The PR Blog

On ANZAC Day we remember the fallen, the brave, the heroic. But behind every name etched in stone was a mother who gave life, and often, gave that life up to forces beyond her control. I suppose I am thinking about a reflection on grief, not just of war, but of all we have lost and still carry. It is a quiet meditation on the love that never stops, even when the world does.

At what point does loss become grief?

Loss can live quietly for a time. It can trail behind us like a shadow we refuse to turn and face. We speak of absence, of change, of distance. We say things have been lost - as if they might be found again. We tell ourselves stories of adaptation, of coping. But grief? Grief doesn’t ask us to cope. It asks us to stop and feel. To stand still in the debris of what once was and realise...  our problem is that we remember too much to ever truly let go.

Loss becomes grief not when something leaves us, but when we realise it will not return. And then....what then?

Two names. Two battles. One legend. At Chunuk Bair and Lone Pine, ANZAC soldiers faced hell on earth and forged a legacy that still shapes Australia and New Zealand more than a century later.

They climbed in darkness and fought in blood. In August 1915, on the rugged hills of Gallipoli, New Zealanders stormed Chunuk Bair while Australians clashed hand-to-hand in the trenches of Lone Pine. These weren’t just battles....they were crucibles. From the smoke, terror, and sacrifice, the ANZAC spirit emerged: fierce, loyal, unyielding. Though separated by ridges, Chunuk Bair and Lone Pine stand together in memory as the defining moments of courage, tragedy, and national identity.

It has been truly said that Australia arrived in Gallipoli as six separate States and returned as a Nation with its own national identity. In achieving this, of the over 50,000 Australians who served at Gallipoli during a period of 260 days, there were 8,159 deaths in total, comprised of 5,482 killed in action, 2,012 deaths from wounds, and 665 deaths from disease.   

To the armchair Revisionists, these are merely numbers and not men who gave their lives for their country and are buried in a far-off land.  

Recently, a young man I know preparing for the HSC had to write an essay contrasting the saying that Australia discovered its identity at Gallipoli from both a traditional and revisionist viewpoint.

The traditional viewpoint is said to be a statement of history favourable to the march of civilisation with the facts altered to suit, while the revisionist viewpoint is said to be a statement of what actually happened according to the facts. In order to promote the revisionist viewpoint, it was pointed out that the first war fought by the white Australians was with the aboriginals, and in any event, Australia was defeated at Gallipoli.

What the Revisionists ignore is that until Federation in 1901, the present Australia consisted of six separate British colonies, each with its own Governor and laws, even in relation to customs duties between the States-to-be. By the time of the Gallipoli campaign, Australia had only existed as a nation on paper for 14 years.

By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Investigative Reporter Extraordinaire
The Ratty News Foreign Desk | Special Report

It is the anniversary of Christ’s crucifixion, and I, Roderick McNibble - known to my readers as Whiskers - found myself somewhere I never expected. On this holiest of days, how could I write about Ratty News?  

Instead, I found myself in a dingy dive bar in Gaza, thick with smoke, secrets, and the scent of something deeply unwashed.  A place that was so unfamiliar to me. 

The place reeked of stale beer and had the unmistakable undertone of goat. A flock of them grazed lazily in the corner, apparently part of the décor. Overhead, a dusty ceiling fan spun like a crooked halo, kicking up more flies than breeze.

I had arrived only moments earlier aboard Ratty Airways' signature orange biplane, our flagship vessel fitted with dynamic whisker propulsion; an innovation I may or may not have invented after three Marmalade Brandies from the Dutsy Gulch Country Women's Association Brewing and Distilling Company;  and a high wind. The journey from Dusty Gulch to Gaza took a remarkable ten minutes, a new personal record, though I suspect the laws of time and space bent slightly just to be rid of me.

The locals call this place "The Unleavened Lounge." Others call it "Don't Ask, Just Drink." Either way, it was here I found him - the man whose release shook the world.

Barabbas.

There are men who live great adventures and there are men who write about them. Ion Idriess did both. With a swag on his back, a rifle in hand, and a notebook never far from reach, he wandered the sunburnt edges of Australia, from the opal fields of Lightning Ridge to the crocodile-haunted waters of the north.

And then, like a bushfire racing the wind, he lit up the imagination of a young nation still finding its story.

Born in 1889 in the sprawl of an emerging Sydney, Idriess was never meant for city living. His spirit roamed from the start - drawn to the scent of eucalyptus and the promise of gold hidden in the hard, unforgiving dirt.

He left school early, drifted through tin camps, fencing runs, and camel tracks, learning the language of the land the hard way, with blistered feet and sun-seared skin.