The PR Blog

Dusty Gulch Dispatch: Whiskers Remembered – A Follicle-Fueled Fightback Against Feather-Brained Folly
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble, Special Correspondent

In times of crisis, some towns turn to science. Others turn to faith. Dusty Gulch? We turn to whiskers.

Yes, whiskers. Those humble facial feelers the Good Lord gave cats, rats, and the occasional platypus. Under the right conditions, those bristles become something more  -  follicles as a force of rebellion against the feather-brained.

It is called Whisker Dynamic Propulsion Theory -  WDPT to the initiated, and “that madcap nonsense” to the ducks. But let us not get ahead of ourselves, dear reader.

Last week, many Dusty Gulch citizens mysteriously turned into ducks following Maurice EDuck’s latest decrees.

Between the mid-19th and early 20th centuries, more than a hundred thousand British children were sent overseas to countries like Canada, Australia, and other parts of the British Empire as part of what became known as the Home Children programme. This controversial migration scheme, which aimed to provide "better opportunities" for children in poverty, left a lasting imprint on the lives of those involved.

The Home Children programme began in the 1860s as a social experiment aimed at alleviating poverty in the crowded industrial cities of Britain. Many of these children, some as young as three, were either orphans or had been surrendered by impoverished families who could no longer care for them. The programme was supported by philanthropic organisations such as Dr. Thomas Barnardo's Homes and the Church of England Waifs and Strays Society, and was endorsed by the British government.

Other children were told that their parents had died when in fact that was not the case. As they were compulsorily shipped out of Britain, many of the children were deceived into believing their parents were dead, and that a more abundant life awaited them. Some were exploited as cheap agricultural labour, or denied proper shelter and education. It was common for Home Children to run away, sometimes finding a caring family or better working conditions.

The Battle of Britain ended on 15^th September, 1940 but the Blitz continued long after that.  Following the evacuation of Dunkirk and the Battle of Britain a wealthy American living in London persuaded the government to form an RAF squadron composed entirely of Americans.

This is their story. 

When war broke out on 3^rd September, 1939 there was no mad rush of support for the causes espoused by Britain or for Poland and other occupied European countries. Americans were very much of a mind to remain out of any European war. There was no universal feeling of kinship towards Britain and there was, in fact, quite a lot of sympathetic support for Hitler.

The second most common language spoken in the USA at the time was German and to cap it all the Neutrality Act prevented any engagement, let alone involvement, by Americans with any belligerent country. That included Britain and France as well as Germany.

Amongst all that however, there was a core of sympathetic support for Britain and an eagerness by those who had learned how to fly to enter the fray. Among the various means of getting around the rigours of the Neutrality Act was to cross the border into Canada and proceed from there.

In an age of glowing screens and fleeting texts, something precious has quietly slipped away: the letter. Once, entire lives were poured into envelopes - love confessions, battlefield farewells, business dreams, simple reassurances. Letters carried permanence, patience, and poetry. Today, we trade that depth for speed: a thumbs-up emoji instead of a paragraph, an “u ok?” instead of pages of care.

The Hallmark series Signed, Sealed, Delivered (also known as Lost Letter Mysteries) captures this beautifully. Its quirky, unapologetically “nice” postal detectives uncover the stories behind undelivered letters...  no sex, no swearing, no violence, just hearts and stories. It reminds us that even now, in an age of instant messaging, a letter can change everything.

When you hold a letter, you hold more than words. You hold the slowness of thought, the imprint of a hand, the hope of reply. A letter can be read and re-read, its meaning deepening with every return.

As young folk, didn't some of us feel like rebels without a cause? 

I am 70. In my era, some of us chose to follow Greenpeace. Others chose anti Vietnam war. Still others embraced the feminist ideology and some the allure of socialism and communism. For myself, I never really embraced a cause. I was too busy enjoying life. But I was always a bit of a black sheep. 

Terribly stubborn. Opinionated and very determined in my views on what was black or white or right from wrong. Poor Redhead still tries to rein me in but alas, she hasn't been successful thus far. At 93, you would think she would give up trying, but she tells me " I am still your mother. " 

Bugger. She is right of course but in all fairness, I do attribute good parenting to the fact that she now has three geriatric offspring who tend to be a pain in her arse because we won't do as we are told. Let me explain.