All change at Castlemaine,

‘Special cells could be incorporated into the existing bicycle and baggage enclosures’.

Dear reader, we are deeply concerned about the trouble on the Bendigo Line. As frequent travellers on this particular route, we at PCBYCP have some pointers which may assist the coroner, in her findings. 

Train operative looks at potential of rear-fitting “worlds best practice” cells to existing bicycle and baggage storage enclosures on V Line trains.

Although the findings are not yet due, we would like to offer in the spirit of public interest some suggestions which, congniscent of the Deaths in Custody Royal Commisson may assist law makers and legislators in dealing with the problem of public drunkedness. We know as a consequence of the cited Royal Commission, though no  improvement in mortality has resulted, incarceration has sky-rocketed. Proof to a massive improvement in client handling. We are glad to say that handling procedures in police vans and utes have improved immeasurably. Though these improvements have not stemmed the deaths, we are mindful they point to a way forward in which police and correctional services officers can do their very best to arrest, transport and incarcerate those who are charged with the heinous crimes, of public drunkedness, jay walking, fare evasion, and failure to pay fines. Though we don’t wish to purposefully kill members of the indigenous community, we must remind them, that these arrests and incarcerations are made for their OWN GOOD!.  For PUBLIC SAFETY! To keep them off the streets and ensure they get the full benefit of being an Australian citizen elevated from the status of native flora.

Firstly let’s discuss the design of trains.  

Such visible incarceration, (though temporary) would reinforce as a warning to others the dangers of being drunk, putting ones feet on the seat, or talking loudly in a quiet carriage.

Special cells could be incorporated into the existing bicycle and baggage enclosures. With just the incorporation of hollow section tubular steel, we suggest a Cobalt  Blue or Burnt Umber, (reflective of native ritual)  powedercoat be employed to culturally accommodate Yorta Yorta sensibilities on this line. Similarly other tribal colours could be used on other regional lines. The baggage storage benches could be upgraded to hold perhaps as many as three indigenous passengers. Such visible incarceration, (though temporary) would reinforce as a warning to others the dangers of being drunk, putting one’s feet on the seat, or talking loudly in a quiet carriage. This would reinforce patterns of acceptable public behaviour and ensure the vast majority of passenger rights are protected. 

The design of cells

Such familiarity would both improve the handling prior to arrest and the despatch after incarceration of the body without undue collateral injury to the law enforcement authorities 

‘we suggest a maquette be studied’

WE would like to point out that the design of peep holes and apertures for viewing clients are inadequate.  WE would suggest in reference to the Institutional Child Abuse Royal Commission that better communications could be achieved either with a “cone of silence” or an ‘echo chamber’, in which the constabulary, invested with the responsibility of monitoring the health of “clients” are able to fully evaluate the standing, sitting, kneeling, or prone posture of an individual as a precursor to DEATH. We suggest a maquette, be studied, (as artists use to study the human form) so that some specific positions may be understood to suggest imminent mortality. Such familiarity would both improve the handling prior to arrest and the despatch after incarceration of the body without undue collateral injury to the law enforcement authorities in moving the corpse post-incarceration. Such knowledge would immeasurably improve, processing, health and safety offsets. 

Such knowledge would immeasurably improve health and safety offsets. 

Also we would reccommend, (we hope you are conversant wth the 1890 lunatic act) that cells be padded. Not with pigskin, and padded sawdust or horsehair in burlap sacking as in days of yore,  but perhaps some of the newer products employed in detention centres and re- education facilities in Uighurstan, Villawood and Manaus. Kapok infill rubberised matting or air-filled polypropylene, is much more suitably advantageous for those about to hit their head, strike themselves, or render themselves unconscious. Cells could also be fitted, with rubberised ceilings, (a suggestion that had been thoughtfully provided by the Queensland constabularly) to protects inmates who throw themselves in an upwards trajectory. We would also suggest, (as per the Day inquest) to address the  inherent danger in employing stainless steel toilets in the cell. One could inadvertently knock one’s head, and cause concussion, or in some cases fatal haemorrhaging.

We suggest in the interest of client and public safety that there be no toilet facilities, just washable and hoseable rubber-rock, as used in playgrounds. 

We suggest in the interest of client and public safety that there be no toilet facilities, just wash-able and hose-able rubber-rock, as used in playgrounds. 

WE hope these reccomendations will be received in good faith, and urge the criminal justice system to adopt them as “Paths to Progress” in the near future. 

Poetry Sunday

Rolf on the job. A real Royal WAG!

Dear reader, we were to give you just this superb piece from former poet laureate to the Dis-United Kingdom Sir Rolf Harris. But we’ve been instructed to offer a diversion to assuage trenchant copyright and intellectual property issues. The poem alluded to in the exciting instalment of pcbycp’s August 30 edition, still resonates with the majesty of Royal preferment.  After recent events in the U.K we’ve felt beholden to give you only this first stanza as a taste, a presentiment, of the untapped potentialities of Harris at the peak of his POWERS. The  Magnum Opus of Harris. We asked the poet to reflect upon this superb piece of historical reconstruction  but he declined. His Press Secretary suggesting he is enjoying a retirement from public duties  “at her Majesty’s pleasure”. And well we may regard Her Majesty for retaining Sir Rolf by her side as the world quakes to its very foundations with insurrection and talk of revolution and the right for women to question the pre-eminent right of men to have ownership over their bodies, as ordained by a loving GOD

So here it is;

Two little Boys

Two little boys became two little toys

Each had a father called Risdale

Gaily they sat, the parish of East Ballarat

Till ones conscience failed him at 

Con-fess-ion-al

To awake with dread, in bed a horse’s head?

Wept for innocence lost, at such a cost

For he knew he was in….. Orig-i-nal Sin,

And no matter what he did, he could not be rid,

What crime did he commit?  His faith so strong omit?

For the  Church to hold its sway, to deftly look away, 

And blame, the victim.

Though likened to Coleridge’s unfinished masterpiece Xanadu, Harris’s work bespeaks of contemporary issues and it’s a tragedy that it was never properly finished. 

So content yourself with this other piece. A thoughtful reflection of the zeitgeist, of the Holy Geist, and the un-holy poltergeist …By Andy Partridge who used to head-up post punk band XTC.  And if you listen intently you may detect an unreasoned questioning of higher authority which doubtless led to the decline of Great Britain. Till rescued by Boris Johnson. 

 

Another Blake-ean book review

Dear reader, we pause in the thrilling exploits of the pcbycp staff stranded in Port Moresby, to give you this fragment of illuminating insights from our luminary of the near north, Mr Joe Sexton Blake. We are indebted to Joe for keeping us up to date on reading material. It pays to have a book in hand to protect oneself from the taint of ignorance.  Lest some amongst us fall asleep on the Castlemaine train and are killed to protect public safety.

Back to you Joe, and (as an aside), when Joe chooses to travel to international destinations, (Shepparton, Euroa, and Seymour) he chooses the Albury line, to admire the gauge differential. It inspires him as a perpetual legacy to the small mindedness that makes our nation grate.

 

Australian Book Review, Indigenous Issue, August 2019, $12.95

Reviewed by Joe Blake

After 58 years and 412 monthly iterations, the ABR has finally produced an indigenous issue. It’s very welcome, especially because they plan to have one every year from now on. Not all articles are about indigenous books and arts, but the majority of the reviews, articles, poems and essays are; it’s a great read. One strong feature is that indigenous books are reviewed by indigenous writers; that doesn’t happen often in other, more commercially-focussed publications. I’m not suggesting the writing is below par to satisfy a politically-correct ethos; to the contrary, it’s uniformly brilliant.

This issue is a salute to the extraordinary blossoming of indigenous literary talent over the past few years, with articles by and about stars like Bruce Pascoe, Tara June Winch, Tony Birch, Stan Grant and Rachel Bin Salleh, publisher at Magabala Books, the groundbreaking indigenous press that has been pumping out high-quality stuff for nearly 40 years now. It doesn’t stop at the printed word, though; Deborah Cheetham writes of the epiphany that revealed to her 14-year-old self the world of opera that she later came to dominate.

One of the beauties of a magazine like this is that you can dip into a few different worlds in a couple of hours’ reading. There are scholarly articles alongside poems, personal reminiscences and Q&A interviews; books reviewed range from memoirs to novels to reflections on the state of our country’s soul. A very pertinent quote from one book sums up this country in a nutshell: “white Australia can’t solve black problems because white Australia is the problem.” 

One of the most interesting articles tells the story of Nah Doongh, who lived in the Penrith area of NSW for most of the 19th century. That means she was born not long after invasion, and survived the depredations of white colonialism to a very ripe old age. The author cleverly intertwines the fragments of writings about her that still exist with a historian’s interpretations of what probably actually happened. We learn that those who recorded information of indigenous people usually put their own slant on what they were told; there was always an unconscious bias that distorted the real story. (Maybe Andrew Bolt had a great grandparent?)

As well as all the writing by and about Indigenous issues, a number of other books are reviewed, because ABR aims to look at everything worthwhile that’s been recently put out; it’s always a wonderful read. This issue announces the establishment of two fellowships, each worth $10,000: an Indigenous Fellowship and the Behrouz Boochani Fellowship. The recipients will each, in the next year, contribute three substantial articles to the magazine. It’s a leg up for people who don’t often get a chance to write about the areas close to their hearts, so it’s very welcome.

A very pertinent quote from one book sums up this country in a nutshell: “white Australia can’t solve black problems because white Australia is the problem.” 

You probably think that someone like me would be bound to like this magazine: a reviewer lauding others of the same ilk. I like to think it’s not that; anyone interested in issues, books, culture, ideas – life, in other words – will always be stimulated by ABR. If you can, get hold of a copy and read it cover to cover. Better still, subscribe.

Royally Rolled.

 


Dear reader, if you’re still following this narrative, (Brexit- like), it still has a long way to go. 

“Bugger me dead”!, Clarrie said; “One moment I’m ready to kark it and next I’m an effing knight dubbed Sir Clarence by one of Europe’s greatest ever royal families”

Thus far we ‘ve thrilled to the brave pcbycp staff on their secret mission to tell the world about climate change at the Pacific Leaders summit.  How then, they were stuck on Tuvalu with sea levels arising all about. How they made a deal brokered by the omnipitent Sam Dastyari between the Tuvaluans and the Chinese Government. How, after landing in Australia they were  imprisoned, deported to Manaus island,  only to be re-released again on the wild and dangerous streets of Port Moresby 

A ” strong man ” now held the destiny of the Pacific in his BARE HAND!

As you remember, our final scene left Clarrie hanging onto life. With death knocking, when “out of the blue”, our Chinese surgeon friend Ka-Ching brokered a deal that put Prince Andrew on the throne as Her Majestys representative in PNG. And no  sooner than you can say “porogue parliament”, the Prince was on the job, bringing the hand of civilisation and the bonus of  Clarrie’s organs donated via  the obliging Uighurs underging re-education. 

And we also learned of how, spurned by the Australian government the New Guinean government had made the deal of a century with the Chinese who selflessly offered to build a space port, a twelve lane freeway, and a new Parliament House, bigger than the Great Wall itself. Then we learnt how we rejoiced in it all being made possible by the personal sacrifice of Prince Andrew, the intercession of Sam Dastyari and undisclosed forces. And yet, we knew that in spite of whetever we did, we were just pawns in a great global game of strategy. 

So let’s pick up where we left off, when a shadow fell across the room, as an image of Whinnie the Pooh was flourished by Ka-ching.  And the  realisation that once again,  we were in mortal danger. 

We didn’t have time to think. At that very moment a thunderous knock on the door announced someone had arrived. Once again, we knew the weight of the world rested upon our shoulders. 

The worlds destiny is in their safe hands. Prince Andrew discusses Global strategy with a friend.

Being unfamiliar with the pomp of governance, we were suprised to be greeted by none other than the beaming countenance of Prince Andrew himself. He was in his full ceremonial gear, and as he walked towards us his sword dragging across the floor. “Christ”, Clarrie, said, still groggy after having his organs replaced. “Am I dreaming”?. Clarrie took another drag on his ciggy and wiped his eyes;  “I feel like I’ve been here before”? And before he could light another Craven A the Prince bowed to him, and said with great solemnity, “Arise Sir Clarence”. And before you could say “Boris”, Clarrie ripped off is bandages, still with the drip attatched, and kneeled before him and supporting himself on the Princess lapel, he steadied hiself, with a new life and new purpose. “Bugger me dead”!, Clarrie said; “One moment I’m ready to kark it and next I’m an effing knight dubbed Sir Clarence by one of Europes greatest ever royal families”… And the Prince just smiled said; “I need not remind you Sir Clarence,  as it has been famously said, what goeth uppeth, must also goeth downwards, and hence uppeth again” .

The Prince, smiling, turned towards, us; “Clarence, you know we’ve been here before’. Clarrie wiped his eyes, the rollie still smouldering on the edge of this cracked and pearched lips, “This is your time” intoned the Prince with Royal Gravitas

And Clarrie, pointing to the wall, without hesitation, said, calmly, “it’s  right here your Highness”! 

And the Prince with a slight motion of his index finger, said, 

“The privelege is yours Sir Clarence”, 

Welcomed as a Demi-God by the natives

And with an agility belied by his ninety odd years Clarrie with a dexterity of grace, more precise than a Public Safety Officer ejecting a passenger on a Castlemaine train to  condemn that individual to a miserable death, prised the block from its lithic embrace… 

And there. In a dark crevice, left undisturbed for ages, rested a small box. 

“Open it”! Commanded the Prince. 

And Clarrie gently, and sensitively, released the catch.

And Opened it. 

What is inside the Box?

Did it belong to Pandora?

Will all of it glisten?

Stay tuned for our next impactful episode, tomorrow?

Bit till now, endure the suspense as you await the next spine tingling installment;

“Sir Clarence and the Casket”

“Or Prince Andrew’s other Royal Box” 

And with an agility belied by his ninety odd years Clarrie with a dexterity of grace, more precise than a Public Safety Officer ejecting a passenger on a Castlemaine train to  condemn that individual to a miserable death, prised the block from its lithic embrace…

Brought to you in vivid technicolour on PCBYCP. 

Poetry Sunday


The Tay Bridge Disaster

Share with us this awful poem. Actually in hindsight, McGonagall’s ‘Tay Bridge Disaster’ is not really that bad. And do you know why?

This was written before some dolt penned “Advance Australia Fair”. It was written before Andrew Lloyd Webber put pen to paper and wrote the execrable “Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dream-Coat”. And it was written well before “creative writing classes” turned any sort of writing into an effluvium of necrotic sludge. Bad poetry will always have a place deep within the bosom of Pcbycp readers.  And the reason why? It ‘s like driving a Vauxhall Velox, a Triumph Herald, (any Triumph) or even in some exceptional cases an old VW Combi. It’s full of flaws, which promise unreliability and deflation with a sense of unrealised potential. So please,  before Brexit re-defined the term “Disaster”. Before the Australian Government’s ‘Pacific Solution’ policy became the norm.  And way before “The Intervention”, enjoy McGonagall’s epic poem and celebrate nature, bad poetry and the destiny of humans to do silly things.

 

 

Bigger stuff up than the NBN

 

 

 

‘Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seemed to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say –
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say –
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”

The Bridge was made purely from Meccano

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

This was a precursor to BREXIT

So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,

On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,

And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them all for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

First ever attempt to trial a submersible flying steam engine. FAIL

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay.
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,

I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,

For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.