formal day. You’ve got to look your part when mourning. You’ve got to look snappy when strangers try to sympathise; strangers that had never seen war or had ever felt hungry. They’re sad and thankful for my efforts. They can keep their thanks.

My daughter, Vivian, placed Emelia on my lap now. She loves to sit on my lap. She swung her legs back and forward and listened intently to the man giving a speech. Fine words. “We are grateful to those heroes that died…” I heard him say.

Bastard!

We weren’t heroes. The men that died hadn’t been heroes. A hero is someone who willingly puts themselves in danger to save others, to protect others, if and only if they have a choice. Sure, I had a choice at the start, but once I was there on that beach there was no going back. Only forwards. My legs ran and my body followed and my mind trailed somewhere behind. In fact, it had never really caught up. It was overwhelmed you see and damaged now, by what I’d been launched into; a sea of bodies, literally. Bloody, salty ocean water.

There was no choice in being brave. There was no choice in the risks we took. Those risks saw most men die. Men shook, trembled and clutched at missing limbs - kissing photographs of loved ones for inner strength. Conviction that the love they had for those at home would get them through without dying. A bullet in the gut was the best you could hope for, but no-one admitted it. We were ignorant and those in charge were heartless.

In that place all hope rested on God, and by God I mean luck. Men retreated into the furthest parts of their minds to escape the blood, the slaughter, the constant gun fire, bang bang, bang bang, BANG. The cries of men lying helpless and injured out on the field echoed through the night. Sleep was as far away as home was. Rest became an illusion- a dream that was never realised.

And the itching, the constant itching. Even now I can feel the itching on my legs; the bugs that constantly crawled, digging into my skin to feed on my blood. Back then I took to daily chatting, which was the act of vigorously squashing the seams of my clothes to kill the fleas. We’d tried drowning them in the salt water - the mongrels seemed to like it, so they multiplied. Yep, pinching the seams was the only way to kill them. It was either that or fight naked. And when I wasn’t itching, I was fearing for my life. You don’t notice being eaten alive when you’re being hunted like a dog. “Grandpa, blink if you can hear me.”

I blinked. She giggled.


a n Z a C d a y - t H e d a w n O F l i e s


T h E d a W n O F L I E S

There was no choice in being brave. There was no choice in the risks we took. Those risks saw most men die. Men shook, trembled and clutched at missing limbs - kissing photographs of loved ones for inner strength. Conviction that the love they had for those at home would get them through without dying. A bullet in the gut was the best you could hope for, but no-one admitted it. We were ignorant and those in charge were heartless.

In that place all hope rested on God, and by God I mean luck. Men retreated into the furthest parts of their minds to escape the blood, the slaughter, the constant gun fire, bang bang, bang bang, BANG. The cries of men lying helpless and injured out on the field echoed through the night. Sleep was as far away as home was. Rest became an illusion- a dream that was never realised.

And the itching, the constant itching. Even now I can feel the itching on my legs; the bugs that constantly crawled, digging into my skin to feed on my blood. Back then I took to daily chatting, which was the act of vigorously squashing the seams of my clothes to kill the fleas. We’d tried drowning them in the salt water - the mongrels seemed to like it, so they multiplied. Yep, pinching the seams was the only way to kill them. It was either that or fight naked. And when I wasn’t itching, I was fearing for my life. You don’t notice being eaten alive when you’re being hunted like a dog. “Grandpa, blink if you can hear me.”

I blinked. She giggled.

“Blink again if you’re a hero too, grandpa. Like the soldiers over there.”

She pointed to a line-up of young men in their 20s and then looked back at me waiting for my response. I didn’t want to blink. But, she wanted to think the best of me. She was innocent, so reluctantly I blinked. Unexpectedly, my eyes watered at the disgust I felt for myself. Disgust in the lies I was still having to tell. I pushed the strong feelings down.

“I knew you were a hero,” she said, kissing my cheek and hugging me, knocking the oxygen tube that sat underneath my nose. I wished I could speak, but the stroke I had ten years ago prevented it. The doctor had warned me that the smoking would kill me. I always had high blood pressure, could never relax. Smoking was all I had; I took it up in the trenches. It kept me sane then; it has kept me sane since then. It got me up in the morning and every time I had one I felt better about everything. But it also helped block an artery in my brain and I nearly died. I was lucky I guess. Or unlucky depending on which way you looked at it.

Anyway, now I can’t smoke. I can’t work. I can’t do anything really. Paralysed too; everywhere except my eyelids. It was humiliating. I’d never wanted to participate in these pointless parades and for many years I didn’t, until my wife died. My wife was beautiful and once I’d told her of the horror of what the ANZACs went through she was as angry as I was. And so, she never forced me to go to one of these stupid remembrance days, they made my nightmares worse anyway. But once she was gone - heart attack - and I’d had my stroke, Vivian insisted on my attending.

She knew I hated being here, but she could care less. Having me here, today, was about her. She was proud of me - the opposite of how I felt. That day was the day her father helped free Australia from the grips of tyranny. It just wasn’t true.

The only good thing about that day was our guilty government – I got a mighty fine pension. I bought a farm, found a wife, had some kids and worked that farm hard. I was slightly content. I worked hard to forget the pain, but I couldn’t forget. I was medicated, but I couldn’t forget. I was sent to psychiatrists, specialists, but I couldn’t forget. And every night the dreams came, every night. And now, now I can’t scream. Screaming used to make things feel better. I had a punching bag too, that helped, can’t even lift my arms now. When I finally die I’ll beg God, if he exists, to forgive me for my crimes and stupidity and confront those that took my life from me on the 25th of April, 1915.

Lest we forget?

I wish I could.

Kylie Coulter

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T h E d a W n O F L I E S

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Follow us on twitter18 t w e a k i n g m a d d i s s u e #002 — a p r i l 2012

Early one morning at 3.00 am I was walking down the road, restless when I saw then I saw a white van circling the power station like a hawk hunting its prey. The van came to a sudden stop and a creepy tall man wearing a dark rain coat got out and started to walk in the direction of the power station where he met up with another group

of men who looked exactly the same as each other. They stood there in the cold, vapour escaping their mouths as they talked. After what seemed to be an hour to me but really was about ten minutes they finally went in.

I stood in the cold night for a beat or two, trying to find the courage to go in. When I got into the power station the men in rain coats were playing with the power board. Alarmed I called the police then the power company to tell them what I was seeing. The police were coming and they said that according to their motion sensors that I was the only one in the building. Shocked, I looked at the men around the board; I looked closer and then the fear trickled in faster for I now knew what I was seeing.

It took me a while to realise I was seeing ghosts. It had been a long time and a lot of training from my mum but I knew I was seeing ghosts again and every fibre of my being told me to run. The slightly blurred edges of the figures, the way they didn’t quiet touch the ground, the way they all looked the same showed me what I already knew. And the fear that I had felt as a child first came to me came flooding back. The panic nearly choked me.

I knew thing though I knew what they could do and I couldn’t leave o I decided to stay. I slowly walked over and saw that the ghosts where making the power divert to the next town and then I remembered the news last night. The power station from the neighbouring town was out and another jolt of fear ran through me. That town had been taken over when the ghosts had first invaded. It was a no go zone. I knew without a shadow of a doubt now what they were doing and I knew that I couldn’t leave. They were trying to get my town’s power.

Even though they were ghosts I didn’t get why the power company was not seeing them on the motion sensor; they should come up with the new technology installed after the ghosts had arrived. I finally got up the nerve to run. I had done what I could do. The police would be here soon and so would the power company.

The next day I had to go to my cousin’s house with my mum. Later that day I took my cousin up to his room and told him about what happened last night and he went silent for a second then after a few minute he said we should go back and see if they were still there.

“No I won’t go back.”“Come on please?” he begged me “I will give you my PS3 when we get back.”

“That’s if we get back” I said He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Fine” I finally snapped. “I’ll go with you but we have to be careful, okay? It’s not hard to get hurt in that part of town.”

Half an hour later I was again outside the power station and cursing myself. I played it cool with my cousin and walked in the small metal door and there they were, the same men in rain coats and the glow from them was stronger than before. But they weren’t mucking with the power board tonight they were mucking around with the reactor instead. A deep thread of fear wound through me and I knew that we shouldn’t be here.

My cousin and I looked at each other for a moment and the because there was no choice we started to walk towards them when we were about half way something let them know we were there and they turned around.

One of the men aid “So you’re back and you brought a friend, we were expecting you.” Then all hell broke loose.

“WARNING! WARNING! ALL POWER DIVERTED TO THE NEXT TOWN.” This came from the main frame and then less than two minutes later the computer said “WARNING! WARNING! FIVE MINUTES TILL REACTO FAILURE! FIVE MINUTES TILL SELF-DESTRUCTION.”

I knew I should do something but the thing was I could see nothing that Ioculd do to change what was happening. The creepy men stood thre with the expression adult get when they are going something no matter what. The computer counted the time away for us.

“WARNING! WARNING! FIVE SECONDS TILLREACTOR FAILURE.” The ghost men stood ready to absorb the power, which I am sure is what they are after. I knew that’s what ghosts did; extract poer and use it to get stronger. The problem is that the power would kill and my cousin.

We looked at each other, my cousin and I and even though we both knew it was too late we turned and ran as one. Within three heartbeats the plant blew.

Ryan Van Hoorn

the ranDoM poWer station

This list is presented by campaign (earliest first), and by surname (alphabetically). Details of the awardee plus the circumstances surrounding the award are available by clicking on the button to the right of each name.

Adapted from: They Dared Mightily by Lionel Wigmore et al, published by the AWM 1986.

NB. The location of some of these Victoria Crosses may have changed since this book was published.

Boer War

BELL FW BISDEE JH HOWSE NR MAYGAR LC ROGERS J WYLLY GG

World War 1VCs earned at Gallipoli are identified by G

AXFORD TL BEATHAM RM BIRKS F BLACKBURN AS BORELLA A BROWN WE BUCKLEY AH BUCKLEY MV BUGDEN PJ BURTON AS GCARROL J CARTWRIGHT G CASTLETON CC CHERRY PH COOKE T CURREY WM DALZIEL H DARTNELL WT DAVEY P DUNSTAN W GDWYER JJ GABY AE GORDON BS GRIEVE RC HALL AC HAMILTON JP GHOWELL GJ INGRAM GM INWOOD RR JACKA A GJACKSON JWA JEFFRIES CS JENSEN JC JOYNT WD KENNY TJB KEYSOR LM GLEAK J LOWERSON AD MACTIER R MAXWELL J McCARTHY LD McDOUGALL SR McGEE L McNAMARA FH MOON RV MURRAY HW NEWLAND JE O’MEARA M PEELER W POPE C RUTHVEN W RYAN J SADLIER CWK SEXTON G (AKA BUCKLEY MV) SHOUT AJ GSTATTON PC STORKEY PV SYMONS WJ GTHROSSELL HVH GTOWNER ET

World War 1 (con’t)

TUBB FH GWARK BA WEATHERS LC WHITTLE JW WOODS JP

Russia

PEARSE SG SULLIVAN AP

World War 2

ANDERSON CGW CHOWNE A CUTLER AR DERRICK TC EDMONDSON JH EDWARDS HI FRENCH JA GORDON JH GRATWICK PE GURNEY AS KELLIHER R KENNA E KIBBY WH KINGSBURY BS MACKEY JB MIDDLETON RH NEWTON WE PARTRIDGE FJ RATTEY RR STARCEVICH LT

Vietnam War

BADCOE PJ PAYNE K SIMPSON RS WHEATLEY KA

Afghanistan War

DONALDSON MG ROBERTS-SMITH B

In memory of thosewho gave their lives

in the service ofour country

Lest We Forget

list of aUstralians aWarDeD the victoria cross

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Since the day I was born, Australia has commemorated and celebrated the sacrifice of the Anzacs, which stand for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps.

Anzac Day is held dear to our hearts because as a young newly-formed federal Commonwealth had only been thirteen years old when the First World War commenced. Australia and New Zealand forces landed in Gallipoli on 25th April, 1915. They were met with fierce resistance from the Ottoman Turkish Defenders. This campaign was thought to knock Turkey out of the war quickly, but quickly became a stalemate and our troops, alongside New Zealand’s lasted eight months. As a result, 8,000 Australian soldiers had been killed.

The news of the casualties impacted deeply on Australians back home and thus 25th April soon became the day on which Australians remembered the sacrifice of those who died at war.

It is a tradition that was first set and put in place on 25th April, 1916. During the 1920’s, Anzac day became the national day of commemorating the 60,000 Australians who died during the war.

By 1927, for the first time, every state observed some form of public holiday for the Anzacs. By the mid 1930’s, all the rituals we now associate with the day: dawn vigils, marches, memorial services, reunions and two-up games – were firmly established as part of Anzac Day culture.

In subsequent years, Anzacs has been broadened to include Australians killed in all military operations in which Australians have been involved. The dawn service observed on Anzac Day has its origins in a military routine which is still followed by the Australian Army today.

In a recent report placed in “Adelaide Now”, which is a social network page on Facebook and is run and overlooked by ‘The Advertiser’ here in Adelaide, had placed it on their page on Facebook and requested its members to read the article and then to comment on the Facebook page.

I love the country as I was born here. I am also a descendant from immigrant parents. They immigrated to Australia in 1966. They came to provide their children a better way of life. They had taught me to not only embrace the culture they knew, but to learn and love my country, my home and reading articles such as this, brings interesting topics to the forefront.

Anzac Day is a day of remembrance; a day for all Australians to look back and reflect on those who sacrificed their lives in order for us today, to have our freedom.

Australia has become a nation of open arms, welcoming many people from all walks of life and providing shelter and protection for people escaping their homeland, looking for a better life.

In my view, it seems we Australians may be losing our identity, making way for the new Australians. Instead of integrating and respecting our culture, heritage and history, it has been put forward that we Australians have to change to accommodate the new immigrants.

The Australian Government commissioned a report which cost the taxpayers $370,000 to view people’s opinions on the 100th year anniversary of the Anzac Day commemoration celebrations due in 2015.

Though there hasn’t been any voice from the immigrants stating that they want Anzac Day celebrations toned down, the report suggests that that’s what we should do as it would upset the new immigrants in lieu of the military actions occurring across the world.

I myself find this appalling. I am Australian. I was born in Australia; my parents are of European decent but have never shunned the history or culture of Australia. They encouraged us to do and be Australian in every sense. We were taught the way of their history and culture but in no means, did we disrespect the ways of our homeland, Australia.

My view in light of this report is: they have chosen to come to live in our country, they then need to respect our culture, our way of life, and to adapt to it and not expect us to change our ways for them because they feel upset by us commemorating our fallen heroes.

Australia has a vast population that is multi-cultural. We are based on immigrants and we have gained a great deal from them. This is not to say I am not appreciative of the diversity they bring; but we are Australian and we have our own culture that has been formed and set. As we respect their culture and the way they live and dress, we should be shown the same courtesy and respect and not expect us to change the celebrations of Anzac Day and that we commemorate those who have given their all for their country and for us to have our freedom…

I am totally against toning down celebrations for Anzac Day, especially for the 100th year anniversary.

We would like to hear from you, our readers, and your opinion on this issue.

Tami Brow

aUstralia

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BOOk reviews

Liesel is a nine year old German girl. Her mother is accused of being a Communist in war-time Germany and Liesel finds herself being sent to a foster family in Molching, on the outskirts of Munich. Hitler is in power and the Jews are being persecuted. It is not a good time to be sympathetic towards Jewish people, but Liesel’s foster parents find themselves in a position which makes them vulnerable. She is expected to keep a secret...a big one. A secret which can never be told. For telling could result in severe punishment – maybe even death for her and her foster family.

The story begins with the death of Liesel’s brother. She watches him die on a train which is delivering them to their foster parents. Her brother doesn’t make it. At her brother’s graveside she finds a book in the snow. She takes it and here begins Liesel’s story as The Book Thief.

It isn’t just a story of a girl who steals a book. It’s a story about war, loss, despair, suffering and death. But it is also a story about friendship, love, history, empathy, triumphs and the love of books and words.

Despite The Book Thief being fictional, there are factual accounts relevant to the Second World War and the German invasion. The story is thought-provoking and emotional. I chuckled, shed a tear and fist-pumped throughout the chapters. And once the final words were read, I sobbed. The only reason I didn’t rate this book as 5 stars is because it took me quite a few pages to become interested. Usually I don’t buy a book if the first page doesn’t grab my attention, however this book was highly recommended so I perservered. I’m glad I did...it’s a must-read!

Michelle Jenkins

THE BOOK THIEF

I heart this book! It is the first book of four for the wife of Matt Shirvington and mother of two. Yet she is a hero within her own rights as she delves into the world of good versus evil.

It’s very rare that I come across a young adult book that could sustain my concentration long enough for me to finish it. I’m a romance girl at heart. But with Embrace, it becomes very easy to lose yourself within the storyline.

Two hunky guys, Lincoln and Phoenix fighting for the love and attention of one seventeen year old girl? Well that’s enough to get any girl to start swooning. Yet secrets and deception are rife and right and wrong get blurred as the fight for Violet’s life takes its toll.

Early on we discover the love that Violet harbours for Lincoln, but that love has to take a step back as a secret that reveals more than what she was ready to find out about Lincoln threatens her emotionally.

Phoenix, the ever hunky bad boy (and we all know that good girls always fall for the bad boys) makes an earth-shattering impact on Violets life. When Lincoln refuses to get close to Violet, Phoenix steps in and gives her the attention she needs and the assistance to guide her onto the path that was already chosen for her. But as she struggles with conflicting emotions and heated kisses, the one she holds dear in her heart needs her more than ever in this life or death situation.

Personally, I think Lincoln is a douchebag. If you want something you should just go for it. Rules be damned! The fight scenes were limited, with more of an emphasis on the emotional turmoil going through Violet.

With swirling tattoos, wisps of smoke, falling feathers and heartbreak, this story is sure to be placed on every young adults bookshelf; I know it’s a permanent fixture on mine.

Bottom line: I’m in love with Phoenix and more, so I cannot wait until the next instalment is released. Enjoy!

Embrace can be purchased in any major store within Australia. Favourite Quotes: * Destiny is not always certain. * ‘If it is nothingness that awaits us, let us make an injustice of it; let us fight against destiny, even without hope of victory.’ Miguel de Unamuno.

Manisha Kumar

EMBRACE: THE VIOLET EDEN CHAPTERS

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JessiCa sHirVingtOn


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Film review

Directed by David FincherNovel written by Stieg LarssonReleased by Columbia Pictures and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures Running time: 2 hours 38 minutesCAST: Daniel Craig (Mikael Blomkvist), Rooney Mara (Lisbeth Salander), Christopher Plummer (Henrik Vanger), Stellan Skarsgard (Martin Vanger), Steven Berkoff (Frode), Robin Wright (Erika Berger), Yorick van Wageningen (Bjurman), Joely Richardson (Anita Vanger), Geraldine James (Cecilia), Goran Visnjic (Armansky), Donald Sumpter (Detective Morell) and Ulf Friberg (Wennerstrom)

The first instalment in a three book series written by Stieg Larsson was a surprisingly enthralling and provocative movie of 2011.

For non-series readers, the movie presents the character of Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara), an anti-social private investigator/computer hacker who is a ward of the state who is thrown into a precarious investigation by disgraced journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig). Blomkvist is sought after and hired by flush entrepreneur Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer) to find his missing niece, Harriet, who disappeared well over forty years ago.

As the pair dig deeper to find answers, they find themselves up against resentful family members, secrets and lies that place them in more danger then they can handle.

Daniel Craig is truly exceptional as Blomkvist, but for me, I couldn’t get him out of James Bond’s shadow. Although I didn’t see Mara in the “Facebook movie” she is stunning and honour-worthy as she graces us with such a heart-wrenching performance, where she is placed in some exceptionally disturbing situations, yet never hesitates in her portrayal.

I couldn’t bring myself to actually finish reading the book itself; I found myself struggling with the names and places and seemed to get lost within the book.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is simply not just any murder mystery. It is dark and powerful, with some disturbing scenes. One scene in particular portrays sexual violence that is so graphic it may be upsetting to sensitive viewers.

The Vanger story comes to an end within this movie but we hold on faithfully as it holds back on a lot of details of the next two instalments (The Girl Who Played with Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest). This part introduces us as the watchers to the characters and the situations that surround them.

With the lengthy time, gloomy and overpowering atmosphere and the concealment of information for the future releases, some people might find it difficult to watch The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. But in saying that, I must reiterate it is without a doubt one of the most challenging, alluring and darker films of 2011.

Manisha Kumar

Makes 30

What’s Anzac day without these delicious treats? These traditional biscuits were baked by worried wives and mothers during World War I, packed in food parcels and sent to Australian soldiers fighting in the trenches.

:

INGREDIENTS ¾ cup of Desiccated Coconut 1 cup of Rolled Oats 1 cup of Sugar 2 tblsps of Golden Syrup 125g of Butter 1 tbsp of Water ½ tsp of Bicarbonate Soda

METHOD:1. Preheat oven to 300F (150C)2. Mix oats, sugar, coconut and flour together in a bowl3. Melt butter and golden syrup together over a low heat4. Mix bicarbonate soda with boiling water, then add to melted golden syrup and butter5. Add to dry ingredients6. Roll a tablespoonful of mixture into small balls and place on a greased tray, allowing enough room for spreading7. Bake for around 20 minutes for hard biscuits and 17 minutes for chewy biscuits8. Loosen on the tray while warm and then leave on the tray to cool.

Tracy Ellison

FOOd recipeanZac BiscUits

THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO


a n Z a C d a y - w r i t i n g C O m p e t i t i O n s


Coffee and Cream PublishingInterracial and Multicultural Romance$10.00 per entryDeadline: April 30, 2012http://www.coffeeandcreampublishing.com/contest/11-2012-spring-romance-short-story-contest

Writers Type CompetitionFiction (flash, short story, novel excerpts)$10 per entryDeadline: April 30, 2012http://www.writerstype.com/

2012 Nicholl FellowshipsScreenwriting$45 per entryDeadline: May 1, 2012http://www.oscars.org/awards/nicholl/apply.html

The David Nathan Meyerson Fiction PrizeFiction$25.00 per entryDeadline: May 1, 2012http://smu.edu/southwestreview/Meyerson%20Contest.asp

Writer’s Digest Annual Writing Competition10 Categories$25 for the first manuscript; $15 for each additional entry$15 for the first entry; $10 for each additional poem submittedhttp://www.writersdigest.com/competitions/writers-digest-annual-competition

Ignite the FlameRomance$30 per entryDeadline: May 20, 2012http://www.cofw.org/contest.html

Emerald City OpenerFiction$20 per entryDeadline: May 31, 2012http://gsrwa.org/contest.php

Killer Nashville’s Claymore AwardMystery / Thriller$35 per entryDeadline: May 31, 2012.http://www.killernashville.com/cokina20claw.html

Flash Fiction ContestFlash Fiction$10 per entryDeadline: May 31, 2012.http://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/contest.php

Big BreakScreen Play$65 per entryDeadline: June 15, 2012http://www.finaldraft.com/products/big-break/

Writers of the FutureSci-Fi, Fantasy, Dark FantasyFree and writer retains all rights.Deadline: June 30, 2012http://www.writersofthefuture.com/contest-rules

Manisha Kumar

writing Competitions

http://www.coffeeandcreampublishing.com/contest/11-2012-spring-romance-short-story-contest

http://www.writerstype.com/

http://www.oscars.org/awards/nicholl/apply.html

http://smu.edu/southwestreview/Meyerson Contest.asp

http://www.writersdigest.com/competitions/writers-digest-annual-competition

http://www.cofw.org/contest.html

http://gsrwa.org/contest.php

http://www.killernashville.com/cokina20claw.html

http://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/contest.php

http://www.finaldraft.com/products/big-break/

http://www.writersofthefuture.com/contest-rules


a n Z a C d a y - t O e n a i l C l i p p i n g s / F i n d a w O r d

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