FROMELLES - A Night to Remember

The battle is over. My poor boys have done all that man could do.

As he wrote those words to his wife on July 20, 1916, a distraught General Harold ‘Pompey’ Elliott of the Australian 15^th brigade could probably still hear the cries of the wounded, stranded in no-mans land after the Battle of Fromelles on the Western Front.

In early July 1916, The Somme abbatoir was grinding along. Field Marshal Haig was confident of an early breakthrough, allowing him to send in the cavalry to win the war with lance and sabre – a dream he stubbornly clung to right to the war’s end.

The Somme was essentially a drawn-out battle of attrition and the Allies needed to starve the German lines of reinforcements.

It was decided that the Fromelles-Aubers line on the northern part of the front was the best place to pursue large scale diversionary tactics and keep the enemy from sending reinforcements south.

Two previous Allied failures to mount a successful assault on that part of the German lines did not appear to feature much in the high command’s thinking at this juncture.

Lieutenant-General Richard Haking, commander of the British XI Corp, was asked on July 8 to draw up plans for a major assault.

On July 10 and 11, the 17,800 men of the Australian 5^th Division, the latest Australian troops to arrive in France, many of them survivors of the Gallipoli campagain, moved to the Fromelles-Aubers line.

France was a very different proposition to these veterans of the Dardenelles. The Turks had little artillery and front lines were often only a few yards away. Here in France, both sides used massive amounts of artillery intended to smash the enemy into submission (but often didn’t). The enemy made greater use of machine guns than did the Allied forces at this point in the War (Haig had initially dismissed machines guns as being of little value). No-mans land between the opposing lines of trenches was a mess of barbed wire and holes blasted by artillery, extending up to a mile in width. Even in summer they frequently had to contend with sticky, clay mud.

Haking drew up an ambitious plan which bore a striking similarity to his earlier failed attempts there, but it was initially rejected.

After the Somme breakthrough did not occur, Haig’s staff reconsidered the Fromelles situation and determined on an artillery ‘demonstration’. A total of 360 artillery pieces were to pound the German lines for at least three days over a 15,000 yard front, to deceive them into thinking a major offensive was imminent.

Around July 13, the plan was changed with infantry to now take a part in the ‘demonstration’. A revised version of Haking’s plan was to be put into effect, attacking a 6000 yard-wide front with Haking put in charge of the operation.

Troops from the Australian 5^th Division, were lent to Haking for the assault. The Division’s 8^th, 14^th and 15^th brigades were moved in to the front along the Fromelles line, replacing troops from the 4^th Division who were moved south to The Somme.

British 31^st and 61^st Divisions were to attack either side of a slope called the Sugarloaf which was heavily fortified with German guns. The Australian troops were to attack the main German lines along the north-eastern front.

The troops assembled on paper may have looked good. The reality was starkly different. The newly arrived Australian troops were yet to acclimatise, let alone become familiar with their part of the front. The British 61^st was newly arrived from England and badly undermanned, having been picked over to supply reinforcements for elsewhere. The 31^st had been only recently relieved from The Somme and was exhausted.

On July 14, Haking’s plan was modified again to attack across a narrower 4,000 yard-wide front. The 61^st were to take the Sugarloaf by themselves. The Australian troops were still to assault the main German lines. The 31^st were removed from the assault force entirely.

Once the German lines had been taken, succeeding waves were to advance beyond the captured lines to take German supply trenches supposedly located behind 100-200 yards behind the main lines. The first wave was then to abandon the newly won positions and advance in support of the advance on the support lines. This proved to be a fatal flaw which the German troops later took full advantage of.

After the early lessons of The Somme, Haig’s headquarters had distributed a circular to all units which stated that assaulting troops were not to advance across any more than 200 yards following an artillery barrage. Any further than that and the Germans had sufficient time to emerge from their heavily fortified dugouts and reoccupy their frequently largely undamaged parapets.

Despite Haig’s circular, Haking’s plan called for the attacking troops to practically all cross more than the maximum 200 yards, with the Australian 15^th brigade to advance over more than 400 yards of water-filled shell holes, ditches and barbed wire. Looming immediately to the 15^th’s flank was the heavily fortified German position on the Sugarloaf.

The attack was to proceed on July 17.

Around this time, ‘Pompey’ Elliott met with a Major Howard from Haig’s headquarters. He escorted Howard along their front, examining the terrain in front of the 15^th brigade. According to Elliott, he claimed that the attack could not possible succeed and states Howard agreed it would be ‘a holocaust’. Yet more doubt about the operation that appears to have had little impact.

The Australian troops had only two-and-a-half days to prepare – laying long lines of duckboards to take the foot traffic of thousands of men up to and along the front as well as laying tramways to transport heavier equipment. Large quantities of ammunition and bombs (grenades), thousands of sandbags, hundreds of picks and shovels, all to be moved forward. Telephone cables were to be laid and aid posts set up. It was a frantic and exhausting undertaking.

The day before the attack, July 16, a surprising development occurred. Haking’s deputy chief of staff advised Haking and his superiors that the attack need not go ahead. However, Haking convinced his commanding officer, General Munro, that the attack had to go ahead or damage the troops’ morale.

It is doubtful that any of the exhausted diggers would have agreed with him.

The day of the intended assault, the 17^th, was clouded with a heavy mist. Haking reluctantly proposed postponing the assault to the following day.

Munro, who only a day earlier had supported Haking, now refused permission for the postponed assault to proceed.

Haig and his staff now did yet another about-face of their own. Munro was directed that the attack was to proceed ‘as soon as possible’. But the order had an important qualification. Munro was permitted to call the assault off entirely if he thought conditions were unfavourable or his resources inadequate.

After being given this escape clause by Haig, despite his earlier doubts, Munro now quite inexplicably decided that the assault should proceed after all.

The Allied artillery barrage commenced at 11am on July 19, preceeding the 6pm jump off. After days of obvious troop movements and preparations, plus a heavy artillery barrage, the coming assault was anything but a secret to the enemy. Occupying the higher ground, they had a bird’s eye view of everything. The assaulting troops were to be sent across no-mans land in daylight onto the waiting and ready enemy guns.

A little after 2pm, as the trenches filled with waiting Allied soldiers, the German artillery began to reply. The carnage among the tightly packed troops was terrible. Ammunition dumps exploded. Fires started. Communication lines were destroyed.

The 8^th brigade on the Australian flank not only had to contend with the enemy artillery, they were badly hit by their own artillery falling short.

On the other side of the Sugarloaf, the British 61^st Division, already badly undermanned, was savaged by the enemy artillery. These additional losses made their vital task of taking the Sugarloaf all but impossible. Their attack failed.

The German guns atop the Sugarloaf were now able to concentrate their fire on Elliott’s advancing 15^th brigade. The assaulting troops became pinned down only half-way across no-mans land. Yet some returning wounded reported breaking into the German lines. Mislead into believing the assault was succeeding, Elliott ordered his forces to continue the assault.

The 14^th brigade in the centre of the Australian line, only had some 250 yards to cover. But with the 15^th pinned down, the Sugarloaf guns were able to turn their attack onto the centre line. Despite horrific casualties, elements of the 14^th reached the German lines and established a foothold. The following waves pressed on, searching for the rear support lines. The original assaulting wave now left their positions in the captured enemy lines to support the later waves, as ordered.

Meanwhile, the fighting strength of the 8^th brigade on the other Australian flank had been depleted the double blows of German and misdirected Allied artillery.

The Allied artillery had failed to achieve its overall objectives. Barbed wire had survived in most places. Parapets had not been destroyed. German troops had survived the barrage in their strong dugouts. The increasingly undermanned 8^th brigade had to advance across no-mans land in the face of much greater enemy fire than the plan had anticipated. Yet, a slim foothold was established in the enemy lines. Latter waves pressed on in search of the supposed German support lines.

But where were these support lines? All that could be found were old, abandoned trenches, half-filled with water. The Australian troops had to hastily set up sand bag defences, trying to shovel awkward, thick, sticky clay.

The piecemeal success of the Australian units meant that there were major sections of the line still occupied by enemy troops. With Haking’s plan requiring vacation of newly won territory, German troops were able to slip back to reoccupy their positions. Enemy fire now poured out from the sides, from retaliating German troops to the front and from the abandoned lines to their rear.

By the early hours of the morning of July 20, the truth began to emerge at the various headquarters. The attack was failing - badly.

The remaining forces from the 8^th and 14^th brigades were eventually forced to abandon their poor positions behind the enemy lines and charge into the German guns in the reoccupied trenches, before the final dash back across no-mans land with the enemy guns to their rear.

By 9am, the battle was well and truly over. Only hours in duration, but one of the most significant disasters in Australian military history. Australian casualties tallied 5,500 along with a further 1,500 British. Survivors of both the Dardenelles campaign claimed Fromelles was far worse than anything they had faced in the Gallipoli landings.

Fatalities were especially high among the wounded left stranded in no-mans land. Days after the battle, wounded were still struggling in, their wounds untreated and flyblown.

A truce was negotiated so both sides could retrieve and treat their wounded. However it was abandoned on orders from 5^th Division headquarters.

The aftermath: thousands of lives, most of them Australian, were thrown away for no real good reason, in an attack that seemingly everyone bar Haking had doubts about. Senior command elements appeared unable to settle on a final plan of attack or even whether to attack at all. Haking’s demand for deliberate abandoning of newly won trenches without control of the German lines, was suicidal insanity. And the advancing troops were sent in search of enemy support lines that didn’t actually exist.

As Elliott sat writing to his wife, he was a shattered man. Letters and diaries talk of him being openly in tears at what had been done to his ‘poor boys’. As for the primary architect of this disaster, Lieutenant-General Richard Haking, he was later recommended for promotion.

Well might Pompey Elliott have wept.

Ship Ahoy!

*warning - there are a few rude words in this piece

People sometimes accuse me of being a bullshit artist. Now that’s a bit unfair. Is it my fault that interesting things happen to me? Like the incident with the boat – nobody ever believes that one. What? Haven’t I told you about that? Well mate, it was like this…

It was a typical Friday evening. After a convivial evening spent down at the Burvale Pub, blowing the froth off a few and perhaps a few more, I was headed home. Having drunk my cab fare, I had weaved my way back to the Nunawading train station.

Springvale Drive around Nunawading is six lanes wide – it’s a seriously big and busy bugger of a road, mate. Now just as I was nearing the shops, I heard this horrible sound like a huge hand scraping its fingernails down a blackboard. I looked up to see an enormous shower of orange sparks coming my way. An enormous shadow towered above the fireworks.

It was the prow of a yacht. No mate, I’m not kidding – a bloody yacht. And not just a little catamaran, it was a huge ocean-going yacht in the middle of suburbia for criven’s sake, perched on top of a tiny boat trailer. In the middle of the flaming road! And the bloody thing was heading straight for me! For a moment I just stared at it, mouth open, frozen like a kangaroo in your headlights. Then I did what any other self-respecting drunk would do in the circumstances. I gathered my self together and… “Shiiiiiiit!”

Up it loomed over me. Just as it seemed sure to run me down, the boat trailer clipped the gutter, spun around and crashed over with an almighty craaaack. It snapped a sapling on the nature strip off at the base in a spray of twigs and leaves. A No Standing sign was torn out of the ground and flew though the air. As the boat hit the ground, its side exploded into a deluge of marine ply and fibreglass.

Silence reigned supreme after the last pieces of debris had hit the ground. I felt a bit like Wile E Coyote after another trap for the roadrunner had just backfired. Then I heard someone yelling. It was the attendant from a nearby service station who was sprinting down the footpath towards me.

“Are you alright mate?”

“Ahh yeah I think so,” I replied.

“Geez I thought that it’d hit ya mate.”

The pair of us stood there and stared at the mess before looking at each other dumbfounded. Could we believe our eyes? It was a yacht!

Another voice yelled and we glanced around to see someone approaching from the opposite direction. The new arrival ignored us and rushed over to the yacht. He had a horrified look on his face. You’d think someone had pinched his smokes just after the pub had closed.

“All the way to the fucking Whitsundays and back and almost fucking home!” he yelled. “Look at that,” he screamed, pointing at the front of the boat trailer. “The fucking towbar broke!”

“Yeah I’m alright thanks mate,” I muttered.

Sarcasm obviously didn’t mean much to this clown and he continued to rant and rave.

It was at this point that the Seventh Cavalry arrived. To be more precise, a truckload of SAS (Saturdays and Sundays) Army Reservists pulled up and all piled out, looking resplendent in their starched jungle greens, and formed up on the footpath. A pissant little corporal spun around on his heel and marched over to the three of us.

“Can we be of assistance gentleman?” the corporal snapped out and stroked a fuzzy little moustache that perched on his lip like a lazy caterpillar. What a Stormin’ Norman wannabe.

“Um yeah – help me turn it back over again?” boat owner said. He had gone very quiet in the face of this military might.

The corporal marched back to his troops. “Gentleman – on my command, you will take up positions around the vehicle and be ready to manoeuvre it upright.”

On he droned, detailing their plan of attack for this exercise. Struth – you’d reckon he was Blamey and Monty all rolled into one on D-Day!

The servo attendant turned to the boat owner. “How heavy is that thing mate?”

“Pretty light – the three of us could probably turn it over.”

So the three of us gathered around the boat, grabbed a handhold and heaved. I couldn’t believe just how light it was. I’m telling you mate, if that’s all that’s keeping the water out I’m NEVER going sailing. The boat trailer, still carrying the splintered remains of the yacht, was soon up and over, bouncing back onto its wheels once more.

“Hey boys – we’re all done here,” the servo attendant called out to the Lean Green Fighting Machine.

Corporal Stormin’ turned and glared at us. You could practically read his mind. How dare these civilians interfere with my operation!

Spying the battered street sign laying to one side, Stormin’ snapped out an order. His squad rushed over, picked up the sign and took it with them as they clambered back aboard their truck. Stormin’ then stepped up into the cab and waved the driver to be away. Exit the military – stage right.

“God help us if we need them in a fucking war,” the boat owner growled. He turned and stalked back to his car, muttering something about shoving a towbar up someone’s bum.

“Looks like the show’s over,” the servo attendant said and wandered back to his petrol pumps.

I was alone once more. What the hell just happened? Realisation finally hit home. I was almost run over by a yacht in landlocked Nunawading! I started to laugh. Wait until I start telling people about this one!

#

“Hey – guess what?” I yelled to my house mate and her boyfriend as I burst into the house shortly after. “I was almost run over by a boat!”

Carolyn looked up from her canoodling on the couch and regarded me carefully. “Just how pissed are you?” The pair of them began to laugh – at me, not with me. And kept on laughing all the way to the bedroom.

“You wait,” I yelled after them. “It’ll be in the paper sometime. You’ll have to believe me then.”

The story never did appear in the paper. Presumably the editor didn’t believe it either.

To this day nobody ever believes that I was almost run down by an ocean-going yacht on Springvale Drive. What a gip. But like I said mate, it’s a true story. Can I help it if unbelievable things happen to me?

One Elle of a Life

The paparazzi surge. Cameras snap. Flashes dazzle. A gorgeous, long-legged woman steps free of the crush, flashing that trademark, stunning smile.

That’s my Elle Macpherson. Yes, you heard me right – my Elle Macpherson. So you can all get your grubby little fingers off.

Boy do I remember Elle’s first big break. It seems so long ago that it may have been a different world. That red bikini. The beach. The cans of Tab. All plastered across our television screens and massive billboards all around the country. I fell completely, utterly and irretrievably in love. I even contemplated actually buying a can of Tab in the hope of Elle magically appearing, still fresh from the beach. What self-respecting bloke back then would have considered buying diet soft drink unless he was hopelessly in love?

Come the late 1980s Elle was a magnificent cover for Time magazine – not quite their usual fare. Those shots really got to me. That white-enamelled smile seemed to be lifting up out of the page, beaming just for me. Back then I considered myself an aspiring photographer. Sadly a maggot on the downside of a bad acid trip could have taken better happy snaps than me. Still I fantasised about photographing that smile and being able to keep it just for myself.

Yeah – like that was ever going to happen.

It was big news when Elle did a calendar. In those days, a calendar job was a huge deal. Not like today when just about any jumped up Neville Nobody seems to get one for doing a voiceless, two-second walk-on slot in Neighbours ten years ago. But Elle’s calendar – that was something else. I hate to think how many hours I wasted staring at those magnificent, glorious pictures on my wall – teasing me, taunting me. Oh Elle – you fiend!

You could be forgiven for thinking it is just The Body’s body that I lust after. Not so. Well maybe that had a bit to do with it in the beginning, but no longer. This is a woman who didn’t just conquer her chosen profession, but kicked the living hell out of it on the way. Then started her own lingerie line, making the most out of unconventional advertising on a budget of next to nothing. The lady’s smart as well as a genuine feminine bombshell.

A little while back I saw Elle being interviewed on a current affairs program.

Is there anything else you’d like to say,’ asked the male reporter.

Elle leaned forward with her trademark, cheeky, dimpled and slightly flirty smile. ‘That depends if you have anything else you want to ask me,’ she replied in a throaty voice followed by a tinkling laugh.

That was my Elle he was flirting with! I saw red. I yelled. I spat the dummy and kicked the cat (relax – it is a cardboard cat because starving writers cannot afford cat food and it saves me from the tender attentions of the RSCPA). Sluggish testosterone surged into life, bursting through the hormonal cobwebs. Watch it fella!

In more recent times, Elle has been romantically linked to a much younger man. Well I doubt that anybody would be blaming the youngster for falling for her. But come on Elle – some of us have been desperately in love with you from before the kid was a glint in the milkman’s eye! (sob)

I was in hospital a couple of years ago when Elle split with her long-time partner. I had little else to do but lay back, think about things and avoid the attentions of a particularly neurotic nurse (but that’s another story).

That is when I hit on it – a brilliant, winning pitch guaranteed to sweep Elle off of her feet. An absolute sure-fire winner of an ironclad argument! It goes a bit like this.

Elle – we should be an item because…

We’re both Aussies.

We’re the same age.

We both have Scot’s heritage.

We’re both intelligent (well that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

You are one of the world’s most beautiful and glamorous women, and I have been told that my left elbow is rather appealing!

How could Elle resist that? I can see the future already. A red carpet event in the USA. Celebs and photographers everywhere. Joan Rivers doing a red carpet commentary.

‘Look – there’s Elle looking magnificent in a red Vercaci gown. And yes – Mr Drivel’s elbow should just be coming into camera shot next to Elle. What a lovely couple they make – Elle and the elbow.’

So what do you reckon Elle?

What a pity that the rest of me is short, unattractive and hitting the dreaded middle age spread.

Perhaps I should just stick to the first idea and start looking for an old can of Tab.

Thugby?

It’s that special time of year once more. I am of course speaking about the annual Rugby League State of Origin series between New South Wales and Queensland.

Now as a ‘good’ expatriate Victorian, I have virtually no interest in rugby league, or thugby as we followers of Aussie Rules refer to it. However equally as a ‘good’ expatriate Vic from the right side of the Murray River, I love to see NSW get beaten. At anything. J Consequently I do pay some attention to the State of Origin, always in the hope of seeing Queensland beating those upstart New South Welshman.

I vividly recall having a rather furious debate one time with two rabid followers of Rugby League. “Aussie Rules,” they insisted, “is nothing more than Gaelic Football played with a different type of ball. League however is a uniquely Australian game, invented here.”

Sadly these people, while passionate in their belief, were in fact quite mistaken. While Australian Rules does have distinct similarities with Gaelic Football, it also has some genesis in Rugby Union.

They were also mistaken about Rugby League’s origins. Once upon a time, there was only what we call Rugby Union. However this was considered more of a gentleman’s game, coming as it did as a product of the English public school system, ‘public’ of course meaning ‘private.’ Consequently, common or working class individuals were not especially welcomed to the game, despite whatever skill they may have otherwise brought to the game. A revolution however developed in the Yorkshire dales. Whilst much of Yorkshire was still very much gentrified, with estates and farmlands, there was a highly industrialised belt. It was players from that industrialised belt that eventually rebelled, broke away from the ‘Union’ to form a League. Hence the creation of Rugby League.

Historically, Rugby Union continued to be dominent in the UK, particularly England. However the migrations to Australia in the nineteenth century, especially during the gold rushes, brought many of those working class devotees of ‘the League’ to Australia, finding a home in the colony of New South Wales.

For reasons I am not yet aware of, the miners on the Central Victorian goldfields experimented with developing a new code of football that became Australian Rules, and the first Aussie Rules club, Sandhurst, is still in existence today in the Bendigo Football League. Even that club’s derogative nickname, the ‘slagheads’ is a reference to its mining origins referring to the piles of discarded rock etc disgorged by the smelters and crushers processing the output of the deep mine shafts around Sandhurst (Bendigo). In Sydney however, the locals favoured the working man’s game of League.

In time, Australian Rugby League officialdom, based of course in Sydney, NSW, came to dominate the game including rule changes etc. Nonetheless, Rugby League was not an Australian invention as such but was a product of social revolt against the English upper class.

Go the Maroons. Here’s to hoping that the Cane Toads will stomp on those godless Sydnerian philistines.

Here endeth the rant.

Indian spin bowler, Harbijan Singh, was reported for racial abuse in the Second Test. He was suspended for either of two Test matches or four one-day internationals. On appeal, the charge was downgraded as the judge found insufficient evidence to support a Level Three charge as was originally laid.

The day after the appeal hearing, the judge claimed that if he had known that this was the fifth time that Singh had been reported, he would have imposed a much stiffer sentence.

This matter raises a matter of legal procedure. During a hearing, it is natural justice for the matter to be heard on its merits, and not tainted on the basis of prior events. However once a verdict guilty has been found, then it is only quite appropriate to consider past behaviour when deliberating on the penalty. The judge only found out afterwards that on a previous charge, Singh was fined 75% of his match fee and given a suspended sentence. Because this vital information was not provided to him, Singh gets away with a paltry fine of 50% of his match fee. Human error is the reason cited for the omission. Pathetic, simply pathetic.

How much longer is Harbijan Singh going to be allowed to continue to get away with such unacceptable behaviour? Opposing teams are complaining about him on a regular basis. At the club level, someone would have long ago taken the clown out behind the rooms and administered a much needed wake up call.

This is an individual who has even been known to be shouting at the batter in his native tongue while coming in to bowl! But nothing is ever done. A bowler is not allowed to so much as unbuttoned shirt sleeves as it may distract the batter from the ball being delivered from the bowler’s hand. Fielders are to be totally silent during the bowler’s approach in order not to disturb the batter’s concentration. But Singh is allowed to shout at the batter during his approach? The fact that this was not immediately jumped by the officials as it happened is a disgrace. If the striker can hear it loudly enough to bring it to the umpire’s attention, then there was absolutely no excuse for the umpires not stepping in immediately.

Five charges of misconduct in the modern game is to the best of my knowledge, a record. And yet it is the Australian team’s conduct and attitude that is being criticised by the media, the Prime Minister and certain respected but long-retired players. Am I the only one who can see something wrong here? The ICC has accepted blame for the failure to provide details of all four previous charges against

When is officialdom going to take real steps to curb this behaviour? Was Australia innocent in the past? Hardly. But who have been the aggressors? There can be little doubt that it was the behaviour of Singh and one or two of his team mates, particularly Sreesanth, that contributed so greatly to trouble between the teams on the last tour of the sub-continent. And Singh brings this with him on this tour once more. Sreesanth has publicly stated that he is not going to back down now that he has joined the Indian team for the upcoming one-day series.

Unfortunately officialdom at the highest levels of the game has a long history of simply ducking issues by taking the course of least resistance and bowing down to whoever is making the greatest amount of noise at the time.

Go back a few decades to when Ian Meckiff was hounded out of the game for having an illegal bowling action. And who was complaining? The visiting English team after Meckiff had caused quite a bit of havoc among their batters. Yet at the same time, England was fielding one Tony Locke – a left-arm spinner who threw pretty much every damn ball he ever bowled, and he was allowed to continue playing first class cricket into the 1970s. Meckiff’s real crime was that he had a double-jointed elbow which naturally bent and straightened during delivery. It was technically a throw, but not a deliberate cocking and releasing of the elbow a la Locke and others.

Come forward a few decades to the Muralitharan affair when his action first came under scrutiny. Firstly, I do not blame Darryl Hair for initially calling Murili – that action looks dubious to say the least at the first glance. There is a furphy going around the Murili was entirely exonerated under testing of his action. That is not quite accurate. Murili was found that he was able to bowl with his arm in a brace and still turn the ball including his big weapon, the doosera – the off-spinning equivalent of a leg spinner’s wrong ‘un. But, it was also found without question that without the brace, his elbow does hyper-extend. When that happens, especially with delivery of the doosera, his action can descend into illegality. I have no doubt in my mind that Murili does not intend this any more than Ian Meckiff could be considered deliberately having a double-jointed elbow. But Murili’s action was allowed to remain. Officialdom conveniently bowed to pressure and simply changed the rules.

Today, a bowler is allowed to bend the elbow provided it does not exceed fifteen degrees. What a cop-out. Change the rules and remove the problem in order to keep the Sri Lankan hierarchy happy – shoving a bit of grease on the squeakiest wheel. I notice that umpires have not been issued with the necessary equipment required to measure the degree of bend in each delivery. The situation is simply ludicrous, and was nothing more than officialdom ducking the real issue.

The situation with certain members of the current Indian cricket team is absolutely no different. Blatantly unacceptable behaviour is being allowed to continue with nothing more than a token slap on the wrist. Offenders such as Sreesanth do not appear to have even received that much.

Next we come to the actions of the Indian authorities. Their reaction to not liking the decision against Singh? Threaten to call off the entire tour. Those authorities need to bear much of the blame for things getting so out of control by not jumping on top of some of their players for their quite open abusing and taunting of opposition players, and not just the Australians. Instead, it is everyone else’s fault and we should all do what they want or they are going to take their ball and go home. What is this – international sport or the school ground sandbox?

Come the Fourth Test, one would have hoped that cooler heads had prevailed and all players cooled down. Mr Singh was noticeably on his best behaviour for the first couple of days. But things eventually began to get out of control once more. Umpire Billy Bowden turned down an appeal for a bat-pad. Watching it on the television, my immediate reaction was that the bat missed the ball by an appreciable amount. Video replay showed the bat missing by a country mile. Mr Singh was fairly quiet, but he was giving Bowden looks that should have killed. However some of his team mates remonstrated long and loudly. At the end of the over, one of the Indian players was right up in Bowden’s face, waving the finger and arguing in a most animated manner.

In the past, batters have been charged with misconduct for showing dissent about an umpire’s decision. It is possible to be charged with that for too animated a display whilst walking off. Such incidences pale into insignificance compared to the display by some of the Indian players on this occasion. Did officialdom act? No. However the actions of these individuals was captured for posterity on film, and viewed by who knows how many viewers in Australia and around the world. Yet once more, nothing is done.

Now before the bleeding hearts start screaming and accusing me of just being a racist, something that certain Indian persons have already seen fit to do merely because I am Australian, I wish to establish that I am nothing of the sort. One of my best friends is a Moslem from Iraq (although forced to leave her country of birth because she dared oppose and work against the Saddam regime), I was engaged to a Native American, and I have friends of all manner of colour and creed. I judge a person by their actions rather than their place of origin, religion or skin colour. As far as Indian cricket goes, I adored watching the great Bishin Bedi bowl; watching him tie batters up in knots helped influence me to take up bowling spin in later years myself. Sachin Tendulkar is one of the greatest batters I have ever seen and I love to watch him bat. I admire the heck out of Harbijan Singh for his bowling ability – watch how beautifully the ball comes out of his hand in what is often as close to a perfect release as you are going to get.

The overall summary and reality of this situation is that Singh received nothing more than a token slap on the wrist for yet another charge of misconduct; the Indian management attempted to hold the ACB and ICC to ransom over the affair by very loud threats to cancel the remainder of the tour; another Indian player has publicly announced that he is not going to back off his approach to the game, despite being condemned for his behaviour in the past; the ICC’s own procedures in supporting due process proved to be woefully inadequate; and Indian players were permitted to engage in open, hostile, animated and recorded displays of dissent towards an umpire, with nothing done about it.

Enough is e-bloody-nough. It is high time that some tough stances were taken. The trouble makers need to be brought into line EVERYWHERE in all cricketing nations. The challenge is with the ICC. Take action! Show some cojones for a bloody change!

Postscript - Singh was turfed out of the 2008 inaugral 20-20 international cricket competition in India, after he slapped one of his teamates in the face.

One law for all?

Just what the hell does the former judge Marcus Einfeld think he is doing? Does he think the rest of the world came down in the last shower? That he is somehow above the law that applies to the rest of us? And all over a $77 speeding ticket.

To quickly review, Einfeld was charged with speeding in January 2006 after his vehicle was photographed in Sydney by a speed camera, exceeding the speed limit. Einfeld immediately contested the fine, claiming that he was not in charge of the vehicle at the time. Fair enough if that was true. But it clearly was not the truth. First up, Einfeld claimed that another party was driving the vehicle, overlooking the slight difficulty that the person in question was in fact dead. Obviously our mate the judge is in the habit of lending his vehicle to so many people so often, that he looses track of who has it and when. Even so, the thought of an animated corpse being the recipient of his largesse is a little hard to swallow! It is so often the little things that have been known to bring down the criminal mastermind.

Einfeld made a statement to the police that he was not even in Sydney at the time of the offence, but was dining in the town of Foster. Journalist Vivian Shenker supported the judge’s story, claiming that not only were they together in the town of Foster, but the pair had travelled there in a vehicle belonging to the judge’s mother.

Things began to badly unravel for His Honour, when police obtained video footage that clearly showed mater’s vehicle didn’t leave her property all day. Whoops! Ms Shenker was offered immunity from prosecution for her rather obvious lie, and her story now changed to that they were in Sydney at the time, but could not have been in the vehicle at the time of the offence.

As matters have rolled along, the public prosecution has indicated that it in fact has rather strong evidence showing that Ms Shenker and His Honour were not where she claimed they were. This evidence apparently includes things such as verified credit card transactions by Ms Shenker and even CCTV footage. Through it all, His Honour, or should it be His Dishonour, has continued to stick by his general story that he wasn’t driving the vehicle, even though his various alibis apparently keep crumbling, seemingly as fast as he puts them together.

Things have continued to crumble for His Dishonour, as Ms Shenker, his former alibi provider, has now claimed in court that her recollections are entirely faulty. The prosecution has launched its attack in the courtroom by detailing a number of previous speeding offences that this Judiciary Jackass claimed were due to others at the wheel of his vehicle. Believe it or not, according to the prosecution, his attempted defence of this latest one by using the name of a dead person wasn’t the first time that he had pulled that stunt or at least attempted to!

This man was on the senior judicial bench, making serious judgements against people appearing before him? Apart from the fact that all the appearances are that he is far from honest, even his general judgement would have to be called into question. If he managed his judicial business as he has his personal life, one cannot help but wonder how many simple lousy and outright wrong calls he has made from the bench. So far the media attention doesn’t appear to have gotten around to it. Nonetheless, I would not be surprised to see some appeals being launched in the not too distant future.

One of the truly astounding aspects of this case that rapidly turned from a speeding offence to a full blown fraud case with some 14 charges of perjury and attempting to pervert the course of justice, is the sheer arrogance with which Einfeld has conducted himself. As things crumbled around him, rather than put his hands up and cop to it all, Einfeld has continued to push his increasingly ludicrous claims. Based just on what the public has seen to date, it would appear that a trained monkey would probably be able to win the case.

The arrogance of persons such as politicians and senior members of the judiciary is legendary. In my admittedly limited experience with the senior judiciary, I have found that this reputation stands up to scrutiny. One former Federal Justice springs to mind who was a notorious boozer. I have attended functions where the organisers have admitted that they had to get the Justice up to make his speech ASAP before he got into too many carafes of red. I have also seen the outcome of failing to do so – long, rambling speeches of little more than gibberish at his worst. This individual was infamous for doing that during a case and appearing on the bench the day after, chronically hung over, and seeing nothing wrong with his behaviour. And nobody in the profession ever saw fit to do anything about it. The rest of us would have gotten the sack for acting like that.

As for politicians, allow me to share this little true tale with you. I know a particular member of the constabulary who once made a confession to me. On the day in question, the constable was in a perfectly foul mood and eventually vented his frustration. A local member of parliament, who held a position of some significance with the Federal branch of the Liberal Party at the time, flatly refused to wear a seatbelt. If you or I were to be caught not wearing ours, we are in trouble with virtually no comeback. Police booked this pollie time and time again. Every single time, it was all made to go away. And the Rt Hon Dickwad kept on flouting the law every damned time he got behind the wheel. When making this confession to me, the frustrated copper had just had yet another attempt to apply the law equally, quashed. Boy was he looking forward to the day that this clown lost his seat in parliament!

I am told that this sort of thing is far from uncommon. Indeed, we only have to look as far as the politically unlamented Peter Reith. Mr Reith’s downfall came after he gave his parliamentary phone card, which provided free telephone calls, to his son. Reith Jnr ran up something like $50,000 worth of calls. Reith Jnr also gave the card to friends and the final bill ran to something like $400,000 from memory.

I was a public servant at the time of these events, and used a corporate credit card to pay for various things like staff attendance at external training courses. My use of that card was subject to monthly audit. I had to account for every cent spent on it. If I misused it, I was committing a Federal offence and there went my job, pretty much no questions asked. Reith on the other hand, first tried to claim that he had done nothing wrong. Then he admitted that it was wrong to have given his card to his son, but stated with some conviction that he was not responsible for the bill run up by his son’s friends. Someone must have eventually pointed out to Reith that he was very much responsible for it. But here’s the clinker. Did it directly cost him his job? Was he sacked? Was he indicted for offences against the Commonwealth as would happen to public servants guilty of similar behaviour? The answer to all was ‘No.’ The Prime Minister, John Howard, even refused to publicly criticise Reith for his delinquent behaviour.

Eventually Reith was allowed to fall on his political sword, resign, and repaid the monies after taking out another mortgage. Personally, I believe that anyone who thinks that he wasn’t eventually ‘looked after’ by some party hack or other for having done the ‘right thing’ by the party is kidding themselves.

These sorts of stories are legion, not widely separated and isolated incidents. What indicate is that the reputation of arrogance of such persons is well deserved indeed. As is the belief of ‘one law for them, one for the rest of us.’ It is for this reason that it is essential that the case against Einfeld be allowed to take its full course, free from any technicalities letting him off. For once at least, these strata of society must be seen to be subject to the same laws as the rest of us.

How about some justice for the rest of us who don’t have much choice about toeing the line?

Now we come to my real concern. Apparently the prosecution made their opening statements or similar available to the press as a press release. The defence is claiming, with some justification, that a ‘fair’ trial is no longer possible. The case is so attention capturing that naturally the media are all over it.

Could it be that judicial bungling is going to let Einfeld off on a technicality such as the corruption of the pool of potential jurors?

For some futher idea of the character of Einfeld, check this article from the Sydney Morning Herald!

Low, base politics

Note – this column was written about a month before the 2007 Australia election, at a time when the Liberals were still claiming that their polls showed that they would retain the seat of Eden Monaro, despite every single other poll showing the opposite.

Australian politics has reached a new low in my opinion.

It is now a matter of public record that the Australian Labour Party candidate for the seat of Eden-Monaro, just on the borders of the ACT, has been compared to a Nazi concentration camp guard. And who made this documented and public accusation? None other than the Chief of Staff for the Special Minister of State, Garry Nairn.

Specifically, that Chief of Staff, one Dr Phelps, first compared the candidate, Mike Kelly, former Colonel in the Australian Army, and his service in Iraq with that of a guard at a Nazi concentration camp. He then suggested that Kelly was taking the Nazi Nurembourg defence i.e. just following orders.

It was Deputy Leader of the Opposition, Julia Guillard, who raised this matter in Parliament. Ms Guillard raised it and Mr Nairn agreed to respond. However his response was frankly pretty weak and entirely dodged the issue. Ms Guillard rose to her feet a second time, this time pointing out that the public debate where this accusation was made by Dr Phelps was recorded. Further that this recording was played on ABC radio, with a transcript now publicly available. Minister Nairn responded a second time. He now made a vague statement about such behaviour being unacceptable from anyone in Australian society and that he would speak to Dr Phelps.

Did Minister Nairn take this opportunity to assure the Australian public that such behaviour by anyone associated with government was unacceptable and would be dealt with? No. Just a vague suggestion to talk to Phelps. Pathetic Minister Nairn. Simply pathetic.

The really silly thing about this situation is the predicament that the Government finds itself in with respect to Nairn’s seat of Eden-Monaro. The Liberal Party claims that its polls show that it will retain the seat of Eden-Monaro. However no details of these alleged polls are ever released. Every other poll that has been conducted and published, shows that the Liberals will definitely not win the seat. The Libs definitely have a problem on their hands in that seat, but should they loose it as they will almost certainly do, it will be everybody else’s fault but their own. This was a gift of an opportunity to be seen to be a strong government, acting in a responsible fashion. Instead, Nairn, with clear support from his parliamentary colleagues, basically ducked the issue.

Say hooroo to Eden-Monaro kids.

Postscript – Eden-Monaro was an early Liberal casualty on election night, with a visibly upset Gary Nairn claming this was solely the fault of opposition campaign in the seat that started long before the election was called. Of course he naturally omitted to mention the significant resources poured into the seat by the Coalition. Yep – everybody else’s fault but their own.