It's not a very good joke, but it's vintage Churchill mythology; a bit cheeky, terribly British and just vague enough to make you wonder if it ever actually happened.

I've been thinking about that story a bit this week. It's the time of year when we tend to talk a lot about national pride, and who has it, and what it means. It's the time of year when everyone seems to have an opinion about what "Australia" (with a big A) means - what it is, and who is and isn't living up to its values. Like a lot of old Churchill jokes, some of those opinions are good, a few of them are weirdly funny, and others are a fantastical load of rubbish.

What we're really talking about here is our national myth - the ideal Australia (big A again).

Australia has a shockingly good catalogue of mythic heroes and heroines, and when we hear and tell their stories you get that unmistakable rush of national pride. They are the stories of our First Nations people and of an ancient and living culture. The stories of Anzacs and of our stunning natural landscape. It's Caroline Chisholm and Cathy Freeman and Eddie Mabo; Edith Cowan and Elizabeth Kenny and Gladys Elphick (to name only a few).

When you hear these stories, you can feel yourself standing a little bit taller. It makes you proud to be part of such a rich and diverse culture and country.

I had one of those moments this week. I met a man who had waited 10 years to become a citizen. He had been forced to flee his home country of Burundi many years ago when conflict broke out there and had spent 16 years living in a Tanzanian refugee camp before he came to Australia. He took the oath on January 26 in a sharp suit and tie and later told me that, after so many years feeling disconnected from his home, he finally felt like he belonged to his country again.

A little later that day, I met a lady who, after living in the Hunter for more than 50 years, had also just become an Australian citizen. She said she made the decision to change her citizenship this year because she had been overseas when the coronavirus pandemic descended and she was concerned that without her citizenship she might not be able to come home. As her native tree - a gift given to all new citizens - poked out of her bag with her certificate, she added: "And I say "come home" now".

Both these people are part of our national myth - part of the big cosmic story we tell ourselves about who we are, where have come from, and what we stand for; namely, values of fairness and safety and inclusion for everyone.

That's the thing about a good national myth. It helps us understand ourselves. A really good one helps us understand others too. It helps us make sense of the world and our place in it. But, like most things, if we misuse and abuse it, then it can quickly turn toxic and dangerous.

The problem with any myth is that it's just that - it's a myth. It's a story with absolute values about a time and a place and people who are never absolute values of anything.

People are complicated. So is our place here. And so is our time, our future, and our history.

Over the past few years, we have seen what can happen when we buy too much into our national myths. Former President Donald Trump is a good example - a man so in love with his own story that, on countless occasions, he flat-out rejected reality in favour of his own fantasy.

Interestingly, during the election, one of President Joe Biden's most often quoted responses to Mr Trump's behaviour was: "This is not who we are".

Australia faces the same danger as any country with a strong national identity in crisis; we risk buying into the myth too much and, when we do, we reveal as much of our ugliness as we do our virtue.

Our willingness to buy too much into a very white, very colonial, very male myth about our nation and its history, instead of the far more diverse reality, is one such ugliness. The willingness of so many of us to go to vile lengths to defend the fantasy is another far more upsetting one.

It shows just how deeply and systemically broken parts of our community are. And, sadly, it reveals the very real cost so many Australians have paid and are still paying for our astonishingly misguided hubris.

That is part of our national story as well, you know. For all of our heroes, we have our fair share of villains too.

For all the new citizens who have come to this place and found a home and a sense of belonging, we also have rabbles of anonymous internet commenters slinging the most vile slurs at a young Wiradjuri woman for refusing to "celebrate" a day that represents indescribable mourning and intergenerational trauma for her people and her culture.

For every one of our heroes, we have slews of far more immature adults shouting down and threatening children for daring to think about the sustainability of the planet we live on beyond their own lifetimes.

We might be tempted to write these off as the repulsive acts internet trolls or bad apples ruining the basket. We might be tempted to say "this is not who we are". But that doesn't change the fact that the apples are bad, there's a lot of them, and their badness didn't come from a social or cultural vacuum.

They might be trolls, and they might be bad apples, but they're our apples and trolls. And they're as real as any Anzac on a poster that they wrongly invoke in defence of their prejudice. And if we neglect our civic responsibilities - if we ignore the sickness - we'll lose the apple orchid.

If we're really being honest, this ugliness is as much a part of the real Australia as any of the rose-tinted moments. It's uncomfortable and difficult to come to terms with, but honestly admitting to our flaws can tell us as much about ourselves as our pride can. And, most importantly, it can show us the parts of our collective character that we need to work on.

That's what a good myth does. It is never meant to be taken literally. A good national myth is uniquely aspirational. It shows us who we are, and gives us something to chase - something to live up to.

It shows us who we can be on our best day. And, when we're honest with ourselves, it reminds us that we're not there yet. There is still work to be done.

Australia with a big A is a story that is still being written by many hands and by many voices. It is up to all of us - online or in the street - to write the story of our great and inclusive pride, rather than our great shame.

Simon McCarthy, Newcastle Herald Digital Journalist