Bungaree, who circumnavigated Australia with Flinders in 1801
A Southern Sydney Journal of History, Heritage and the Arts Volume 5, Number 1, February 2012 ISSN 1835-9817 (Print) ISSN 1835-9825 (Online) Price $7.00 (Aus)
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Doryanthes Exec. Editor: Les Bursill OAM Doryanthes
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The Gymea Lily (spec. Doryanthes excelsa) From Greek “dory”: a spear and “anthos”: a flower, referring to the spear-like flowering stems; excelsa: from Latin excelsus: elevated, high, referring to the tall flower spikes. Go to www.doryanthes.info
Editorial Committee
Editorial Policy;
Chair: Garriock Duncan, BA(Hons) DipEd. Syd MA Macq GradDipEdStud NSW MEd DipLangStud Syd. Editor/Publisher and Secretary: Les Bursill, OAM, BA M.Litt UNE JP. Treasurer: Mary Jacobs, BEd Macq DipNat Nutr AustCollNaturalTherapies. Film Review Editor: Michael Cooke, BEc LaT GradDipEd BA Melb MB VU. Book Review Editor and Secretary: Adj. Prof. Edward Duyker, OAM, BA(Hons) LaT PhD Melb FAHA JP. Botanical Editor: Alan Fairley BA (Hons.
History) UNSW Committee Members: Sue Duyker, BEc BA(Asian Studies) ANU BSc(Arch.) B Arch Syd. Merle Kavanagh, DipFamHistStud SocAustGenealogists AssDipLocAppHist UNE. John Low, BA, DipEd. Syd DipLib CSU. Bruce Howell, BSc, DipEd. Syd
Index of Articles
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Editorial - Bruce Howell
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Gleanings - Sue Duyker
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Great South Land - Merle Kavanagh
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Goannas, Whales and Wallabies - Bruce Howell.
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The Non-Conformist Painters of Leningrad - Marc Finaud
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1. All views expressed are those of the individual authors. 2. It is the Policy of this Journal that material published will meet the requirements of the Editorial Committee for content and style. 3. Appeals concerning non-publication will be considered. However decisions of the Editorial Committee will be final. 4. Please read the Notice to Contributors that can be found on the back page of the online edition at www.doryanthes.info for formatting instructions regarding submission of items.
Index of Articles
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An Admirable Location or a Splendid View: Miranda - Garriock Duncan.
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A Botanical View - Alan Fairley.
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Scattered Seeds - Pierre Duyker.
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Music and Film Reviews - Michael Cooke.
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Notice To Contributors
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Péron and the Birth of the Science of Invertebrates Part II - Dr Gabriel Bittar 21 The Edgeworth David Women: a Remarkable Sydney Trio – Jenny Horsfield
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The articles published herein are copyright © and may not be reproduced without permission of the author.
ISSN 1835-9817 (Print) - ISSN 1835-9825 (Online) The publishers of this Journal known as “Doryanthes” are Leslie Bursill and Mary Jacobs trading as “Dharawal Publishers Inc. 2009” The business address of this publication is 10 Porter Road Engadine NSW, 2233.
[email protected] www.doryanthes.info
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Editorial May I take this opportunity to say what an honour it has been to be asked to become part of the Doryanthes Editorial Committee. To be amongst people with such expertise in their fields of endeavour is humbling to be sure. I am grateful too, that the committee has given me the chance to express myself via the inclusion of my own articles in recent issues. In my first stint as guest editor, I have the very pleasant task of welcoming a new member to the committee, Alan Fairley, who will assume a position of Botanical Editor. Alan is a person with a vast knowledge of the flora of the Southern Sydney region, not to mention his credentials in the study of History, and his contributions will add an extra dimension to the already eclectic selection of articles that the readers of Doryanthes enjoy. Those of you who have been reading Doryanthes since its inception may have noticed a distinct broadening in the scope of the articles featured since then. The extended title “Doryanthes, Journal of History, Heritage and the Arts for Southern Sydney” that featured on the first issue in August 2008 reminds me of a garden bed in which seeds have been planted that will require more space than the garden bed allows. Indeed it may be a challenge for the editorial committee to balance the somewhat humble beginnings of Doryanthes with what it has become today. For example this issue contains topics as diverse as: The Life of Cara David; NonConformist Painters of Leningrad; the Birth of the Science of the Invertebrates; and The Life of Lionel Bopage, complimenting articles with a more local or historical flavour. Many thanks to Marc Finaud and Dr Gabriel Bittar, for their follow up articles to their November 2010 contributions, and thanks too, to the new contributors Jenny Horsfield, and Pierre Duyker. In its August 2010 edition, Doryanthes tested new ground by devoting the whole issue to a single theme, namely the marking of the 2500th anniversary of the Battle of Marathon, a courageous decision considering that only the most learned individuals could confidently write on a topic so esoteric. But the issue was widely praised for the contribution that it made to the study of ancient history and whole-hearted congratulations to Garriock Duncan who guided that issue. Perhaps the Editorial Committee will deem it worthwhile to produce an occasional special edition in the future. Yes, it’s exciting to ponder what the future holds – hopefully this first edition of 2012 will set the tone for what lies ahead. Bruce Howell
Changes to Doryanthes From this edition onwards there will be two versions of Doryanthes. An online version and a shorter print version. The online edition of this Journal at (www.doranthes.info) contains an application to join the Sutherland Shire citizens for Native title and Reconciliation. The online edition also carries a Notice to Contributors that outlines the formatting instructions and other information about submission of items for publication in this Journal.
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Gleanings With Sue Duyker Finding Antarctica: Mapping the Last Continent
Until 19 February, 2012, Exhibition Galleries, State Library of NSW It is one hundred years since Douglas Mawson led the 1911 to 1914 Australasian Antarctic Expedition (AAE), arriving on Macquarie Island on 11 December 1911. In celebration of this centenary, this exhibition will focus on the mapping of Antarctica from the 15th to the 21st century, from crude woodcut maps of the known world through to the latest satellite imagery. The exhibition will tell the story of the gradual discovery, exploration and charting of this significant land mass. The exhibition will showcase the magnificent collection of rare maps and charts held by the State Library, accompanied by rare published accounts and original sketches from Antarctica exploration by Cook, d'Urville, the United State Exploring Expeditions and the Australasian Antarctic Expedition. Free. www.sl.nsw.gov.au/events/exhibitions/future.html Inside: Life in Children’s Homes and Institutions Until 26 February 2012, National Museum of Australia, Canberra Inside features the words, voices and objects of the Forgotten Australians, Former Child Migrants and those who experienced institutional care as children. About half a million children spent time in Children's Homes and institutions, mostly run by state governments, charities and churches from the 1920s to the 1980s. Inside examines how children were committed to 'care', what it was like to grow up on the inside, life on the outside and reactions to the Australian Government's 2009 National Apology to Forgotten Australians and Former Child Migrants. Inside provides a chance for all Australians to understand something of a history that affected so many people and was hidden for so long. Free. www.nma.gov.au/exhibitions/inside/ Florence Taylor: Architect; editor, businesswoman - 'The Great Lady of Sydney Town.' 8 March 2012 6–7pm, Surry Hills Library, 405 Crown Street, Surry Hills Dr Bronwyn Hanna will describe the humble beginnings, courageous career and mixed legacies of Florence Taylor, Australia’s first professionally qualified, practising woman architect. Taylor was also an engineer, town planner, journalist, publisher, social climber and rightwing feminist. This event is held in conjunction with Women’s History Month. Free. Bookings essential. Phone 8374 6230 www.womenshistory.com.au/events.asp Handwritten: Ten centuries of manuscript treasures from Staatsbibliotek zu Berlin Until 18 March 2012, National Library of Australia, Canberra The exhibition includes the handwriting of Erasmus, Bach, Galileo, Napoleon, Newton, Mozart, Machiavelli, Luther, Kafka and many others. Free www.nla.gov.au/library-news-and-events Devonshire Teas at Riversdale Historic Homestead Sundays 19 March, 18 April, 15 May 2012 10am–2pm, Maud Street, Goulburn NSW Come and be part of Riversdale's new monthly event on the 3rd Sunday of every month. Tour the historic 1840s Georgian house and then come and sit in the beautiful gardens of Riversdale and enjoy a Devonshire morning or afternoon tea of homemade scones, jam and cream for the low cost of $5.50 for tea and coffee and 1 scone or $7.50
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for tea and coffee and 2 scones. House and garden tour: adults $5; child/concession $3; family $12; National Trust members free. www.nationaltrust.com.au/events/ Picasso: masterpieces from the Musée National Picasso, Paris Until 25 March 2012, Art Gallery of NSW (open until 7pm on Saturdays) See every phase of Picasso's seven-decade career, including masterpieces from his Blue, Rose, cubist, neoclassical and surrealist periods. These are ‘Picasso’s Picassos’, deeply personal and revealing works that he kept to shape his own legacy. This exhibition has only been made possible because the Musée National Picasso in Paris is closed for renovations. Don’t miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to discover the genius of Picasso. Tickets for Picasso online at www.ticketek.com.au/picasso or call Ticketek on 132 849 or become an Art Gallery member and see the exhibition free. www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au Four Great Women of Architecture in conversation 27 March 2012 (evening), Tusculum, 3 Manning Street, Kings Cross Louise Cox, Diane Jones and Joan Domicelj with host Anne Higham talk about the highs and lows of a life considering architecture. This event is held in conjunction with Women’s History Month. House and garden tour: Australian Institute of Architects members free; others $10; students $5. www.womenshistory.com.au/events.asp Earth Hour Saturday 31 March 2012 8:30–9:30pm Did you know last year a record 5,251 cities in135 countries officially took part? There's a lot going on for the campaign this year, which has grown far beyond the one symbolic hour of darkness to a mass sustainability movement. Free but you are encouraged to register to demonstrate your support for the event. Learn more at: http://wwf.org.au/earthhour/ Renaissance—15th and 16th century Italian paintings from the Accademie Carrara, Bergamo Until 9 April 2012, National Gallery of Australia, Canberra (open until 7pm on Frudays Borrowing from this marvellous collection is only possible because the Accademia is renovating its display spaces, and the museum is temporarily closed. The works in Renaissance were created between 1400 and 1600 by exceptional artists in northern and central Italy. Of extraordinary quality, the paintings were made in such centres of Renaissance culture as Venice, Florence, Milan, Bergamo, Padua, Ferrara and Siena, where the Church and private patrons commissioned religious scenes as well as magnificent portraits. Subjects range from poignant depictions of the Madonna and Child, Bible stories, the lives of the saints and moving renditions of the Crucifixion to insightful images of nobles and patricians. Tickets online at www.ticketek.com.au/picasso or call Ticketek on 132 849 or become a NGA member and see the exhibition free. www.nga.gov.au/exhibition/renaissance/ Persons of interest: the ASIO files Until Sunday 29 April 2012 Justice & Police Museum Cnr Albert and Phillip Streets, Circular Quay, Sydney It’s estimated that ASIO files have been opened on more than half a million Australians; it’s possible you might be a ‘person of interest’. Persons of interest: the ASIO files explores the recently declassified dossiers of people whose every move was once closely watched by Australia's foremost intelligence agency. Previously secret intelligence files, photographs and films will be on display for the first time along with unique surveillance tools used by ASIO agents. Documentary footage shows the very personal reactions of some of these persons of interest as they explain firsthand how their idealism and beliefs were misconstrued by ASIO as something far more sinister. Adults $10; child/concession $5; family $20; Historic Houses Trust members free. www.hht.net.au/whats_on The Etruscans: A Classical Fantasy Until 1 December 2012 Nicholson Museum, Quadrangle A14, The University of Sydney In popular imagination the Etruscans are the very stuff of fantasy, myth and legend. Who are they, where did they come from, what does their language mean? In reality, although wiped out or assimilated by Rome, they have left us an extraordinarily rich heritage of art, jewellery, metal working, terracotta sculpture, urban planning, walls and roads. Indeed, in the 6th century BC, the Etruscans were the most powerful people in the Mediterranean. So what went wrong? Nicholson Museum, Quadrangle A14, The University of Sydney. Monday to Friday 10am–4.30pm. Closed Sundays and Public holidays. Phone 9351 2812 or email
[email protected]/museums/
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GREAT SOUTH LAND Merle Kavanagh Five hundred years ago in the 16th century, most of the world did not know that the continent of Australia existed. In the 19th century, three hundred years later, it acquired the name by which we know it now – Australia. Over the years it had been called a variety of names, some given by explorers and others – well, they make for interesting tales. Credit has been given to the Dutch for their ‘first sighting’ of the western coast of Australia but there is no doubt that the Portuguese had a prior claim to this. In 1516 they had established a base in Timor just 285 miles off the North Western coast of Australia. As a seagoing nation they would certainly have reached the Australian coast. There is undeniable evidence of the Portuguese on the Australian mainland, one being the finding of two bronze cannon on the island in Napier, Broome Bay on the North Western coast in 1916, these being manufactured in the late 15th or early 16th century.1 Another item of interest is that ‘emu’ is from the Portuguese ‘ema’.2 India Meridional The Portuguese were a methodical people and in the course of assessing their place and interests in the area they had used the Great Meridian as a defining element. They had established posts west of the meridian and that area also contained India as well as the ‘southern country’. Thus they called it the India Meridional, a term meaning South Indies as distinct from East Indies. To them it literally referred to that part of Western Australia west of the meridian.3
See www.stradbrokeislandgalleon.com/dieppe.html 1
McIntyre, Kenneth Gordon, The Secret Discovery of Australia: Portuguese ventures 200 years before Captain Cook 1977, Souvenir Press (Australia) P/L, Menindie, Sth. Aust., p.82. 2 Waite, Maurice (Ed.), Compact Oxford Thesaurus, p.326 3 McIntyre, Kenneth Gordon, 1977, p.67.
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Nuca Antara A half-Portuguese named Manoel Godinho de Eredia produced some books, pamphlets and maps at the end of the 16th Century confirming a Portuguese connection with Australia. His book The Declaration of Malacca had a chapter titled ‘India Meridional’ which clearly referred to the area now known as Western Australia. He organized an expedition to Australia, calling it Nuca Antara, but this expedition did not take place.4 However a map produced showed a line connecting Nuca Antara with the India Meridional but this actually linked up with Sumba, an island to the west of Timor. Eredia had thought it was part of India Meridional (W.A.)5 Ouro - Isle of Gold There is a story told by a Portuguese man, Diogo Pacheco, about an island of gold, a thousand miles south-east of Sumatra, about the area of the North West Cape of Western Australia. He and another were sent to search for it and came to Sumatra’s south-western corner where they sold goods to the locals and were paid in gold. On enquiring where the gold came from, they were told that far to the south-east was an island, where black people bartered gold. Believing the story, Pacheo tried to find this Isle of Gold, but after two attempts, when he himself lost his life, the search ended. Fiction or fact? If he had successfully sailed south-east he would have landed in the vicinity of Shark’s Bay, Western Australia. A Portuguese map was found in 1946 by Dr. Mota Alves. This map was associated with Eredia’s colleagues who sailed to an island across the sea from Timor which appears to be in the area of Brunswick Bay on the far north-western coast of Western Australia.6 New Holland The Dutch first sighted the Australian continent in 1606 when William Jansz on his threemasted Duyfken (Little Dove) saw the coast of Cape York Peninsula and followed it for about 200 miles. At that point he named Cape Keerweer (Cape Turnagain) then sailed for home. Jansz actually believed it was part of New Guinea and not a separate country. 7 Other Dutch explorers followed him and before the century was half over, the land was known as New Holland.8 The same year, 1606, Luis de Torres on the San Pedrico sailed west from the New Hebrides through the Torres Strait between Australia and New Guinea without recording any sight of the Australian coast. His ship was part of a Spanish expedition from Peru, which had discovered New Hebrides.9 Eendrachtsland The West coast of Australia was sighted by Dirk Hartog in 1616 when his ship Eendracht (Harmony) anchored at what is now called Dirk Hartog Island. On a map which was subsequently published, the North West coast is named Eendrachtsland.10
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McIntyre, Kenneth Gordon, 1977, p.75 McIntyre, Kenneth Gordon, 1977, pp.362/3 6 McIntyre, 1977, pp.72-73, 75. 7 Megaw, J.V.S.(ed.) Employ’d as a Discoverer, Papers presented at Captain Cook Bi-Centenary Symposium Sutherland Shire 1-3 May, 1970, A.H. & A.W. Reed, for Suth. Shire Cl., Sydney. ‘James Cook and His Predecessors in Australian Discovery’ (N. Horwood), p.17/18 8 Fraser, Bryce (Ed.), Macquarie Book of Events, Macquarie Library, 1984, p.17 9 Megaw, (Horwood), 1970, p.18 10 Megaw, (Horwood),1970, pp.18/19 5
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Land of the Leeuwin In 1622 the ship Leeuwin (Lioness) sighted the southwest corner of Western Australia and gave its name to the cape, the subsequent maps showing Cape Leeuwin or Land of the Leeuwin. There was also an English ship off the western coast of Australia that year. The Trial was wrecked off the Western coast of Australia near Barrow and Monte Bellow Islands, and the survivors managed to reach Batavia in the ship’s boats.11 The land of Peter Nuyts The Guilden Seepaert sailed east along 1000 miles of the south coast in 1627 and on board was an important member of the Dutch East India Company, Pieter Nuyts. That stretch of coast was named for him, Dutch maps showing “The Land of Pieter Nuyts – discovered 1627”.12 Van Diemen’s Land It was Abel Janszoon Tasman in 1645 who first circumnavigated Tasmania, naming it Van Diemen’s Land after the Dutch Governor General of the East Indies, Anthony Van Diemen. Tasman’s ship was the Heemskerck and it was accompanied by the Zeehan. He sailed on to New Zealand but was deterred from landing by the warlike Maoris who killed four of his men at Golden Bay on the northern shore of the South Island. They returned to Batavia where they had originally commenced their voyage, having effectively circumnavigated Australia and New Guinea. The many explorative voyages of the Dutch had resulted in a significant portion of this land being mapped.13 Great South Land All this 17th century activity lent fuel to earlier speculation that there was a Great South Land. Even as exploration revealed a growing shape, there were disputed opinions on the maps produced. This fueled the fire of the Terra Australis Incognita adherents. Terra Australis (Incognita) Ptolomy of Alexandria (c.A.D.100) had assumed that where there were blanks on the map, there would be land and he was more than happy to invent his own version of the Great South Land. Thus Ptolomaic maps began appearing in the 15th and 16th centuries from France and Germany, showing the supposed breadth and size of this land, some even encompassing Antarctica. Gradually this came to be known as Terra Australis, particularly in the unknown southern regions. And so the unknown became accepted as truth. Even though many parts of this southern land had been visited and charted, it was thought that Terra Australis Incognita was down there, still waiting to be found – perhaps in the South Pacific.14 New South Wales Into the story sailed the Endeavour under Lieut. James Cook, navigating his ship out to the Pacific to observe the Transit of Venus. This expedition had been the idea of the Royal Society in 1768 and they had appointed a Commander, Alexander Dalrymple, who had already chosen a ship which would later be named Endeavour. Dalrymple had a keen interest in the Great South Land and this had spurred him on to become a hydrographer. He had also commanded a ship, the Cuddalore, for the East India Company to search for new trade outlets. At his death his private collection of maps totaled 20,000. To further his 11
Megaw, (Horwood),1970, p.19 Megaw, (Horwood),1970, p.19 13 Megaw, (Horwood) pp.20/21 14 McIntyre, 1977, pp.136/137 12
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interests he had even become a member of the Royal Society which found him a very suitable candidate for the position of Commander. However, the Royal Society had to approach the government for funds and this resulted in the purchase of the Endeavour by the Royal Navy. As a Royal Navy ship it MUST have a Royal Navy Commander. Dalrymple was out and Cook was in. It did not make for good relations between them – in fact Dalrymple was bitterly disappointed and offered no help to Cook, not even a map or two from his enormous collection.15 The Endeavour sailed and completed the study of the transit of Venus, then on to New Zealand, charting and circumnavigating both islands. She then sailed west into the unknown. Cook had discussed with his officers the possibility of returning via Cape Horn but decided against it, though he would have liked to ‘prove the existance or nonexistance (sic) of a Southern Continent’, thought to have been in the South Pacific area. Instead he steered westward to ‘fall in with the E. Coast of New Holland’. Point Hicks was named for the Lieutenant who saw it on 20 April 1770. Cook then did a running survey up the coast, using Mt. Dromedary and Pigeon House to take some bearings. The Endeavour eventually reached Botany Bay where they anchored by the southern shore. Cook thought the land was very much like the South Wales countryside and so he named it New South Wales. They spent some time there, then the Endeavour continued north, striking reefs off the Queensland coast. Repairs were needed and after much trouble they eventually found Torres Strait and sailed though it to the East Indies.16 It was an historic voyage which added a great deal to the Great South Land debate. Australia Matthew Flinders certainly left his mark on Australia. Born the eldest son of a physician in 1774, he was expected to follow his father’s profession. This was not to Matthew’s taste as he was keen to enter the naval service and on advice from his cousin in the navy, he studied navigation and trigonometry. Under the patronage of Captain Pasley he volunteered for H.M.S. Scipio and from there he transferred to H.M.S. Belleraphon.17 A year or so later (1791) he joined Captain Bligh’s expedition on the Providence to the Friendly Isles. After that Matthew’s passion for discovery never waned.18 Which is why we find him in 1796 on the Tom Thumb with George Bass exploring the Illawarra Coast of New South Wales. In 1798 he set out with Bass and a crew of eight on the Norfolk confirming that Van Diemen’s Land was an island. He sailed for Britain in 1800 where he was promoted to Commander19 and while there he married Ann Chappelle on 17th April 1801. They would spend many years apart. 20 Three months later he sailed in the H.M.S. Investigator for
Bungaree at Sydney Cove. Bungaree sailed with Flinders on his circumnavigation of Australia in the Investigator in 1801-02 – the first Aboriginal to complete that journey. Image: National Library of Australia Nla.pic-an2256865-v Augustus Earle (1793–1838)
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McIntyre, 1977, pp.327-334 Pearson, Michael, Great Southern Land; the Maritime exploration of Terra Australis. Commonwealth of Australia, 2005, pp.59-60. 17 Retter, Catharine & Sinclair, Shirley, Letters to Ann: The love story of Matthew Flinders and Ann Chappelle,Angus & Robertson, 1999, pp.5-7 18 Retter & Sinclair, 1999, p.7 19 Pearson, Michael, Great Southern Land: The maritime exploration of Terra Australis, Commonwealth of Australia, 2005, pp.84-85 20 Retter & Sinclair, 1999, p.22 16
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Australia. He wrote in a letter to her ‘I go beloved, to gather riches and laurels with which to adorn thee.’ 21 From 1801 – 1803 on the Investigator, Flinders conducted a detailed coastal survey of a large portion of Australia, including New South Wales, Queensland, Gulf of Carpentaria, Great Australian Bight, South Australia and Bass Strait. At one spot he corrected the Dutch charts, describing them as ‘little better than a representation of fairyland’.22 As fate would have it, in 1803 Flinders set off in the Cumberland to return to England for another ship in which to continue his survey. Because the Cumberland was not very seaworthy a call had to be made at Mauritius, where to their dismay they found that France and Britain were at war. Consequently the ship’s company was held there by the French, with Matthew spending almost seven years before being released in 1810.23 He had not seen Ann for over nine years.24 Those years as a prisoner of the French had taken a toll and Matthew was in ill health. However, he was keen to finish what he had started and began the enormous task of writing the account of his explorations from his journals and charts. He also detailed the reasons for not having completed the survey, the rottenness of the Investigator, and his detention etc. and added some thoughts on a name for the country. He did not think it was a good idea for the country to have two names – New South Wales and New Holland – and he was well aware of the popularity of the name Terra Australis and he thought it was appropriate to use it in some way. He did consider ‘Australasia’ but thought it ‘too extreme’ and discarded ‘Terra Australia’ as a matter of taste then finally settled on ‘Australia’. This was firstly ignored by the chart makers until the politicians caught on to it. And the Great South Land became Australia!25 A copy of his completed book arrived at his home just before his death on 19th July 1814 in his 40th year. Ann, his wife, placed it in his hands as he lay asleep but he did not regain consciousness. He was only 39 years old.26 The boundaries between New South Wales on the east and New Holland on the west had to be established and this line ran north-south, almost dividing the country in half. But the Dutch at that time were establishing posts in New Guinea and annexing parts of it and Sir John Barrow, the Administrative Secretary of the British Admiralty was aware that the Dutch could justify the establishment of a post or colony on the western side – New Holland. To prevent this, in 1825 he took measures to annex the whole of Western Australia to Britain. This also ended the India Meridional.27 Ulimaroa A curious nomenclature for Australia was Ulimaroa. This was used by a Swedish geographer and cartographer, Daniel Djurberg in most of his publications. He was considered eccentric because he gave his own names to places. In 1780 he used Ulimaroa on a map of Australia and this was copied by other map publishers/cartographers until about 1819. Ulimaroa was also used for ‘Australia’ in a novel by the Swedish writer Carl Jonus Love Almqvist – ‘Parjumouf. A tale from New Holland.’ The name first appeared in print when Hawkesworth’s 1773 account of Captain Cook’s first voyage was 21
Retter & Sinclair, 1999, pp.36, 34 Pearson, Michael, 2005, pp.85-88 23 Pearson, Michael, 2005, pp.88-89 24 Retter & Sinclair, 1999, p.101 25 Mack, James D. Matthew Flinders 1774-1814, Thomas Nelson (Aust.) Ltd., Melbourne, 1966, p.205 26 Retter & Sinclair, 1999, pp.121-123 27 McIntyre, 1977, pp.5, 356-357 22
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published. It was initially spoken by Tupia, a priest, chief and navigator who was asked to join the Endeavour on its way home to England. To him, Ulimaroa was a country to which peopled had sailed in a large canoe and where hogs were eaten!28 Notasia In 1819 a map was produced labeled “Australasia – Notasia” by Aaron Arrowsmith and Samuel Lewis. It is interesting that this is ‘not’ and ‘asia’ joined together and most people would agree with him.29 So what’s in a name? History is indelibly linked with the well-chosen name ‘Australia’. Some of the previous names given were for people, but Australia is for the land alone. It is a strong connection with the past – Terra Australis – no longer unknown and still a Great South Land.
The map prepared and published by Flinders in July 1814. Flinders completed his circumnavigation of Australia in June 1803
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Placenames Australia, June 2010, pp. 4/5 www.oldmaps.com/pf.; www.graysonline.com.
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Goannas, Whales and Wallabies – Part 6 Stone Arrangements, Wells & Channelling (and still more) Bruce Howell
Middens, engravings, shelter art, hand stencils, grinding grooves and signs of tool making provide the most easily discernable evidence of the prehistoric1 occupation of the Sutherland Shire (and anywhere else in Australia for that matter), but there are other signs. Stone arrangements, capped wells, channelling, scarred trees, open campsites, burials2 and ochre quarries provide still more sources of evidence. However, some of these other signs are harder to confidently identify, partly because of the periods of time that have elapsed, and partly because in some cases it is very difficult to distinguish prehistoric features from natural features, or features created by the activities of modern Australians. This is particularly true for stone arrangements – in the Royal National Park there are hundreds of places where there appears to be an arrangement of stones – but it’s very difficult to know what caused the arrangement. Some are formed naturally, for example, where a large rock on a rock platform has eroded into several smaller ones, or a where a tree has grown in a rocky area and, as it has matured, pushed fragments of stone up around it, leaving a mysterious circle of stones after the tree itself has decomposed. Also, arrangements of stones have been placed, since about the year 1900, by scouting and orienteering groups, throughout the Royal National Park. But, it is well established, from other sites around Australia, that stones were arranged (pre European contact) for various reasons, the most obvious being to act as fish traps, either to channel fish into a smaller area in a river, or to trap fish in tidal zones as the tide drops. A good example3 of a tidal fish trap can be seen at Arrawarra Headland, roughly 60 kilometres south of Grafton in New South Wales. The stone arrangements in the Royal National Park, if they are prehistoric, would appear to have served as markers, perhaps indicating the position of a nearby shelter or water source, or a route through difficult terrain, or in some cases may indicate the position of a burial.
This stone arrangement at Arrawarra Headland (just south of 3 Grafton in New South Wales), has been identified as a fish trap, used by both the original inhabitants and later, the first European settlers.
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The same difficulties arise when attempting to identify “scarred trees”. Trees can be scarred in various natural ways (by bushfires, by damage to one tree when another tree falls, or by lightning strikes), but they can also be scarred by human activity. Bark was routinely removed from suitable trees to make anything from a container for gathering seeds & berries, or water, to a full length canoe. But how can you tell whether the scarring is evidence of prehistoric occupation or simply a natural phenomenon? Firstly the tree involved needs to be very old, at least 150 years. But how can you tell how old a tree is by how it looks? Some trees, perched amongst rocks in low grade soils, may take a long time to grow even to a medium size. Unless the tree has been specifically decorated, i.e. carved with some kind of pattern, or has been identified via oral history, the ravages of time make it very difficult to confidently identify a scarred tree as being the result of human activity. Some of the other signs of the daily lives of the original inhabitants of our shire, are thankfully easier to identify, particularly “capped wells” and “channelling grooves”. A “well” is a pothole occurring in a rock platform or rocky watercourse, that usually contains fresh water, even in dry spells. Occasionally a well can be seen to have a capping stone, selected to neatly fit the shape of the top of the well. Modifications to the well, such as ledges upon which to sit the cap, or concavities in the perimeter of the well to allow access for hands to lift the cap, can sometimes be seen also. The purpose of capping a well was presumably to protect a water source from evaporation, or from spoiling by trapped leaves (that turn the water dark brown) or visits by animals.
This well, on a ridge in Heathcote National Park, is interesting because of the rock that was found sitting right beside it. The rock is very similar in shape to the well, and furthermore, appears to have been worked in places, so is likely to have been the capping stone for the well.
Long grooves called channels can sometimes be seen in the vicinity of a well. Channels can be formed naturally, part of the same erosive process that formed the well in the first place, but when you see grooves channelling water around the well, you can be reasonably sure that you are looking at a feature that has been engineered to be that way. But why would you channel water away from a well? 13
At some sites the well lies beside a layer of soil covered with moss, that soaks up water, and some of that water seeps down towards the well. In some cases this seepage water will be contaminated by dirt or dissolved minerals, and rather than have that seepage run towards the well, it may be desirable to instead direct it away from the well, so that a clean water source is not compromised. There are several sites in the Heathcote and Royal National Parks that provide evidence for the notion that some potholes were deliberately protected, by capping or channelling, in order to conserve the water contained by the pothole. All these features, and more, can be seen in the Royal and Heathcote National Parks, and the Sutherland Shire and Illawarra, in general. This image shows a natural watercourse on an inclined rock The Royal National Park is, as outcrop in the Royal National Park near Heathcote East. An 4 Frank Cridland described it , a engraved groove uphill from the pothole (at the bottom of the image) appears to have been designed to direct water away “living museum” of what our from the pothole. shire once was physically, but more importantly, a “living museum” of the lives of the people that lived in the area, for anything up to 20 000 years before the first Europeans set foot here.
It is indeed, a very special place. 1
In the Australian context, the term “prehistoric” refers to the times prior to the first written accounts/diary entries/logs th of the European explorers who charted or visited our shores, probably no earlier than around the beginning of the 17 century. In the context of the Sydney area, I generally consider times prior to 1770 as “prehistoric”. 2
There are several accounts of excavations that have identified burial sites in the Sutherland area – for example at Bundeena (see “Results of an Exploration of Rock-Shelters at Port Hacking”, by Walter R Harper, circa 1900), and Gymea (see “The Excavation of an Aboriginal Rock-shelter on Gymea Bay, Port Hacking NSW”, by JVS Megaw 1966). 3
A plaque at Arrawarra Headland, erected as part of the Bicentenary celebrations in 1988 reads “Arrawarra Fish Traps used for trapping fish by Aborigines and early settlers”. 4
See “The Story of Port Hacking, Cronulla and the Sutherland Shire” by Frank Cridland, first published in 1924.
All photographs taken by the author.
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THE ‘NON-CONFORMIST’ PAINTERS OF LENINGRAD AND THE FRENCH CONSULATE-GENERAL (1977-1979) Marc Finaud, Vice-Consul for France in Leningrad (1977-1979), Consul-General for France in Sydney (2000-2004)30 Marc Finaud I took up the first assignment of my diplomatic career in September 1977 as both Vice-Consul and Cultural Attaché in Leningrad. As soon as I arrived, I was introduced into the circle of so-called “non-conformist” painters – and more generally artists – which preoccupied me throughout my tenure until 1979.
The Political Context The French Consulate-General in Leningrad was opened in 1973 as a reciprocal gesture for the establishment of the Soviet Consulate-General in Marseilles. It was then – and still is – located on the banks of the Moika River a few steps from the Hermitage Museum, in a former four-storey private building. As a junior French diplomat, being posted to the former imperial capital of Russia, close to the site of the former French Embassy in SaintPetersburg, could not leave me indifferent. Life was easier than in Moscow because the environment could appear romantic even if repeatedly repainted heritage buildings also concealed some form of misery. Among western countries, only a handful had opened a consulate (the US, Germany, Sweden, Finland, Italy), which limited contacts within the consular corps and encouraged interaction with Soviet people. That activity was of course discouraged by the regime, which, due to the low numbers of foreign diplomats, had the means to watch closely over them and put their contacts under pressure. The career of a young KGB officer named Vladimir Putin was then beginning, most probably in the surveillance of diplomats. The Soviet regime was indeed in the culminating phase of Brezhnevism. After the conclusion of the Helsinki Accord in 1975, the Communist Party was fighting against any sign of political opposition based on the hopes that this agreement had generated in particular among intellectuals and artists. The human rights movement, led in Moscow among others by Andrei Sakharov and Helena Bonner, was echoed in Leningrad, where people considered themselves more educated and open to the West than Moscowites. The Leningrad Painters The Leningrad school of painting – assuming that all artists could be united into that category – relied on the tradition of the great masters from the first quarter of the twentieth century, some of whom were born in that city or had lived there: Malevich, Kandinsky, Filonov, Tatlin, Larionov, Goncharova, etc. Some painters of the new generation such as Guennadi Zubkov, Mikhail Tserush, or Vasili Smirnov, from the so-called Sterligov Group, were close to a survivor from that time, Anna Leporskaya, a chinaware designer, who had been Malevich’s secretary and still owned many of his archive and works. She donated several of those to the French National Modern Art Museum of the Georges 30
The views expressed here are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of the French government.
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Pompidou Centre on the occasion of the 1979 Paris-Moscow exhibition. I was asked to escort those works discreetly in the Diplomatic Bag. Most of those artists also shared a common fascination for French painting, in particular the Cubists, the Fauve School, Cézanne or Matisse, whose works were exhibited in numbers at the Hermitage Museum. They would study them at the Academy and continue, long after graduation, to research them and seek any available – but necessarily scarce – information about them. Similarly, thanks to contacts with westerners, they looked for any information on the Russian painters who had fled the regime or had been persecuted by Stalin. Several of those had lived and died in France. Taking advantage of the climate of “détente” resulting from the Helsinki Accord, Leningrad painters thought that they could demand more freedom of expression. One has to remember that, at that time, the regime closely controlled any artistic creation. Every single painter, sculptor, or designer had to become a member of the official Union in order to obtain a professional ID card, a legal status, government commissions, and the right to exhibit his or her works in the Union’s halls. But the official norm remained “Socialist Realism”: any abstract deviation was condemned as “bourgeois” or “decadent”. The artists who refused to submit themselves to those rules had no other choice than to fall into a clandestine situation: without an official job, they could be arrested any time for being “parasites” and sent to a labour camp in Siberia. Their works were exhibited secretly in private apartments, where they risked being confiscated or destroyed. Any non registered sale was considered as contraband and punishable with a prison term. Yet a wind of hope wiped Leningrad in 1975-76. In 1974, the KGB had sent bulldozers to brutally crush an open air exhibition at Byelayevo Metro Station in Moscow, and then only tolerated for a couple of hours a new one at Ismailovo Park. In order to redress the international outrage caused by those actions, the Leningrad authorities attempted to control the local artist movement. In December 1974, they authorized the first exhibition of some 50 so-called non-conformist painters at the Gaza Palace of Culture; that event attracted crowds of curious viewers despite the long queues in the cold and a total lack of publicity. In September 1975, in the wake of the Helsinki Accord, the Party approved a new
The exhibition of Galina Makhroff's watercolors at the French Consulate-General, attended by most "nonconformist" painters of Leningrad
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exhibition, at the Nievskyi Palace of Culture, which turned out to be even a more resounding success. However, the Party feared to lose control of the situation, and because international pressure had subsided, in 1975, it decided to take a harsher stand: it prohibited any new non-conformist exhibition. A few painters tried to challenge that ban by exhibiting works along the Peter-and-Paul fortress in 1975, but the KGB quickly dismantled the exhibition and its initiators were threatened. Later that year, a suspicious fire destroyed the studio of painter Evgenyi Rukhin, during which the artist perished. Many saw in that tragedy a warning to all non-conformist painters. In fact this signalled the beginning of a new era of strengthening of the underground movement, which encouraged painters to pursue their activities and seek recognition in the West. In the eyes of the new generation, the movement’s veterans (Anatoly Byelkin, Gleb Bogomolov, Leonid Borisov, Mikhail Shemyakin, Guenady Esaulenko, Alexander Gurevich, Igor Zharkikh, Alexander Leonov, Oleg Lyagachev, Nikolai Liubushkin, Vladimir Makarenko, Vladimir Ovchinnikov, Anatoly Putilin, Igor Tiulanov, Anatoly Vasilyev, Igor Zakharov-Ross, etc.) became heroes.
Evgeny Rukhin
Evgeny Rukhin. Street Light, 1971
The painters were supported morally and financially by some friendly enthusiasts. Writer Vadim Nechaev hosted exhibitions in his apartment, to which foreigners and potential art collectors were invited. In return, the painters donated some of their works that enriched his own collection. Art critic Irina Baskina compiled an extensive archive (samizdat* articles, photos of works and exhibitions, painters’ interviews). Physicist Georgy Mikhailov also took photos of works and collected them. A well-off widow, Olga Olshanska, also hosted exhibitions in her heritage home located between the French Consulate and the Hermitage. Often those art collectors organised cultural evenings during which not only paintings were exhibited but verses of poets such as Anna Akhmatova, Osip Mandelstein or Josip Brodsky were read, or songs of Bulat Akudzhava and Vladimir Vysotsky were sang accompanied by a guitar. Other artists, independent from any movement, also sought the support of foreigners by selling their works to them or exchanging artwork for western goods (paint, brushes, art books). Thus Tatyana Mamonova, a miniature painter and poet, who founded the first feminist samizdat, spoke French and naturaly became close to the French Consulate. The Action of the French Consulate Between 1976 and 1980, the French Consul-General was Philippe Legrain, an expert on Eastern Europe, who spent a total of ten years of his career in the Soviet Union. He could speak Russian fluently and had a good knowledge of the country and the Communist regime, towards which he never showed any complacency. As soon as he had taken his post, he had made contact with the Leningrad intellectuals, especially the painters. He regularly bought their works, in particular those of Ovchinnikov and Vasilyev, that *
Samizdat (in Russian: “self-published”) was a system of home-made publications to evade censorship end spread either prohibited literature (such as Solzhenitsyn, Pasternak, Bulgakov, Akhmatova, etc.) or pamphlets and books written by contemporary dissident authors.
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decorated the walls of his residence. He frequently visited them, which was known to the KGB agents who surveilled him. He shared the view of his contacts that those visits offered some protection because the security services hesitated to risk a diplomatic scandal by pressuring the painters too much. He only refrained from visiting the artists if they asked him to do so. When I took up my own assignment in September 1977, the Consul-General tasked me (From left to right:) Anatoly Putilin, with the development of Philippe Legrain, and Marc Finaud relations with non-conformist intellectuals, who were craving for contacts. Indeed the official figures were under instruction to boycott any activity of the Consulates not organised jointly with the Soviet authorities. One of the means of expanding contacts was to invite people to film screenings at the reception hall of the Consulate, equipped with a 16-mm projector. French films were sent by the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs via the Embassy in the Diplomatic Bag. When I collected the bags at 5.00 a.m. in a remote suburb train station, I could feel the weight of the film reels. Invitations in French and Russian were handed to our hosts on the occasion of our visits to the artists, who distributed them to their friends. On the evening of the film shows, guests were checked by the Militia (police) officers who were guarding the Consulate. On those evenings, with reinforcements, the officers gradually became more restrictive and demanded ID documents, phoned names to their superiors or even summoned some guests to the KGB. Several times, I had to negotiate with them when they intimidated our guests. They always courteously replied, ‘We protect you against hooligans and terrorists!’ But this security check did not succeed in discouraging our guests, and because we could not fit all people in the reception hall, we soon had to split the guest list in two and organise two showings of the same film. The movies were in French without subtitles while only a few viewers could understand that language; occasionally a French-speaking student would volunteer to translate or summarise the dialogues. Once in the Consulate premises, people felt a taste of freedom. The French Foreign Ministry and the Embassy sent us regularly French books and records, that were avidly borrowed. We also recycled old magazines such as Paris-Match or Elle, which were big hits. The Consul-General and I ordered Russian books banned in the USSR via a discreet connection in France or bought them in Finland, and we made them available to our trusted contacts and through them to their friends. When we had gifts to present on the occasion of our visits to artists, those books were the most appreciated ones. Once, the Consul-General organised in the Consulate reception hall an exhibition of figurative watercolours of Galina Makhroff, the wife of our Trade Commissioner in the 18
Embassy. Both she and her husband, from Russian descent, had many friends among the Leningrad painters. The Consul-General invited to the opening both officials (from the Foreign Ministry, the City Hall, the Region, Museum Directors, etc.) and the non-conformist artists. No official showed up due to an instruction to abstain from the Party authorities. During the week of the exhibition, Militia officers behaved aggressively to discourage visitors. However, in his official relations, never was the Consul-General formally asked to suspend such activities by the authorities. They probably guessed that he would not have yielded to them. The Beginning of Exile The run-up to the 1980 Moscow Olympics was marked by a toughening of the Soviet regime towards political dissidents, of whom it tried to rid the country, and to whom nonconformist artists were assimilated. Most of the latter and their supporters were gradually summoned to the KGB which offered the alternative, ‘Either you go West (emigrate for ever as Jews) or you go East’ (deported to Siberia as ‘parasites’). Those who protested that they were not Jews were told, ‘No problem, we are flexible with documentation’. Indeed, the ‘Jewish connection’ was the main official means of emigration as a result of the American pressures. People who wanted or were forced to emigrate would claim to be Jews, go to the Dutch Embassy in Moscow to apply for a visa to Israel (whose interests were represented by Holland after the severance of diplomatic relations in 1967) in exchange for giving up their Soviet citizenship. Most of them actually never ended up in Israel. For the public, Soviet propaganda could pretend that only the Jews did not like the Soviet Union and were free to emigrate to Israel. In that case, the whole family of the artist was forced to follow him or her, including old grand-parents whose pension would then be saved by the Soviet regime. Once they were gone, they were all erased from all public records as if they had never existed. They were forced to sell all their belongings. While the artists were not allowed, until then, to exhibit freely their works, suddenly the latter became State property and the artists had to buy them back from the authorities if they wanted to take them out of the country. Even any picture or slide of an art work was considered as belonging to the State heritage and had to be bought back. Such a levy was imposed on supporters or collectors such as Irina Baskina. Physicist Georgy Mikhailov was sentenced in 1979 for ‘contraband’ after having processed in his bathroom photos of underground exhibitions and exchanged some works for small gifts. A year later he was deported to Siberia while his whole collection was to be destroyed. Some 300 pieces were indeed destroyed, but the rest was salvaged. It is only under the pressure of Amnesty International, French Human Rights groups, and UNESCO that he was eventually released and expelled to France in 1983 after five years in a labour camp. Several painters or collectors could not afford to buy back their works to take them in their forced exile. They turned to me for help. So when I left the Soviet Union at the end of my tenure, I packed dozens of paintings and drawings into my bags or my Lada car trunk. Thanks to my diplomatic immunity, I could cross the border without trouble and hand the works back to their authors while in France. Some of those works are today exhibited at the Russian Exiled Art Museum established in Montgeron, near Paris, by art collector Alexander Glezer in 1976.
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The first of the Leningrad painters of that generation to take the path of exile was Mikhail Shemyakin. He arrived in Paris in 1971 and was sponsored by Dina Vierny (the former model of French sculptor Mayol), who exhibited his works at the Katia Granoff Gallery in Paris. He later emigrated to the US but went back to France in 2007. In the period from 1975 to 1980, he was considered as a pioneer by his colleagues still in the Soviet Union, and he encouraged them to send works to the exhibitions that began to be organised in the West. In his turn, he made a first symbolic return to his homeland in 1978 by smuggling some lithographs to a clandestine apartment exhibition in Moscow and then Leningrad. The exhibition, which I had a chance to visit, was dismantled by the police despite the presence of diplomats. Others followed later, leaving Leningrad through the same connection, mainly for Paris (Edward Zelenin and Oleg Liagachev in 1975, Lydia Masterkova in 1976, Vladimir Bugrin and Alexander Leonov in 1977, Anatoly Putilin and his wife Liudmila in 1978, Tatyana Mamonova and Vladimir Makarenko in 1980), for Munich (Igor Zakharov-Ross in 1978) or for Rome (Mikhail Kulakovin 1976, Igor Tiulpanov in 1979). Other painters, despite threats and persecutions, decided to remain in Leningrad, the source of their inspiration. This was the case, among others, of Ovchinnkov, Vasilyev or Byelkin, who survived that period and became successful after the collapse of the Soviet regime. Apart from the Jewish connection or defection (for the rare privileged ones allowed to travel to the West), another means of leaving the Soviet Union was to marry a foreigner. This is what Vladimir (‘Volodya’) Chernyshov, among the youngest of the painters of that generation, did in 1977 when he married a French student in Russian language, Annie Teyssier, and emigrated with her to France in 1978. It was not the easiest way: the Soviet authorities accumulated obstacles to discourage those unions. Volodya and his fiancee suffered pressure from the KGB, which I witnessed: he was arrested for allegedly detaining foreign currency (Annie had bought a bottle of vodka in a Beriozka shop for tourists) and the Consulate had to intervene. When they were about to leave the country, the KGB attempted to blackmail him into spying on his fellow painters. Such methods were commonly used by the KGB to infiltrate all dissident movements, and created a climate of mutual suspicion among artists. Anne became a professor of Russian language in France and wrote her story in a novel entitled Une Saison russe (‘A Russian Season’) (L’Harmattan, 2009). On the artistic level, emigration sometimes led painters to change gradually their style and inspiration. Chernyshov, one of the few Russian painters attracted by surrealism, moved to another style, still based on graphic quality but more fantastic. Conversely, at least for several years, Putilin, while feeling close to Malevich’s constructivism, continued to paint works inspired by the spiritual dimension of ‘Eternal Russia’ with crosses and icons. Those artists have marked their generation, both in Leningrad and in the West, for those who settled there. This period now belongs to history, and the role, albeit modest, played by the then representatives of France in Leningrad, is part of it.
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Péron and the Birth of the Science of Invertebrates Part II - Crushing chaos, again, and again By Dr Gabriel Bittar President, International Foundation Jîvasattha and Jîvarakkhî In memoriam François Péron [Cérilly 1775.08.22 - Cérilly 1810.12.14] A warm 'merci' to editor Anne Findlay, Melbourne, for patiently and thoroughly correcting the author's English with her keen eye.
Continued from the November 2011 edition; 9. Scientists in competition: the main roles in the Péronian tragedy Let's have a cursory glance at the main protagonists of the Péronian tragedy during the 6 years and 9 months separating the arrival of Le Géographe, back to France in Lorient on the 25th of March 1804, and the passing, on the 14th of December 1810, of this fight-tothe-death character. First, the two nail-and-tooth adversaries at the Muséum, Jean-Baptiste de Monet de Lamarck and Georges Cuvier. As we have seen, the discovery of one mollusc shell by Péron, brought back with Le Naturaliste on the 7th of June 1803, helped to comfort Lamarck in his transformist views, to the displeasure of fixedly fixist G. Cuvier. Apart from his talent as on-site discoverer, Péron proved himself a pioneer of a phylogenetic approach to zoology, as well as a pioneer of zooclimatology (domains that would both be furthered decades later by a great German scientist, Ernst Haeckel). Again, nothing that could particularly please G. Cuvier... In addition, hyperactive Péron had not only been acting as a zoologist on the expedition: he also dealt with oceanography, painstakingly making deep-sea measurements of temperature during the voyage, at record-breaking depths. These oceanographic observations too, helped to confirm Lamarck's scepticism about both creationism and G. Cuvier's adaptation of it: catastrophism (cf. ch 5 in Part I). None of this could bring François Péron to be seen favourably by a rather belligerent Georges Cuvier. Péron was not stupid, he knew that G. Cuvier was the stronger part of the Lamarck-Cuvier pair, a pair in perpetual dispute, so he tried his best, despite his results, to display his allegiance to Cuvier and his ideas. But Cuvier was no fool either: though the little bastard was making the right sounds of allegiance towards the sole and unique grand master of anything living - himself, the great Georges Cuvier - he nevertheless could see that Péron was, in reality, undermining, through his scientific results and contributions, his own catastrophist ideology. Thus, inevitably in the eyes of a socially ambitious ideologue, Péron appeared to him as a threat to his academic position as well as to his social standing. To get a better idea of the personality that Péron, unwillingly, had irritated, one needs to know that G. Cuvier could be so cantankerous and ruthless that, in 1829, at old Lamarck's 21
funeral, he would drop without any qualm a bimillenarian precept of sociality: De mortuis nil nisi bonum - "Of the dead say nothing but good". His so-called eulogy was so nastily contemptuous of his long-standing opponent, who had spent his last 10 years as a blind recluse, that all those attending the funeral, including Cuvier's sycophants, were deeply shocked. For such a man, ready to combat by any means Lamarck's transformist ideas, the blockade, then the suppression of Péron's results, made perfect sense. For him, there was not much use in supporting any development in the science of invertebrates if he was not in control of it. Lamarck was enough of a burden and so, apart from some early lip service to Péron's good works, he would not offer thereafter any practical help to this annoying young scientist. Georges Cuvier could not bring down Lamarck, he knew that, but he could create a human and intellectual void around his declared adversary. And indeed he did. On the 6th of January 1808, in a 395 page-long "Historical report on the progress of natural sciences since 1789 and their present state", addressed to the Emperor (and published in 1810), G. Cuvier would barely mention the Baudin expedition or Péron's and Lesueur's contributions. In this report, G. Cuvier was perfectly conscious of being neither fair nor honest. As we have seen, just one year and a half earlier, in June 1806, he had praised Péron's thoroughness and the impressive results of the latest voyage of discovery to the Austral Lands. It is also worth noticing that, in September 1810, his younger brother, Frédéric Cuvier (there was no small amount of nepotism at the Muséum...), would mention the extraordinary contribution to zoology, and particularly marine zoology, of the scientists on Baudin's expedition... Obviously, Georges Cuvier's right hand and left hand could do quite contradictory things without the central nervous system of the grand master being distressed, in any manner, by the cognitive dissonance. From an ethical point of view, G. Cuvier's actions may be considered as criminal. His crime was against science, because he went too far in the political and academic means he selfishly used and abused to further his own position and promote his personal ideology. Through his actions, he abolished any French advancement in evolutionary biology. While France had started so promisingly, it would be an Englishman, Charles Darwin, who would revive the field. One would have some ground in comparing Georges Cuvier to Trofim Lyssenko, who, under the lead-laden years of Stalin's rule of terror, would destroy, almost single-handedly, much promising Soviet biology. That being said, while Lyssenko was a mediocre scientist, one cannot deny that Cuvier had real capacities, and if it is undeniable that he had a large and obvious responsibility for leading French biology into a dead-end, is he really the obvious culprit in the unfortunate scientific fate of François Péron? Well, all things being considered, no, not really. G. Cuvier was the perennial apparatchik, gifted at that, but that's it, he wasn't yet operating in a Stalinist regime, nor in the context of the Middle Ages. He could not have anyone killed or imprisoned on his whims, neither in Napoleonic nor in Restoration days. Péron was simply a casualty in a larger ideological struggle, a pawn worthy of putting down to one side's advantage, and as we will see now, worth sacrificing to the other side - the other side being Lamarck. So what about the latter? Why wasn't he of more practical support to Péron, to put it mildly? Well, simply because, between Lamarck and Péron, one can plausibly guess that there was no love lost. Firstly, because of incompatibility of temperament. Lamarck and Péron were two perfectly antagonistic characters, just as much as Baudin and Péron had been. Secondly, because Péron was probably perceived by Lamarck as a threat to his own academic position. This impetuous chap in his thirties was endangering the quiet guy in his 22
sixties, by specialising with talent in the very domain that Lamarck had had to develop practically from scratch while he was already in his fifties. Because, though he had spent so much time documenting "La flore française" (the flora of France), the position of chief botanist of the nation was the de facto property of the Jussieu family, and what was left to him, Lamarck, was the less prestigious of the departments in biology, that of the invertebrates! The courageous but quiet Lamarck would not endanger his own, hard-won position recklessly, Cuvier was enough of a threat. So, not supporting Péron while the chap was still alive, from 1804 to 1810, makes sense in a way... but why then wouldn't Lamarck support the latter's scientific works after 1810? The potential competition had passed away, and Péron's results confirmed his own! This matter would merit a full research, but it can be conjectured that old Lamarck's eyes were giving him more and more trouble. It was getting harder and harder for him to complete his final magnum opus, the "Natural history of invertebrate animals" ("Histoire naturelle des animaux sans vertèbres"), using his own discoveries in the field, so why would he spend time on an ex competitor's discoveries? And, by 1819, Lamarck was blind. 10. After Péron's death - the efforts of Lesueur All in all, in the convoluted history of sciences, there are scores of researchers who share Péron's hapless fate. There's a vast amount of valuable scientific works that have simply not found their way into becoming useable material, not to mention being used. They lay dormant and decaying in private dwellings, in the vaults of libraries, in the drawers of museums, in the storage cellars of laboratories – and that's just the tip of the iceberg compared to all those materials that have just disappeared irretrievably! If Péron's case is not exceptional, it is noticeable nevertheless, because it can be reconstructed quite well by historians, it offers material to dwell into, and it has a Greek tragedy quality to it. It also catches the imagination because there are not many scientists who, like Péron, were lucky enough to be associated with a Lesueur: the exquisite and precise art of the drawer and painter catches the eye, moves the heart, titillates the intellect and inflames the imagination, instilling admirers with a strong urge to know more, and to restore justice – posthumously for sure, but still better than none at all. Faithful friend Lesueur did his best following Péron's death to have their common works published. But writing and knocking on doors was not his forte – he was an illustrator at heart. He managed to have a paper published in 1813 on the marine animals that he and Péron had observed in the Mediterranean Sea, while in Nice, but again unillustrated for lack of funds; and that's it. Lesueur had to make a living, and since he had not, despite his extraordinary talent, been accepted for a position at the Muséum, in 1815 he accepted a job in the USA, where he would work as an appreciated illustrator in the natural sciences, until his return to France in 1837. In a further and fatal twist in the story, all samples from the expedition remaining with Péron at his death had been returned to the Muséum - but, for what appeared then to be fair and reasonable reasons, not Lesueur's drawings made during Baudin's expedition... nor Péron's notes on these samples. What use were samples without their corresponding notes?! This was chaos at work, in the ancient Greek sense of khaos: the abysmal, widening gap, in which order and sense get lost, irretrievably. All Péron's notes having been left in the care of absent-from-France Lesueur, one can imagine that any interest for these had vanished during this 22 years parenthesis. This seems bad enough, but one can wonder at a further twist in this appallingly absurd story. 23
On Lesueur's return to France in 1837, Georges Cuvier was no more (he had died in 1832) and Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, a proponent of transformism who had survived the ideological wrath of G. Cuvier, was the most influential zoologist at the Muséum. So, in principle, circumstances were favourable for a revival of the zoological works of Péron and Lesueur. Alas, Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire would soon go blind (like Lamarck), in 1840, then die in 1844. His last important scientific contributions were thus made in 1838. He nevertheless still had one year to approach Lesueur, now rather well known, and could have offered him, at last, a position at the Muséum, where the illustrator could have finalised, with some help, Péron's scientific reports. Particularly his pioneering works on invertebrates, at the very least. Why, for goodness sake, did this not happen? Well, the simplest explanation can be conjectured: Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, more than 65 years old at the time of Lesueur's return, was chair of the department of mammals and birds, and probably couldn't care less for these little critters of invertebrates that Lesueur had concentrated on during the Baudin expedition – remember: under Cuvier and Lamarck's instructions to Péron, not Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire's – and most likely the condition of his eyes was already not very good, as we have seen. Et voilà. Another opportunity missed. A major contribution to the progress of systematics and evolutionary biology had been stopped in its tracks. It would take decades for the science of invertebrates to get to a level which it could have already reached in the days of Napoleon. An unforgivable shambles on the side of the Muséum. But what about Lesueur himself? After all, Péron's notes were in his hands, his friend having entrusted him with them. Let it be clearly stated, that was asking too much psychologically of Lesueur, not out of any kind of laziness on his part, but, as we have seen, simply because it was beyond his mental capacities, beyond his effective power. It cannot be argued that Lesueur did not put as much energy in this task as he could'a, as he should'a. Not reasonably, for four reasons. Firstly, let us restate that Lesueur was not a man of the antechamber nor of the writing pen - even composing a simple letter to potential editors or benefactors was a hard chore for him. Secondly, it is psychologically very hard, for most people, to revive an old project, to get one's mind and enthusiasm back to it – it's something that seems to run contrary to human instinct. Thirdly, money was not that readily available in post-Napoleonic France, which had been bled by the hubris of the imperial dream. Fourthly, the France of King Louis-Philippe, the "roi bourgeois", whose prime minister Guizot's motto was "Enrichissezvous par le travail et l'épargne" ("Get rich through work and saving"), was not particularly interested in matters of science that had no immediate return prospects. Finally, at the end of this rather sad story (but again, a story which is so typical of most brave destinies), on the 12th of December 1846, it was Lesueur's turn to die. Like his dear friend Péron, he had been a friend of the sun, the radiant source that allows one to contemplate the glories of nature in full light, yet he died in the gloom and doom of the short days which precede the December solstice. He had not found the energy nor the money, in his last years, to publish his common work with Péron, particularly their pioneering, nearly completed works on medusas. So in summary, from the viewpoint of the history of biology, it was an unfortunate case of dysfunctional psychological dynamics, for these three oh so logical pairs: 24
Péron–Lesueur: a friendship that was, and a close one at that - a source of a most fruitful scientific collaboration; Péron–Lamarck: a scientific collaboration that was not, even from a distance; Lesueur–Geoffroy Saint–Hilaire: a second opportunity for a scientific collaboration, that was not, again. Both the friendship and at least one of these two collaborations with professors of the Muséum were needed for the sake of harmony and logic in the order of things, and for the sake of scientific and philosophical progress. Only the friendship between Péron and Lesueur occurred. That was not enough. That's it. C'est comme ça. In the final analysis, as far as the history of sciences goes, it's the usual story of slackness, missed opportunities, overblown egos and bad faith, but one cannot state, in a search of a culprit, that any one of the scientists or explorers in the social environment of François Péron (nor the victim himself...) were directly responsible for his unfortunate fate. 11. Politics and the fate of Péron Lastly, there's the matter of the libel that some members of the original team on Baudin's expedition, having deserted in Mauritius, in March-April 1801, had since been pouring on its commander. What else could be expected of them? For two years they had been covering themselves (to put it politely) by blaming the captain, in a pre-emptive offensive. They obviously contributed very negatively to how the expedition was perceived by the public and officials, while its brave crews were still exploring the shores of Australia. However, when Le Naturaliste returned to France in 1803 with its extraordinary natural sciences cargo, any negative feelings about the expedition couldn't last. Any remaining bad feelings left were then to be heaped on the deceased captain, not on anyone else… Very convenient: les morts ont toujours tort – “the dead are always wrong”. The situation was to the point that when Le Géographe returned to France in 1804, with the news that the captain had died en route, there were rumours that Bonaparte would have stated: "Baudin a bien fait de mourir, je l'eusse fait pendre" ("Baudin did well to die, I would have had him hanged" – according to Audiat's biography of Péron in 1855). It is quite unlikely that Bonaparte's wrath could have had anything to do with the scientific aspects of the expedition; hypothetically, but more likely, it would have been about Baudin not having entirely followed Fleurieu's instructions and not having given priority to exploring the unknown southern coast of Terra Australis. Captain Baudin was a civilian, his first priority was the survival of the expedition, second came science, and only then instructions and higher politics. So he did what seemed fit when, sailing from Mauritius where he had had endless troubles with local authorities, he arrived late in the season on the south-west coast of Australia (1801.05.27): he decided to sail north, rather than, as per his instructions, eastward along the southern coast of Australia, towards the terra incognita of present-day South Australia. The irony of it all is that Flinders, a military man, whom the British had hastily sent on Baudin's heels, arriving six months later on the west coast of Australia (1801.12.06), also decided not to follow his Admiralty's orders... and boldly ran straight to this terra incognita. On this matter at least, the hare did partially beat the tortoise on the finish line, taking precedence in the charting of the larger part of the South Australian coastline. However, Baudin's unfair bad press did not have much impact on Péron's own scientific course. Of course, there was the matter of spite and envy on the part of some scientific colleagues such as Bory de Saint-Vincent, who in 1801 had abandoned the expedition in Mauritius, yet again this cannot have had so much impact on Péron's fate, in fine. Facts 25
spoke for themselves, and these facts in favour of Péron, duly recognized, were the impressive natural sciences cargoes on both returning vessels of the voyage to the Austral lands. Other than the scientists and explorers in this drama, there were also political characters. Did they have a direct role? Other than Fleurieu and Bonaparte, the first protagonist who comes to mind was the wife of the latter, Joséphine. A great friend of edenic gardens with all sorts of plants and animals, she had strongly supported Baudin's expedition and then Péron on his return. But even this most attractive and interesting lady, whose unusual destiny had made her "L'Impératrice", could not get much attention from her hyperactive husband, who himself wasn't so much interested in biology as in making her happy in her paradise of Château de Malmaison, where she was collecting, with feminine passion, plants and animals from all over the world. And once Joséphine had been repudiated by Napoléon, in 1809, there really was not much that Péron could obtain from the Emperor, who had other priorities on his mind. In addition, unfortunately for Péron and Lesueur, old Fleurieu, the great organiser and supporter of French maritime expeditions overseas, died in 1810, on the 18th of August. Péron would die in his turn four months later, and Lesueur would find himself left quite lonely with his magnificent illustrations of the voyage. So... was it Napoléon, or any one of his ministers, or someone lower down the hierarchy, who could be considered as responsible for Péron's fate? No, not really. Joséphine’s Eden-like garden, at Château These people were interested in politics, in Malmaison: The garden featured dwarf emus running wars, winning them preferably, or and kangaroos from Kangaroo Island and simply profiting from them. They were Australian black swans – the transport of such animals all the way to France was an interested in their own careers, they had their extraordinary feat of Baudin's expedition. own pet projects, and Péron and his works weren't really part of their preoccupations. In fact, when you look into the details of Péron's relationship with the powerful, he was not that badly treated. What he was seriously lacking was an academic position – to be precise, a position at the Muséum – and a bit more money please for the works. But well, these are, most of the time and almost everywhere, rare things. 12. Chaos in action So, no smoking gun? No red-handed criminal in this story? Probably not. So what now? Well, bad luck. And, as the French say with fatalism: C'est la vie. This is the reality of life, and the usual canvas of human societies. It is not often easy for two people to get along, for all sorts of reasons. In this particular case, it would have depended on four people for things to work properly, making it all too predictable that chaos would ensue, in its literal, original connotation, and also, as we shall see, in its modern, scientific meaning. A little reminder of the human situation, the scientific quartet. There was the magnificent Péron–Lesueur pair: two human beings forming a perfect, synergetic match, with impetuosity, tenacity and passion for science on the one hand, peaceful strength, dedication and capacity for visual representation on the other hand. Add Georges Cuvier, 26
a gifted, ruthless, authoritarian ideologist with no patience for their contributions – trouble starts... Add Lamarck to this trio: a prescient, fundamentally brave, but a rather lonely and low–key lab rat, in principle allied to Péron and Lesueur but in actuality worried for his own position – definite chaos. How on Earth could there have been a harmonious and logical process from such a combination of diverse and contradictory interests? Well... not on Earth... Down here, chaos predominates. But not only chaos in the ancient meaning of the Greeks: this frightening, abysmal gap, in which sense and order can get engulfed, forever, but also chaos in the modern, scientific sense, the result of iterative processes so complexly interrelated that no prediction can be made, even approximately and probabilistically, even by gods. Epistemology and the history of sciences have demonstrated long since that the progress of science itself is a highly chaotic process, in both the ancient and modern meanings. "La science va sans cesse se raturant elle-même." - "Science goes on ceaselessly scraping out itself." (Victor Hugo, in his 1864 essay, "William Shakespeare"). This fully chaotic characteristic is inevitable considering that the subject of science - nature in all its forms and manifestations - is utterly complex: multi-correlated, highly polymorphic and very fluid. With limited material and intellectual means, human beings struggle to unveil a structure within an elusive reality buried in highly random noise. Something is there deep within, not only more complex than humans surmise, but more complex than they can surmise. This doesn't facilitate the work of epistemologists and historians of sciences, who have to explain chaotic research striving to give sense to a reality itself largely chaotic. They, even more than scientists, can only make their elaboration meaningful by erasing incongruent data. They perpetually have to reinvent the foundations of their work, to then realise, at a certain point, that their built-up scenarios and explanations, which have been painstakingly developed, prove to be inappropriate and have again to be deconstructed. 13. The bicentenary of a death, yet a lively matter of prejudice There are so many factors and responsibilities that have contributed to this tragic and interesting story of Péron's life – too often considered an embodiment of bad deeds, ridicule and failure. Bad deeds? We have seen that there were some indeed, and even carried out by Péron's own hand. But nothing really outside human norm. Ridicule? Well, yes, considering that Péron's personality does not get along too well with either the Parisian psyche nor the Anglo-Saxon one (there is something like a psychologie des peoples…). They are not sympathetic to Péron's way of expressing his dreams and his sufferings, which, whatever the present-day perceptions in Paris or in English-speaking countries, were genuine and intense. Because he was so productive in his writings and ready to share his feelings, he provided ammunition to future detractors who made him an ideal scapegoat in their erroneous way of overinterpreting the negative manner in which Baudin's expedition had been perceived! Really, this is all beside the point, à côté de la plaque, as the French say. Péron is the butt of easy jokes with some people, a convenient object of derision, still fun to play with though he died more than two centuries ago. A whole thesis could be written on the matter of mental appropriation and skewing of Péron's personality by scholars of different disciplines. It's about time a short-sighted and prejudiced attitude makes way for a more unbiased and mature analysis. Some researchers, like Edward Duyker, have managed to dig deeper into the facts and do provide a fairer and more objective biography of Péron, reconstructing with respect "an impetuous life". (See: "François Péron. An 27
Impetuous Life – Naturalist and Voyager”, by Dr Edward Duyker, Melbourne University Publishing, 2006) What about failure? Well, as we have seen, there was no notion of such a thing with Péron's informed contemporaries. Nor, decades later, in 1848, with marine zoologist Edward Forbes, while he was publishing on the medusas. Nor according to the father of the triumphant evolutionary paradigm, Charles Darwin, who was very impressed with Péron's deeds and reports. Nor with the father of phylogenetics, who had depicted, in 1866, a common origin to all living organisms (in a stunning first drawing of a well researched tree of life) – the German scientist Ernst Haeckel, who expressed his high opinion of Péron's work on the medusas, in his System der Medusen, in 1879. Those who still think of Péron in terms of failure can now find their prejudice countered by magnificent books recently produced by scientists and historians, those of Jacqueline Goy, Gabrielle Baglione & Cédric Crémière, and Edward Duyker as already mentioned. They can even access the English translations of books one to five of Péron's "Voyage of discovery to the southern lands", translated by Christine Cornell. These recent contributions are expressions of a love for justice, because real historians, those neither lazy nor prejudiced (nor vicious, of course...), as a rule, are dedicated to establishing the truth... with all its subtle variations... and interpretations... But, also, and probably as importantly, they are devoted to justice, even if post hoc. They are scribes with a mission, trying to restore some harmony to an otherwise very indifferent and very crushing historical process. Because everything in this world proceeds with total indifference to casualties -natural processes of course, but human processes too. Nevertheless, here and there, you have small miracles, or anomalies... you have some animals and persons who dream of something different, where goodness reigns. And real historians aim to contribute to goodness, in their own way, though longitudinally rather than transversally. 14. Péron, Lesueur and Lamarck: connectedness and non-connectedness Lesueur and Péron are two interconnected lives which are a testimony to the power of friendship, against all hardships, and of a shared vision of a world of beauty and truth. They both had it hard, one having it much longer than the other, and both dying during the darkest and gloomiest days, just before the December solstice and the renaissance of light. Lamarck and Péron are two lives which should have been more connected around the study of the amazing world of invertebrates, and were not. However, there were moving similarities in their ill-starred trajectory: both lacked the necessary sense of humour to make life lighter, both took science very seriously. Both had major eye problems. Both were born in August, in the light of a warm sun, but dying in the dimness and coldness of December. Lamarck's stone tomb is beautiful, in a prestigious place (the Jardin des plantes of Paris, the public park where the Muséum is situated), showing him as a blind old man seated, one of his two devoted daughters standing beside him and laying a hand of consolation on his shoulder, uttering the prophetic words: "La postérité vous admirera, elle vous vengera mon père" – "Posterity will admire you, you will be avenged, father". For Péron – at his death, only his name on a black cross, in the cemetery of a small, inconspicuous French town. Lesueur tried in 1811 to have a commemorative inscription put on the tomb of his dear friend, but could not find funds for this and could only honour him by reprinting a few hundred copies of the two eulogies written by Péron's friends. 28
At least Péron, who had made so many friends in a short and stormy life, wasn't insulted when he was carried to earth, in 1810... not like Lamarck, who had not made many friends in his longer and organised life, and who, as we have seen, would be slighted by G. Cuvier, in 1829. In 1842, Péron's loyal friends, including old Lesueur, managed to have a decent tomb made in Cérilly for such an exceptional character, bearing a forlorn but most appropriate epitaph: "F. Péron s'est desséché comme un jeune arbre qui a succombé sous le poids de ses propres fruits." – "F. Péron withered like a young tree succumbing under the weight of its own fruits." " 15. In conclusion - Heureux qui, comme Ulysse... The personalities of Péron and Lamarck are two magnificent illustrations of the devious tragedy and ironic contingency of history. History put them both in a long purgatory, unfairly. Destiny was not kind to them, but neither was contingency, which played demanding and sometimes cruel tricks on them. None of the objectives of Péron came to fruition the gods played with the enthusiasm and tenacity of an impetuous young man generous of his time and energy. Before he died, did the nostalgic verses of French poet Joachim du Bellay come to Péron's mind, these verses of another young man, dying exhausted 250 years before him? "Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage..." – "Happy who, like Ulysses, has made a beautiful voyage..." With his physical weaknesses, Péron was pushing forward as if inextinguishable. With his moral weaknesses, Péron was yearning for goodness. With his shortcomings, Péron was craving for truth. With his poor taste, Péron was longing for beauty.
"F. Péron withered like a young tree succumbing under the weight of its own fruits." – Epitaph from 1842 on François Péron's tomb, in Cérilly, France (courtesy Ed Duyker)
The dreams of Péron were too much for his frail body, limited social connections and... an intellect of high quality, but not one of a genius. So what else could he be, with his impetuous character, but always ready for a shift? So he shifted, yet always faithful to his commitment to science and the progress of humanity, from medicine to anthropology to oceanography to zoology... to political strategy. He wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had to surf with the largest and most crushing waves of life to go forward on his dreamt path. He wanted scientific glory - he didn't get it. But... not many can claim, two centuries after their death, the attention of dozens of people in two different continents. Not too bad for the epitome of what is supposed to be an anti-hero. For this writer, he was an heroic human being, living by choice and sheer will, an heroic adventure in heroic times. Hats off. Dr Gabriel Bittar Kangaroo Island 29
The Edgeworth David Women: a Remarkable Sydney Trio Jenny Horsfield
Jennifer Horsfield edited a collection of Anne Edgeworth's poetry in 2007, after which Anne invited her to write the story of the remarkable women in her family and gave Jennifer access to the David family papers in the National Library
Tannatt William Edgeworth David was named in the 1920s as one of the ‘seven greatest living Australians’31. At the time he was the prestigious and much-loved Professor of Geology at the University of Sydney. For over half a century he promoted the cause of Australian and international science as a geologist, a university professor, a popular public speaker and scholarly writer and as an esteemed advisor to government. David is also remembered as the discoverer of the great coal seams in the Hunter Valley, as a pioneer Antarctic explorer who led the first expedition to the vicinity of the South Magnetic Pole, and as the founder of the Australian Tunnelling Corps which served in World War 1. His wife, Caroline (Cara) David, was his partner for 49 years. Her life story, The Edgeworth David book cover. though little known to the public, is also a story of great enterprise, courage and service. She broke off a promising educational career to marry, but maintained a passionate interest in the welfare and education of girls for the rest of her life. Her many involvements with community and national causes included membership of the National Council of Women and her role as State Commissioner for the NSW Girl Guides Association for ten years. Cara David (née Mallett) came from a poor working class family in Suffolk. She was orphaned early in life but was able to gain access to education through a scholarship to the prestigious Whitelands College in London and train as a teacher. Emigrating to Australia in the late Victorian era, Cara proved to be a pioneer, establishing the first college in NSW to train women teachers, at Hurlstone in Sydney. Her adventurous spirit found its match in a lifelong partnership with another émigré, T.W Edgeworth David. They spent some of their early married life under canvas, when David worked as a surveyor for the NSW Department of Mines. Settling in Sydney at Ashfield when David became Professor of 31
The Home, 1 March, 1924, pp.14-15
30
Geology at the University of Sydney in 1891, the couple raised three children there while actively engaged with many aspects of Sydney’s cultural life. They were among an influential group of intellectuals – teachers, writers, lawyers and scientists - who were working to create a more enlightened and compassionate society, one in which a generous education would be the birthright of every child. Until the Great War destroyed their hopes, they saw the new century as ushering in a more enlightened, kindlier age. They believed that the young Commonwealth could lead the world in its care for women and children and in its enlightened social and educational arrangements. Cara David’s own staunch feminism was to see her rise to leadership in one of the first significant political campaigns by women, that of the temperance movement. While her children were still young, Cara was to accompany her husband on a geological expedition to a Pacific island, Funafuti, where David was investigating the formation of coral atolls. After her return from Funafuti Cara must have decided, perhaps in view of the obvious public interest in the trip, that the diary notes that she had kept were worth working up into a book. This became Funafuti, or Three Months on a Coral Island: An Unscientific Account of a Scientific Expedition. 32
Cara David
The book’s reception amazed her. Within a year of its publication in 1899, it had garnered respectful reviews in scores of English, colonial and French publications and gave her an entry into writing a weekly column for the Melbourne Age. ‘Notes from Sydney’ ran for only a few months in 1900: perhaps the time that went into researching her material proved too demanding for a woman still running a busy household with three young children. The columns covered material that a modern journalist might be employed full-time to research. The Professor and his wife and the They addressed the politics of the day in Sydney: the Funafuti expedition team,1897 delivery of the state budget; lack of adequate planning for the city’s roads; the debate over free trade. The wider interests of the new nation were also covered, as in the creation and naming of the new federal electorates. Cara wrote about the proposal for giving electorates Aboriginal names, and she described the scorn with which this proposal was generally
32
Published by John Murray, London, 1899
31
met. Her own view was that ‘there are those who see beauty and propriety in the native nomenclature’.33 Cara David was known among family and friends to be always ready to speak her mind, and there were some tartly worded commentaries in her columns on Sydney’s social scene and its pretensions. She also wrote a scathing column about a group of British officers dining at the Hotel Australia and their ‘taunts’ directed at a private soldier (recently returned from South Africa and dining with his sister and a wounded officer) in the hotel. Their snobbery was an example of the class divisions which she and her family found so distasteful in British life.34 ‘Notes from Sydney’ was published anonymously, so very few of Cara’s friends would have known of her work in this field. But the favourable publicity given to the Funafuti book certainly raised her profile as an interesting woman in her own right among the academics and community leaders who formed the Davids’ friendship group in Sydney. In idle moments during those years of the South African war, Cara even dreamed of becoming a war correspondent and writing home exciting accounts from the Transvaal. Cara’s two daughters, Margaret and Molly David, grew up strongly influenced by this capable, warmhearted and energetic woman. Both girls, educated largely at home, were able to matriculate quite young and in the 1900s were among the early women graduates of the University of Sydney, where their father’s Department of Geology was a pioneer in its acceptance of women on the staff and as students. Both girls were encouraged by their parents to think of careers or active engagement with community life after they graduated; but in fact their young adult years were to be shadowed by events outside their control.
The Professor after his return from the Antarctic in 1910, with the husky dog Ambrose.
Molly David
The first of these was the departure of their father with Shackleton to the Antarctic in 1908. During the long months of her husband’s absence, with no communication possible with the outside world, Cara David, indomitable and outgoing in public, suffered a continuing private anguish that was expressed in insomnia and a range of physical ailments. Her elder daughter, Margaret, was especially aware of what her mother was suffering and did her best to support her during the 16 months of David’s absence. She was already 33 34
The Age, 11 August, 1900 Ibid., 22 September, 1900
32
engaged to marry, but put aside planning for her future life to stay by her mother’s side. After the expedition’s triumphant return to Australia in March 1909, Margaret married her fiancé, Bill McIntyre, and moved to the remote mining town of Mt Bischoff in Tasmania. There she nearly died of puerperal fever after the birth of her baby. Horrified at this near fatality, her parents offered a loan to Bill so he could study medicine in Edinburgh. The McIntyres spent the war years there and after graduation, Bill served in Thessalonika with the British army. After the war they returned to Tasmania where Bill became a respected family doctor and they raised four children. Margaret’s considerable energies and creativity found expression in many ways: she directed the Launceston Repertory Company; she helped found a progressive school; and she became state commissioner for the Girl Guides. In 1948, she was asked to stand as an Independent for the Tasmanian Legislative Council and was elected, the first woman elected in the state. She died a few months later in a plane crash.35 With Margaret’s death, Molly David lost the sister who had been her closest friend and confidante since childhood. In her memoirs, Passages of Time, she wrote with great poignancy of the experience of loss: Everyone, of course, adjusts in time to the loss of someone who matters to them more than anyone else in the world, and it was not till about twelve years later when …there suddenly swept over me, for a brief flash, the memory of how I used to feel when my sister was alive, and I realized then that, since her death, I have never for one moment been really happy.36 Molly David was also to be closely affected by the events of the Great War. Like many women of her generation, she was to lose the man she hoped to marry during those years; he was killed on Gallipoli. She spent the first years of the war helping her mother run a convalescent home for returned soldiers in the Blue Mountains; later she worked in a munitions factory in Canada and drove vehicles for the Women’s Army Corps in Britain. Her talents as a writer emerged when she wrote her father’s biography after his death in 1934. Professor David was published in England in 1938, to professional and personal acclaim.37 Molly went on to write two more books. Passages of Time – a memoir of her remarkable family - was published by University of Queensland Press in 1975 and was their ‘best selling book ever’ at that time. Letters to Meg, a series of imaginary and nostalgic letters to her sister ‘in a far country’ was written when she was in her 90s and published posthumously by Ginninderra Press. Molly David was a well-known The Edgworth David family, ca 1910,before David's departure with and much-loved identity in Hornsby where she lived Shackleton for the Antarctic. Margaret an active, quietly self-sufficient life on a large semiDavid on the left, Molly David on the rural block until her death at 99. right. Son Billy at back.
35
The ANA plane Lutana crashed in the New England ranges on Thursday 2 September 1948, killing all passengers and crew. M.E. David, Passages of Time, Rigby, Adelaide, 1978, p.141. This is a reprint of the first edition published by QUP. 37 M.E.David, Professor David, Edward Arnold, London, 1937 36
33
An Admirable Location or a Splendid View: Miranda Garriock Duncan
In 2008, I began a series of articles on shire suburbs with a Roman connection. Two have, so far, been published. In each case the link can only be described as tenuous. Tenuous is good, though. The first was on the link between Menai and a significant event in the Roman conquest of Britain38; the second linked Como to early imperial Latin Literature. 39 This, the third and last in the series, is about the suburban name, Miranda.40 By now the link is so tenuous as to be almost non-existent. For Miranda, I can find no point of contact with either Roman History or Latin Literature. The only link is with the Latin language. Miranda is a Latin word. Grammatically, miranda is a gerundive, i.e. a verbal adjective. Miranda probably, in Latin, would stand for the phrase Miranda (Regio), an admirable location, i.e. a location which is admired by us. As Latin, like German and French (and other Romance languages), has grammatical gender, miranda is the feminine form of the adjective, agreeing, in my reconstruction with regio. The meaning is given in the title of this article. Miranda derives from the verb, mirari (to wonder at, to be amazed by). English has a number of words ultimately derived from mirari, namely miracle, miraculous, mirage and mirror but no verb. Our verb comes from the intensified form of mirari, admirari, from which English derives admirable, admiral, admiralty, admiration and admire.41 So what is a gerundive? As stated above, a gerundive is a verbal adjective, i.e. an adjective derived from a verb. 42 The gerundive always retains its verbal sense but with a slight twist, since that sense is not active but passive. So, Miranda is a place, which is admirable, i.e. admired by us! In Latin, the gerund and gerundive are distinguishable from other verbal forms by their spelling. Not so in English. For, both the gerund and gerundive share the same termination as the present participle, i.e ending in –ing. Though probably not recognised by most native English speakers, the gerund is alive and well. An example: My reading of the weekend paper takes a lot of time. Reading is the subject of takes, i.e. reading is a verbal noun and is the English gerund. The gerundive is more elusive. The key to identifying it is to remember the passive element in its meaning. Of these two phrases – reading room, reading matter – which one contains the gerundive? Correct. Yes, it is reading matter, i.e. matter to be read. Now you can find others. One last example – chewing gum, i.e. gum which needs to be chewed. Good luck with the great English gerundive hunt. Reader, you are on your own now.43 38
Duncan, 2008, pp. 26-28. Duncan, 2010, pp. 19-23. 40 There is a fourth suburb with a Latin connection – Sylvania. The name, Sylvania, is formed from the adjective sylvan, a doublet of silvan. Both words are a derivative from the French sylvain – this explains the y (Fowler, 1964, silvan, q.v., p. 1187b). The origin of the name is obvious. It derives from the name of the minor Latin forest deity, Silvanus (see: Rivers, 2003, p. 1408a). The form, sylvania, is adjectival, neuter plural and means something akin to matters relating to Silvanus. The name testifies to the original wooded nature of the area; (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvania_New_South_Wales#History; eora.sydneyinstitute.net/file/view/Sylvania+Shire+Place+Name.pdf). 41 See: Fowler, 1964. 42 Latin also has a gerund, i.e. a verbal noun. The gerund from mirari is mirandum. On gerunds and gerundives in Latin, see: Woodcock, 19549 , pp. 157-166. 43 See: www.newenglishreview.org/blog_direct_link.cfm?blog_id=2048. 39
34
So, now we have worked out the grammatical peculiarities of miranda, how did Miranda get its name? The names of Sutherland Shire suburbs come from a variety of sources. However, a number are named after exotic overseas locations – exotic to those who had not been overseas.. Three come to mind immediately (in no particular order): Engadine, named by James McAlister after the Engadin Valley in Switzerland44; Bangor (the original name, later changed to Menai), named by Owen Jones, who hailed from Bangor in Wales45; Como, named by James Murphy after the Lake Como area in northern Italy.46 Murphy and Como present an intriguing puzzle. James Murphy is not known to have ever travelled overseas. However, his employer, Thomas Holt had, while working as a wool broker in the family business.47 I guess, Thomas and James must have had long talks about his, Thomas’, overseas experiences. Miranda seemingly fits into this model. i.e. named after an exotic overseas location, a town in Spain.48 However, Miranda present the same puzzle as Como. For, it was named by the non-travelling James Murphy. Again, Holt is the link. For, some of his overseas sojourn had been spent in Spain.49 Murphy, in a letter dated October 31, 1921, gives a quite detailed reason for his choice of name: The name, Miranda, was given to the locality by me as Manager of the Holt Sutherland Land Company, which I founded in 1881. I thought it a soft, musical, euphonious and approp-riate name for a beautiful place.50 There is a Miranda region (regio) in the Iberian peninsula, lying across northern Portugal and into Spain.51 However, the name is more likely to have come from a town – there are several Mirandas in both Portugal and Spain, e.g. Miranda do Douro (Portugal),52 and Miranda del Castanar53 and Miranda de Ebro (Spain).54 All the Mirandas have one thing in common – the towns have an elevated position, overlooking water, generally a river valley. My family moved to the Shire in 1949, to Chamberlain Ave., Caringbah. At that time, there were two (other)
A rooftop view of Miranda, facing North.
44
See: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sutherland_Shire. Click on n.8, Suburbs, and then click on Engadine; Somerville, 2002, p. 24. Duncan, 2008, p. 26 46 Duncan, 2010, p. 20. 47 Watt, 2010, p. 12. 48 Pollon, 1988, p. 175. 49 Ibid. 50 See: www.jazzandshiraz.com.au/ssc/rwpattach.nsf/O/Factsheet_6_FINAL_20030728.pdf/$fileThe same quote is found at:. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sutherland_Shire/. Click on Suburbs and then click on Miranda. 51 www.thecapras.org/mcapra/miranda/derivation.html/ 52 Symington, 2008, p. 262; en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miranda_do_Douro/ 53 Ardagh, 2006, p. 357. 54 en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miranda_de_Ebro/ 45
35
houses in the street. There was a splendid (i.e. to be admired) view down to Botany Bay.55.How much more splendid would that view have been from say the site of the former Miranda Fair in the late 19th century? So, it would seem that my title is wrong. Not an admirable location but rather an admirable view. It is serendipitous that both the Portuguese and Spanish words for view, in this sense, are seemingly the same feminine gender noun, i.e. vista. 56 Hence Miranda (vista). Development since 1921 has virtually destroyed the view which attracted Murphy in 1921. However, from the top level carpark of Westfields Miranda Shoppingtown, the onlooker can obtain some idea of what Murphy saw. Yet, there is another view (nice pun?) on the origin for the name, Miranda. To be honest, this second view is probably the one most readers would first consider; namely that Miranda (NSW) is named after Miranda, Prospero’s daughter, in Shakespeare’s play, The Tempest.57 This was stated by my colleague, Ed Duyker, in 2001.58 He again made the connection in 2010, in the context of arguing for a statue of Miranda to be placed in the locality named after her.59 So far, no statue. 60 However, while The Tempest is usually dated to c. 1611, the name, Miranda, is not attested, i.e. as the name of a living person rather than a fictional character, till 1687. Since then it has acquired a certain currency, sometimes as the name of actresses, eg Miranda Richardson (English) and, of course, Miranda Otto, the daughter of Barry Otto. The word, miranda, certainly did start out as a toponym, i.e. place name. Hence Miranda Regio. It then became the name of towns with an admirable view (Miranda Vista). Murphy’s 1921 comment ( I thought it a soft, musical, euphonious and appropriate name for a beautiful place) seems to put the issue out of doubt. However, an amalgamation of both views is more likely. For, at some point, Miranda became a family name and finally a first name.61 It probably, still, exercises all those functions. At some stage in this development, Shakespeare heard the name. From a returning traveller? From where did Murphy hear the word. We have two options. Either he had read Shakespeare’s Tempest or he heard it from his Hispanophile employer, Thomas Holt. References: Ardagh, 2006, J, Spain, Eyewitness Travel, Dorling Kindersley . Duncan, 2008, G, “Menai and the Romans”, Bulletin of the Sutherland Shire Historical Society, May, pp. 26-28. Duncan, 2007, G, “Childhood Memories of the Shire”, Bulletin of the Sutherland Shire Historical Society, 10(1), February, pp. 29-31. Duncan, 2010, G, “Como and the Pliny Boys”, Doryanthes, 3(1), February, pp. 19-23. Duyker, 2001, E, “…my library was a dukedom large enough”, National Library of Australia News, 11(6), March, pp. 17-20. Duyker, 2010, E, “Editorial”, Doryanthes, 3(4), November, p. 3. Fowler, 1964, H W and F G Fowler, edd., The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Current English, 5ed., OUP. Gainsford, 2010, J, “Statues urged for our heroes”, The Leader, Thursday, December 2, p. 5. Pollon, 1988, F, The Book of Sydney Suburbs, Angus and Robertson. Rivers, 2003, J B, “Siluanus”, Oxford Classical Dictionary, 3ed., OUP, p. 1408a. Somerville, 2002, R, ed., Engadine 1825-2001, Lions Club of Engadine. Symington, 2008, M, Portugal, Eyewitness Travel, Dorling Kindersley. Watt, 2010, B, “Thomas Holt; an Energetic Colonist, Bulletin of the Sutherland Shire Historical Society, 13(3), August, pp. 12-15.
55
Duncan, 2007, p. 30. Portuguese: www.wordreference.com/enpt/view: Spanish: www.wordreference.com/es/translation.asp?tranword=view/ 57 On Miranda and The Tempest, see: www.thecapras.org/mcapra/miranda/tempest.html/ 58 Duyker, 2001, p. 17. 59 Duyker, 2010. 60 The argument did reach the pages of The Leader. See: Gainsford, 2010. 61 www.surnamedb.com/Surname/Miranda; www.houseofnames.com/miranda-family-crest. 56
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A Botanical View Alan Fairley Santalum obtusifolium = Blunt Sandalwood Woodcock, 1959, E C, A New Latin Syntax, Methuen (current edition by Bristol Classical Press).
The Santalum genus belongs to a group of plants which are semi-parasitic on the roots of surrounding plants. The family Santalaceae includes a number of species with edible fleshy fruits such as Native Cherry (Exocarpos cupressiformis) and Native Currant (Leptomeria acida), both common around Sydney. There are six species of Santalum in Australia. Some species (S. spicatum, S. album) are the source of valuable oil which is used in incense sticks and religious ceremonies throughout southeast Asia, in cosmetics and for the scented wooden carvings sold in India. Another species, S. acuminatum, is known as Native Peach or Sweet Quandong. It develops large (to 50mm diam.) red fleshy fruit which was and still is eaten by Aboriginal people and inland explorers and travellers. Some commercial plantations of this species have been established, but being a semiparasitic plant it is difficult to cultivate. The fruit is chiefly used for jams and jellies.
S. obtusifolium - Flowers white to greenish in clusters from the leaf bases
Each fruit blue-black, to 10mm diameter, with a distinct circular scar on the summit (Images supplied by Alan Fairley)
Most Santalum are small trees of drier areas of WA and SA. Only Santalum obtusifolium occurs along the east coast from Gippsland (Vic) to south-east Qld, and west to Megalong Valley and Braidwood. It prefers forests and creek banks in sandy or gravelly soils. It has been recorded from Royal National Park where it is scattered, uncommon and seldom seen. Little is known about the qualities of the wood of this species and although the fruits are edible, there are few records of their use. Botanical description of S. obtusifolium Shrub to 2.5m tall, with uppermost branchlets angular. Leaves long and narrow, to 60 x 15mm, dark green above, pale to grey underneath, margins recurved and with a blunt tip (hence the botanical name). Flowers white to greenish in clusters from the leaf bases. Fruit a drupe, blueblack, to 10mm diameter, with a distinct circular scar on the summit. (drupe: a succulent 1-seeded fruit) It flowers from September to December and bears fruit mostly in March and April. The species was first named by the Scottish botanist Robert Brown in 1810 from a specimen collected along the Hawkesbury River.
37
Scattered Seeds Pierre Duyker
Budapest and into Transylvania The date was 26 January 2011: ‘Australia Day’. As half the backpacker population in Rome was Australian, an alcoholic mayhem began at 10.00 am and eventually turned the hostel into a hideous cross between an NRL match and a scene from the film Braveheart. A few of the Australians tried to pressure me into painting my face with green and gold and writing my state and town on my arms. Eventually it came down to me telling them to 'F-off' and risking a fight, because I wasn't 'getting into the spirit of things'. My North American friends asked me if we were celebrating our independence! I can never keep a straight face when I tell people that we are celebrating the arrival of seven ships filled with convicts to help kick-start (and populate) a British penal colony… and no, sadly, we are still not independent. I also mentioned that The author, standing outside Bran Castle, Romania our indigenous population calls the 26th 'Invasion Day' because of what it has meant for them. I avoid large groups of Australians at all costs, because they tend to get cocky and feel like they have to live up to the stereotype. Sometimes it can be a laugh, but often it leaves a bad impression. The attitude that 'everyone loves Australians, mate' is sadly not true… I was in bed by 7.00 pm and determined to leave Rome. I had fallen in love with Eastern Europe, partially because there were far less ‘mainstream’ backpackers willing to take it on. Two weeks before I arrived in Rome I had an unfortunate accident at the famous Szenchenyi Baths in Budapest, the capital of Hungary. Having only been in the water a half-hour, I left the outdoor bath and ran across the terrace to reach the sauna rooms. Had it not been the middle of winter at a chilling -2ºC, there would have been no need to run, but in the process, I tripped on a stairway and completely tore out my left big-toenail! I made a visit to the emergency room at one of the city’s hospitals and was given a tetanus shot and a bandage. The doctor, who spoke no English, tried to communicate with me in Dutch, with some confusion – I had checked in with my Dutch passport. When I eventually 38
explained that I was Australian, he exclaimed “Steve Irwin!” with much delight. Despite my toe ailment, Budapest had won my heart. The history, the people, the food, the nightlife – the city was packed with culture that could not have created anywhere else in the world. But sadly I had to come to terms with the fact that going further east with a potentially septic toe was not a good idea. So I decided to ‘train-it’ to Italy with a brief stop in Zagreb, Croatia. On my final night in Rome, my toe Szenchenyi Baths, Budapest was starting to look more normal. It was time to go back east. Due to the ‘off-season’ I wasn’t able to find any ferries from Italy to Croatia covered by my Eurail pass, so, when in doubt, go back to Budapest! I figured that if I spearheaded myself deep into Eastern Europe, then I would be in a good position for further interesting travels – besides, I'd be arriving on a Friday, for another weekend in my favourite city in Europe. From Rome to Venice, the train ride was 4 hours – then came the hard leg from Venice to Budapest. I reserved a bed in a sleeper compartment for 20€ and found myself sharing with what I thought was a mother and daughter (the latter about my age) from Hungary. They argued loudly for the first hour, then kicked me out of the compartment so that they could change for bed. When one of them would leave, the other would complain about the other one in bad English – 'I cannot believe it… a complete catastrophe! She is stupid!' I never quite worked out what the problem was. When I would ask, the younger one kept saying: 'I do not know. Maybe it is because it is not my town. I am not sure'. It turned out that they were not related and had only met in Italy for a vacation together. We were wakened at various times by loud banging on the door. It was the border police inspecting passports and doing customs checks. Because I was the closest, I was the one who had to get down and open the door. It was a very broken night’s sleep and to make matters worse, the Hungarian pair would wake and start bickering at every stop. Nevertheless, it's always a good feeling when you arrive in a foreign city and you know your way around. Of course I'm talking about Budapest, still my favourite city in Europe. The train arrived at Keleti Station at 8:00 am and upon leaving the station the cold weather sent my lungs into bronchial spasm. Unfortunately the cough would only get worse over the next few days. A short trip on the metro, up to the 'Octagon' intersection, and I arrived at the Home-Made Hostel, where I spent much of my time during my previous visit. It's nice when people remember you from your last visit. It was Anna, a 27 year old political science student at Budapest University, who checked me in. She told me that she and her boyfriend, Martin, were taking a group to Buda to go caving and invited me. I accepted, but insisted on having a few hours sleep before leaving. There was no problem. We were driven over the river at 6:00 pm with a brief stop at a famed pastry shop in ÓBuda (old Buda) where I tried a small Hungarian cherry pie. We were introduced to Sildar, our hairy caving instructor, who began suiting us up in overalls. We were then escorted across the main road from the club house, down a short trail in the national park and then into the 39
cave entrance. I'd never been caving before, so I didn't really know what to expect. For some reason I thought it'd be quite similar to rock climbing or abseiling… on the contrary, this activity mostly involves pushing or pulling yourself through extremely tight spaces and avoiding being impaled on sharp rocks, stalactites and stalagmites. Despite a surface temperature of –2ºC, the temperature 30 metres below ground was close to 10ºC. We were told not to wear a jumper under our overalls and with good reason – what we were doing made things very hot! I wished I'd brought water with me. The dust, which was thick in the air, made my cough worse. Even so, caving was actually a lot of fun, if challenging and exhausting. Two hours later we emerged back on the surface and nearly froze as we walked back to the club house. I spent a half-hour cleaning my Scarpa boots in the hostel kitchen sink, which the staff let me use. It was at this point that I was introduced to a group of French ‘metalheads’, who played in a group called Enemy of the Enemy. I gave them a copy of my heavy metal band Wolfkahn’s EP and showed them some of our studio videos on Youtube, which they loved. I joined them for a dinner at a gypsy restaurant near the Octagon. The food was nothing special (there was only one dish available on the menu) but the folk band that played for us was incredible. I recognised the music of Johannes Brahms, and there were a few laughs thrown in there, including the themes to the Godfather films and the Star Wars trilogy. Later, we ventured to 'Morrisons', a bar/club about 5 minutes away from the hostel. If I were to describe the theme of this bar, as most nightspots in Budapest are furnished in a specific quirky theme, I would have to call it 'English'. Installed in the cellar of an old building, the low curved roof and walls were decorated with street signs and 1950s advertisements for products like tinned meat, kitchen goods and cars. Next to the bar was a big red telephone booth, which was still fully-functional although the club was a little loud to make a call! While not as adventurous as other places I've been to in this city, it was still a great deal of fun and far better than any nightspot Australia has to offer. Tired and sore from caving, I threw in the towel at 2am and walked back to the hostel. I woke with a bad cold and decided to spend a day indoors. With a slight improvement on the Sunday, I looked at my Eurail map and saw that Belgrade, in Serbia, was reasonably close. I St Sava’s Temple Belgrade checked-out that morning and boarded a train. Serbia wasn't covered by my global Eurail pass, so I had to pay 8€ at the border. Trains are remarkably cheap in this part of the world. Six hours later, I stepped into what I call 'Cyrillic Hell'. Lonely Planet and every tourist office in town might give you a map with street names in Latin script, however in the real world everything is in Cyrillic – that strange block lettered script they use in Russia, Ukraine and a handful of other countries in the area. For this reason I got horribly lost trying to follow directions to my hostel. The next day I wandered around Belgrade looking for some museums. I got lost a few more times before I gave up and followed the main road to St. Sava's Cathedral, the largest
Interior of St Sava’s Temple
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Christian Orthodox structure in the world. Like most tourist attractions at this time of the year, the inside of the cathedral was covered in scaffolding and a large section of it was closed to the public. I visited a few of the government buildings and the memorial parks in the centre of the city. Belgrade is a very gloomy city. Buildings aren’t maintained and are covered in graffiti. The winter weather didn't help the mood either. While poverty isn't as evident here as in other places I have visited, the standard of living is certainly quite low. It lacks the charm of Budapest and Prague. I noticed that there are a lot of stray dogs wandering around the city. Some sit in packs on the roads and hold up traffic. They are docile and just looking for something to eat, however if they bite you, you are advised to seek medical attention. Still not feeling 100%, I finished my day before sundown and attempted an alternative route back to the hostel. There was a traditional Serbian restaurant nearby that had been recommended to me by many people. The interior was beautifully decorated with woodwork and taxidermy and the waiters wore traditional Slavic dress. I did not read a menu – the restaurant owner, Alexander, asked me a few questions and made the decision for me. I had a filling 3 course meal for less than 1000 Dinars (10€). The main course was a very tasty stewed lamb and potato dish. Overall I was very satisfied with my meal although there was one major downside – patrons are allowed to smoke indoors. The following day, I went on a Belgrade walking tour with a select group from the hostel. Our guide was Mirja, an 18 year old girl who was yet to finish high school. Apparently she was new to the company and it showed. Her English wasn't the best, but she did try very hard and most of us gave her respect, with the exception of a few Spanish and French tourists who were very rude and talked amongst themselves for most of the time. The highlight of the tour was Kalemedgan, the old fortress citadel. This area of fortification had been held by the Celts from the 3rd Century BC until the Romans invaded in 141 BC. The fortress was rebuilt in its current form in 535 AD. Afterwards Mirja took us to the same restaurant I'd been to the night before. I didn't mind – I wanted to try some wild boar, but unfortunately they had none in stock. I had the lamb and potatoes dish again. Satisfied for lunch and dinner, I returned to the hostel and after a long nap watched Apocalypse Now with Serbian subtitles.
Aerial view of the fortress, at the confluence of the Danube and Sava Rivers, Belgrade Photo: Wikimedia Commons: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Tvdjava_iz_vazduha.jpg
Still unwell, I stayed in bed the following day, delaying my departure for my next destination – Brasov in Romania. I decided to go back to a Eurail country, even though my budget was going strong. Several weeks before, Lázsló, who ran the first hostel I stayed at in Budapest, had recommended visiting Transylvania in Romania. Now I had another chance to visit it. I left on a train in the mid-afternoon and found an empty compartment, but it had no light and no heating. As the train headed further inland the temperature 41
started to drop. I put on a few more T-shirts, an extra pair of pants and spent the next five hours huddled up on the carriage seat, watching my breath on the air and trying not to freeze. I did manage to fall asleep for part of the trip. I set my alarm for 9:30 pm, but unfortunately, when I awoke I had missed my connecting station, Timisoara – either there was a time zone change, or the train was running early – unlikely in Eastern Europe! I panicked, not knowing where I was and got off at the next stop, a dark regional train station inhabited by a few stray dogs and a ticket lady who spoke no English. I worked out that, despite less than an hour of backtracking, I would have to wait till midnight for another train AND I would miss my connection to Brasov. When I got to Timisoara, in the early hours of the morning, I was fortunate to get a connection in Arad, a town my grandfather had visited during World War II. Arriving in Arad around 1:30pm, I sat in a scummy station bar. With three hours to kill, I ordered a beer and sat at an empty table reading up on some Romanian phrases, in my Lonely Planet guide. Suddenly the bar filled up with drunken workers. I had forgotten it was a Friday night. I was joined by a few of them looking for somewhere to sit. They tried to strike up a conversation with me, so I employed the select few phrases that I had Massive industrial ruins, Transylvania conveniently learned minutes before. No one spoke any English. Oddly enough, some of the older men spoke French. Upon request I played some guitar, which meant I didn't have to speak. The awkward conversation continued for three hours until my train arrived. Thankfully the trains in Romania have heating, but I had to share a compartment with three other people, which meant that I was forced to sleep upright. When the sun rose on Saturday morning we were passing through the eastern outskirts of Transylvania. The villages had huge apartment blocks, from the communist era, that looked grossly out-of-place in the rural landscape. Later on, we passed several gigantic ruins of industrial buildings that my little camera just could not truly capture from the train window. It was a bizarre sight. Suffering from intense fatigue, I finally reached Brasov at 12:30pm. I paid 15 Leu (about 3€) for a short taxi ride to the hostel, where I was greeted by the owners. They were dealing with a group of delinquent high school children, so they let me nap in the private suite for the next six hours. While I cooked a cheap pasta-pesto dinner, I was cornered by Thomas, an elderly German man who had been coming to Romania during the winter for the last seven years. I struggled to follow the conversation as he jumped from topic to topic and often tried to use a metaphor to explain his point. His English was terrible. Essentially he was trying to tell me that he didn't have much money and that the people in his village didn't accept him. He had found solidarity in Romania, where the people were like him – happy without having much. There were other comments he made about Christianity, Yoga and a mishmash of spirituality that I couldn't make anything of. Later I learned that he was schizophrenic, which explained a lot. Eventually I managed to wriggle myself away and go to bed. I avoided him for the remainder of my stay. The next day I walked through the old part of the town and passed the Orthodox Synagogue, the Black Church and the first school in Romania. All were closed during the low season! I passed a corner store and purchased a tin of baked beans, some fruit juice and a bread roll and hiked up Mt. Tampa, overlooking the south-western edge of Brasov with a big 42
B.R.A.S.O.V. (à la 'HOLLYWOOD') sign on the summit. After an hour and a half I reached the top and photographed the panorama from beside the big ugly letters. On the other side of the peak, I found a gorgeous view of hilly Transylvanian forest and snow. I paid 5 Leu for a ride back down the mountain on a cable car. The following day, the hostel suddenly filled up with backpackers – this was unusual for a Monday, as most people come to stay over the weekend and are gone by Sunday night. There were a few token Australians, of course, but there was also a group of French students who had been studying in Poland on the Erasmus Program*. One of them was, Mathilde, whom I would later visit in Lyon. At midday we took a tour to Bran castle (see image on opening page), the home of Vlad 'the Impaler' Tepes – also known as Count Dracula. Bran, like most villages in Transylvania, is a poor community with many people trying to cash in on the popular culture born from Bram Stoker's Dracula novel. The castle itself is architecturally impressive, but the furnishings are very modest. It's no Palace of Versailles, although it had housed several generations of Romanian royalty since the 14th century. After an hour we returned to Brasov. Mathilde, the two Spaniards and I went for a walk up to the citadel and watched the sunset. The citadel (known locally as 'Çetatuia') was built in 1553 to replace the meagre wooden fortifications that were destroyed in attacks from the armies of Moldavia (now present-day east Romania and west Moldavia). It was largely destroyed by fire in 1618 and was built-up again in 1625 with the addition of four massive stone bastions and plenty of canons. Later Çetatuia served as a prison for a number of years, but nowadays it finds its best use housing Brasov's top restaurant – ‘Çetate’! Sadly the low season meant that we weren't able to visit the interior. The grounds around the citadel were being ripped up and redeveloped, so it wasn't a pretty sight. The following day, my planned tour of Sinaia, site of the Peles castle and a 17th century-monastery, was cancelled. I was really disappointed. However, two Australian girls and I did a tour of Sighisoara, a UNESCO World Heritage-listed medieval citadel town that my mother had recommended. While the town amazed us, and certainly had much more to offer than Bran, once again we couldn't go inside any of the old buildings because they were closed for the winter. I decided to put Count Dracula and Transylvania behind me and fly to Istanbul from Bucharest. At first I had chosen to take on Eastern Europe simply because I had never been there…I guess I had fallen into the mindset of traveling for the sake of traveling. Perhaps I just wanted another country to add to the list. I certainly wanted to go places where my well-travelled parents had never been. By the time I’d reached Bucharest I realized that I had experienced something far more sacred than the comfort zone that the majority of the Australian hooligans in Rome were willing to be in. Countries like Hungary and Serbia could not be further from the ‘western’ way of life that we live in Australia. I had visited a region that had spent decades under communist rule, where the harsh winter climate and its proximity to the eastern trade routes had created such a unique mind-set in the arts. At times I dreaded the lack of English but strangely I embraced it, as I needed the challenge to learn new words and be active with my body language. As an Australian I was confronted by the standard of living that is considerably lower than in western Europe, and far lower than what that I enjoy in Sydney. But as a (dual) Dutch citizen, and therefore a citizen of the European Union, it engendered humility and a sense of solidarity with the East, indeed with the whole continent. All photographs taken by the author, unless stated otherwise.
Transylvanian forest from the summit of Mt Tampa, Brasov
*The Erasmus Program is a student exchange scheme available to university students in the European Union.
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Music and Film Reviews Michael Cooke
Michael Cooke is a retired public servant and trade union activist who has a lifelong interest in South Asian history, politics and culture.
He has served as an election monitor in Sri Lanka. He has also penned when the occasion demanded a number of articles and film reviews. On the 11th of November 2011 he launched the publication of his most recent work, a biography of Lionel Bopage. ‘A biography by its very nature’, writes Michael Cooke, in setting the scene for the Bopage Story, ‘reveals a life not only of an individual but of the society and times of that individual.’ Michael Cooke A person’s life story, however, can be told in different ways. A biography may be rich in minutiae and fail to go sufficiently beyond the more immediate social context of the subject. Cooke deserves to be commended for the way he has approached and narrated the biography of an extraordinary individual…., Prof. N. Shanmugaratnam The book can be purchased via the author’s website: michaelcolincooke.blogspot.com
The genesis of this book was a series of conversations I had with Lionel Bopage and his spouse Chitra at their home in Melbourne Australia. These conversations took place intermittently from mid-2006 onwards. While enjoying copious amounts of good Sri Lankan cuisine and fine conversation, the idea of a biography of Lionel’s life evolved. Lionel, to put it mildly, has led and is still living an eventful life, which somebody like me, living a pampered life in the first world, could barely comprehend. A life that involved high political drama, being imprisoned and tortured on a number of occasions by the state, being part of an insurrection, being general secretary of a Marxist party, witnessing as a youth the ill-treatment of Tamils, being forced to resign from a party of which he was the general secretary because of its opportunistic fanning of resentment against the Tamils, being forced to leave his country in fear of his life. At a personal level one must not forget his enduring marriage to his partner, who was a Catholic nun, when they met. What I find remarkable is that through all his political activities and travails, he has not lost his belief in Marxism and the need for inter-communal harmony in the face of much hate, 44
distortion and incomprehension of his position. Not communal harmony in an idealistic sense but a more concrete material one, where there is genuine power sharing based on the devolution of power; a state with human rights at its core and which enshrines the concepts of equity and social justice. Initially it was decided I would engage Lionel in a series of conversations about his life, political influences and political activism in Sri Lanka. In the course of these I realised that, given the complexity and controversial nature of the issues, the personalities, the plethora of political parties, their competing philosophies and antagonistic agendas, we would have ended up with a book for specialists in the field, material for the after-dinner conversations of those who see themselves as the doyens of all things political and cultural in Sri Lanka. The format did not provide me with the means to open up the conversation to the historical record, nor did it provide me or the reader with a chance to interrogate Lionel on some of the key decisions he has made in his political career. These would include his role in the 1971 insurrection, his resignation from his party in 1984 and his subsequent position on the future of Sri Lanka. I hope to set the record straight on these controversial issues. From the outset I decided not to write a traditional biography. Such a biography would not only take the measure of the subject in question, it would also investigate his or her social and political milieu. It would provide some insight into his personal life and some investigation of his psychological motivations. It would do this by analysing his writing, interviewing his family, friends, political allies and political foes, and weave all this into a narrative of his life. This would have been difficult because many of Lionel’s political influences have been eclipsed, and many of his friends, allies and foes are dead. The survivors would, given the current political climate, find it difficult to be as politically candid as they would like. Others are now in a very different position, both politically and materially, to Lionel’s. They might be reluctant to expose their past to their current political masters. I have no desire to write such a biography of Lionel. I have written a different kind of biography, a political one which discusses Lionel’s political activism in post-independence Sri Lanka. A few notable biographies have been written from the perspective of a person at the periphery of history, who nonetheless at a certain time becomes a central figure in the political life of a nation. Lionel is such a person, and the biographer can tease out for the reader the complexities of his society. A perfect example of this is Virginia Woolf’s excellent biography of the Victorian poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning as seen through the eyes of her dog Flush. By doing this Virginia Woolf has woven a biography of an individual in which questions of difference are not founded upon the presumed absolutes of woman and man, black and white as much as on shifting power relations, specific histories, intricate diversities; debates in which the decentralising and pluralism62 are brought to the fore. In writing such a biography of Lionel I hope I tease out for the reader some of the complexities and difficulties facing the inhabitants of Sri Lanka. This biography is also a Marxist one. A Marxist biography, to my way of thinking, looks historically at the links, paradoxes and fractures in the social, cultural, economic and political forces of a society and at how an individual’s political sensibility is formed by these things. This biography will 62
Woolf, V. (2009). Flush. Oxford World Classics, xliii; Introduction by Kate Flint. Professor Flint reviews the biography of a dog called Flush, who is owned by the Victorian poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and discusses Woolf’s metaphorical use of animals to illuminate class and gender differences in Victorian England.
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do this through the prism of Lionel’s life. In doing so, I hope to throw light on the social mechanisms of Sri Lankan society. At a personal level, by writing this biography and immersing myself in the country’s history, I hoped to understand the contrast I have found between the conviviality of the people of Sri Lanka and their seeming inability to solve their communal problems. It was disconcerting for me, on the one hand, to enjoy the company of some of my close friends from the Sinhala and Tamil communities, and on the other hand see, during two periods as an election monitor, the brutality, fear and harshness which marked the daily lives of ordinary Sri Lankans. The impunity of those committing the violence, the brutality, intensity and the longevity of the war was something I could not comprehend. The newspapers and the internet articles I looked at, with a few exceptions, also reflected this rancour. It just did not add up. By writing about Lionel’s political life and his times I gained a better understanding of the paradox. If this biography serves any purpose it is to convey this paradox and its basis. For those readers that are novices to Sri Lankan history and its political mores, there are brief biographies of the many political personalities and political parties. Also I have provided a chronology of the major milestones of the country’s rich historical tapestry. Such is a life Michael Cooke
Glimpses of Empire Part 3: The Architecture of Empire – Wall Street Parts 1 and 2 and American Psycho
Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures, the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms; greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge, has marked the upward surge of mankind and greed, you mark my words, will not only save Teldar Paper, but that 63 other malfunctioning corporation called the USA - Gordon Gekko. 63
Stone, Oliver (1987). Speech given to Gordon Gekko in the film Wall Street.
Money don’t get everything, it’s true What it don’t get, I can’t use Now give me money (that’s what I want) That’s what I want (that’s what I want) That’s what I want (that’s what I want), yeah That’s what I want Song written by Janie Bradford and Berry Gordy year of production – 1963. Tamla Records 1959. Cover version 1963: The Beatles - Money
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In our era money has made the seemingly easy jump from being merely a medium of exchange to being a mysterious, almost theological commodity essential to the market system. But as in any biblical fable, the Fall had to come. Ironically, it was greed in all its manifestations, combined with cheap money and even cheaper credit that resulted in the biggest crash since the Great Depression of 1929. The spectre of the Great Depression haunted the films of the 1930s and the 1940s, especially those of Frank Capra. In films like Meet John Doe (1941), big money was critiqued and the hard-working individualist glorified in a populist setting. This political sensibility even left its mark on that great conservative film maker John Ford, who based one of his finest films on John Steinbeck’s left-leaning Grapes of Wrath (1940), a work whose spirit is reflected in the Occupy Movement.64 But these dramas, for all their moral indignation and brilliance, were at heart Manichean: on one side the rapacious capitalist, on the other the God-fearing individual, conscious of the claims of common people. Oliver Stone, for all his considerable gifts as a filmmaker, has been limited by his obsession with good and evil. This is never more evident than in the drama Wall Street (1987), made around the time of the stock market collapse known as Black Monday. From the beginning of the film one is left in no doubt that we are in the heart of the empire. The opening montage of New York awakening in majesty (phallic buildings piercing the sky) is sweetened by Frank Sinatra crooning ‘Fly me to the Moon’. Juxtaposed with this are steel mills, people commuting to work, and the Brooklyn Bridge, a technical wonder of its age. Gradually we are introduced to the world of finance; a jungle of people yelling and gesticulating at each other or their phones, rows of computers with wires entwining each other like vines, and paper strewn across the floor. In this chaos certain faces gradually emerge: the good capitalist, played by Hal Holbrook, our protagonist, played by Charlie Sheen with all the bland good looks he can muster, a Candide ripe for corruption; his driven colleagues, furiously selling stocks which are less than gilt-edged. The most prominent of these is played with gimlet-eyed intensity by John C. McGinley. Charlie Sheen’s character is desperate to enter another, higher world - one of takeovers, stock manipulation and enormous material wealth, personified by Gordon Gekko. Like John Milton’s Devil in Paradise Lost, Gekko is given the best lines by Oliver Stone – ‘Lunch is for wimps’–‘WASPS – love animals, can’t stand people’. He is given the sharpest suits, the meanest of hairstyles (a gelled-down version of a 1950’s pompadour), and is played by Michael Douglas with charm, guile and menace. Gekko corrupts Sheen by showing him the world the rich inhabit: the art works, the huge offices, the gilded houses and apartments, the bespoke suits, fine restaurants and beautiful women. A world to be possessed but not lived in; though Sheen’s new apartment has killer views and the latest mod cons, he treats it as a hotel room, being too busy striking the next deal to enjoy it. The denouement arises from a takeover by Gekko (helped by Sheen’s character) of a company in which the younger man’s father works and where he is a union representative. The younger protagonist is not initially aware that Geeko is not interested in building up the company. Gekko intends to asset strip it, making the employees redundant. By the end of the film the younger man is helping the regulatory authorities bring Gekko down.
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Tom Joad’s soliloquy: “Fella ain’t got a soul of his own. Just a little piece of a big soul. One big soul belongs to everybody. I’ll be around. Wherever there’s a fight so hungry people can eat. Wherever there is a cop beating up a guy, I’ll be there ………” quoted in Richards, Jeffrey (1973) Visions of Yesterday. Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd, p275.
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Despite the film’s overt moralising, Gekko was and is seen as a hero, not a villain, for the new generation of traders. His words said what they thought: “The richest 1% of this country owns half our country's wealth, five trillion dollars. One third of that comes from hard work, two thirds comes from inheritance, interest on interest accumulating to widows and idiot sons – and what I do, stock and real estate speculation. It's bullshit. You got ninety precent of the American public out there with little or no net worth. I create nothing. I own. We make the rules, pal. The news, war, peace, famine, upheaval, the price per paper clip. We pick that rabbit out of the hat while everybody sits out there wondering how the hell we did it. Now, you're not naive enough to think we're living in a democracy, are you, buddy? It's the free market. And you're a part of it. You've got that killer instinct. Stick around, pal, I've still got a lot to teach you.” (Stone 1987) Twenty three years later, in the middle of the GFC, Stone made a sequel: Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps (2010). In this new film Sheen is given a cameo role65 and new characters are introduced. Greed now has reached the stratosphere. Companies can be plundered, destroyed and money offloaded in the billions of dollars in an afternoon. Gekko, though ruthless, is softened, and the film is less interesting as a result. Too often he is seen commenting and explaining, rather than being part of the action. The villain, played by that fine actor Josh Brolin, is surprisingly colourless. The good and ultimately ruined financier is ably played by Frank Langella who is not given enough screen time. The juvenile leads have little to do, except moralise. The saving grace of the film is the 96 year old Eli Wallach who, in his role as one of the key financial players in the city of New York, displays an oily, patrician malevolence. The editing is suitably jagged, and the actors do what they can with the script, but the film lacks an edge, its ending resembling Ron Howard’s Parenthood (1989). Gekko reconciles with his daughter, grandchild and her husband at a family party with a 1980s soundtrack in the background, sheltering us and them from the mayhem this form of capitalism engenders. Perhaps Stone is wary of the monster on the trading floor and in the boardrooms: people who seem almost blissfully unconcerned about the financial and moral havoc they are creating. Mary Harron’s underrated satire American Psycho (2000)66 boldly and brilliantly posits the notion that people living the American dream are devoid of empathy and are misogynist and narcissistic. The opening shots of American Psycho recall Vanity Fair or Vogue: overhead and side shots of the New York skyline, with a jaunty faux classical score. We get glimpses of nouvelle cuisine as designer porn – all those dribbles and sizzles of red on the whitest of china; we see beautiful young men and women perfectly styled, manicured and coiffured; an apartment that is cool, stylish and minimalist. A world of surface charm, where empathy, individual taste and feeling are absent. This is the world of our protagonist Patrick Bateman. His conversation, essentially banal, is enriched only by the naming of expensive objects. He is a misogynist. Relationships are based on how a person looks, where he eats and what suits he wears: platitudes of style rather than real experience. Real people frighten Bateman or repulse him. In the end they have to be killed. 65
Even he has sold out. One of the more delicious moments in the film when Sheen whose hedonistic lifestyle is etched on his fading good looks meets Gekko; the contempt and hate that emanates from Gekko is palpable. 66 Based on the controversial best seller by Ellis, Bret Easton (1991) American Psycho, Vintage Books. The film unlike the book, has a feminine sensibility, is less macabre and has a more disciplined sense of the satirical.
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In this world of appearances, owning a thing or naming it are more important than their actual use and enjoyment. One of the more delicious moments in the film sees the young guns comparing business cards, each a work of art. When our protagonist’s card is trumped by another, he attempts to kill his rival. Bateman, we gradually discover, is sane only on the surface. While preparing to kill his victims he plays the most banal of 1980s pop artists - Whitney Houston, Phil Collins, Huey Lewis and the News. In one excruciatingly funny scene he plays Lewis’s ‘Hip to be Square’ on a sublime sound system. While commenting on the importance of the track (at one point he compares Lewis to Elvis Costello), he is deciding on what implement he will use to kill his guest. The ironic style of the film, its pictorial surface of chrome, silver, white and grey, could have distanced us from the barbarity of the Bateman’s acts. Christian Bale’s performance ensures this does not happen. Bale is a fine actor who immerses himself in a role. In a bland role, as in Mann’s Public Enemies (2009), he makes the audience feel that blandness, paradoxically reducing our interest in the film. He can be heroic and chiselled, as in the second instalment of the latest Batman franchise The Dark Knight (2009). Bale lets his co-stars like the late Heath Ledger and the industrial size hardware and armour take centre stage. Even when he plays a drug-addled boxer in The Fighter (2010) he still compels our gaze, though we cannot recognise him. In American Psycho (2000), he holds our attention as a man who is simply not there. We see the surface – the perfectly coiffured hair, expensive Italian suits, buffed, hairless body and bland handsome face – and beneath it, the narcissism and murderous rage that are the substitute for a personality. Despite their virtues, none of these films really convey the worst of the system that they criticise and satirise, the capacity for destruction not only of the American economy but economies around the world. The sad truth is that these films, for all their respective worth, do not provide a counter moral and political framework to the unseemly worship of wealth, that is permeating societies around the world. Ironically this sense of wanton greed regardless of its costs is now so inculcated into the ideological bloodstream of not only the Americans and the Europeans but also the Indians, Brazilians and Chinese middle class (amongst many others). Thus making them blind to the misery they not only impose on their fellow citizens, but also to their respective country’s fragile ecology. Notwithstanding this it would be fair to say that American Psycho is a masterwork in its own way, though it never attracted the attention given to Stone’s films. Ironically, elegantly and bloodily, it tells a truth too bitter to contemplate for long. Such is life Michael Cooke
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Notice to Contributors Doryanthes welcomes contributions, on any subject from members and non members, alike. Preference may be given to articles relating to Southern Sydney or to articles written by authors who live in southern Sydney. Unless by prior arrangement, the maximum length for formal articles is 3000 words. Any annotation must be in the form of footnotes. The editors also seek short notes, book and film reviews. The text should be formatted as full justified in 13 point Arial and the page margins should be set as “narrow”. Headings will be formatted as Comic Sans and will be generally 20 to 28 points depending on word length or heading length. Copyright of material published in Doryanthes is retained by the author. In the case of any subsequent publication, the editors of Doryanthes merely seek a statement of the prior publication in Doryanthes. Contributions (articles, notes or reviews) may be sent to the publisher on disk or as email attachment (in both cases as Word files) to the publisher Les Bursill (les.bursill.gmail.com).
Membership Doryanthes Inc. has two classes of membership: (i) Subscription Members. The Doryanthes year runs from November till October. The annual subscription is $35 per year. In addition to the online version, subscription members are entitled to receive, per year, four hard copy editions of Doryanthes. Subscriptions should be forwarded to the Hon. Treasurer Mrs Mary Jacobs 10 Porter Road Engadine 2233 (ii) On-line Members: On-line members pay no annual subscription fee and receive four times per year the on-line copy of Doryanthes. Such members must provide the publisher, Les Bursill (
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