No post tonight

I'm not going to attempt to post tonight. I played tennis and then listened to the Australian Treasurer's budget speech and some of the subsequent discussion. I will try to make a sensible comment tomorrow.

Loss of innocence

I found Eamonn Duff's story Age of innocence lost forever as trust clouded by paranoia dreadfully sad. As I have said before, it fits with my own experiences in bringing up girls in a primary child care role. I was yelled at only once, accused of being a paedophile -  it was a primary school break-up and all the kids wanted to be swung around. That was a nasty experience, but it reflected shifting attitudes, including sometimes subtle discrimination against men looking after children. 

I don't think that we can do anything about it. It just is, an example of the way that social pressures in combination with shifts in the law work in practice. Sometimes you have to accept that, accept the losses involved.

Has any of this made children safer? In some cases, maybe yes. As I write, the number of charges against Father F, someone I know, has been increased. Without commenting on his guilt or innocence, the type of systemic abuse revealed by some past cases is, I think, less likely to happen  or more likely to be found out. 

Do I think that my children would be any safer were they born today than in the second half of the eighties?  Do I think that those social attitudes portrayed in Eammon Duff's story, that the experiences of Leo and granddaughter Emma, of Newcastle dentist Andreas Schwander, of Uncle Lachlan in the Coffs Harbour supermarket, would make my children safer? 

Just the opposite, in fact. In a society marked by certain types of paranoia, children actually become less safe. They can be hurt by the very social attitudes and laws designed to protect them. In NSW, mandatory reporting of certain types of suspected offences against children brought the entire child welfare system to the point of collapse. Those who suffered were the kids, as well as the staff who had to try to operate the system.

As I said, I don't think that we can do anything about it. We can fight against certain restrictions, but others we have to accept. It would be a brave person, especially a man. who would argue for a wind-back in child protection legislation, a braver person who would challenge or fight back against the social moral mafia.  

Sunday Snippets - walks, books, the Aborigines with a dash of defence

This morning's blog round-up starts with a scathing attack in GeoCurrents, Do “Ultraconserved Words” Reveal Linguistic Macro-Families?, on recent claims about the long term preservation of certain key in language over 15,000 years. It's worth a read.

In Aboriginal Art & Culture: an American eye, Living on Country reviews Melissa Lucashenko’s new book Mullumbimby (UQP, 2013). Set in the Northern Rivers district of the broader New England, the book is part straight story of romance, hard work, friendship, and family, but it also entwines the Aboriginal story. I quote from Will's review:

Land and law are two of the pillars on which Mullumbimby reveals itself; the third in language.  The novel is saturated with Bundjalung and Yugambeh vocabulary, along with more familiar Aboriginal English.  All the animals that inhabit the land are named in language.  The reader quickly learns that jagan means land yumba means home, and gwong means rain; relationships are parsed in Aboriginal terms as well: jahjam (child) and bunji (friend).  Jo thinks and speaks in multiple linguistic registers, just as her relationship to land is sung in multiple scales that span octaves of meaning.

I suspect it's a good book. I plan to buy it for that reason, but also to add to my growing stock of New England books. The reference to language caught my eye as well, for in my weekly history column in the Armidale Express I am presently completing a series on Aboriginal languages,

The columns are not on line and my subscription to the paper is their e-edition. However, Callum (an Aboriginal friend) kindly sent me a scanned version of the first in the series. I thought I would reproduce it as an example of my writing elsewhere. 

One nice thing about my research and writing is the way it sometimes supports other things. Caullum and Susan are interested in reviving Anaiwan or Nganjaywana, the Aboriginal language spoken in the Southern portion of the New England Tablelands, so some of my current writing supports that aspiration.

Now if you want to try your knowledge of the world, here is a Google maps based game that will give you your chance. It's harder than it looks. You have to spend a little time looking at the detail. For example, based on Spanish language signs, I put one photo in Spain when it was in Paraguay! The game came to me via the Lowy Institute blog whose Defence White Paper round-up provides a very useful list of responses to Australia's latest Defence white paper.

Over at Ramana's place, Ramana has had an interesting series of posts on interfaith marriage. I am not going to list them now. I want to pick them up later in another post.

In terms of the Aboriginal theme earlier in this post, Neil Whitfield's Two hundred years ago: Blue Mountains NSW looks at an iconic event in the post European settlement of this country from a different perspective. I would like to do that walk, although I got picky on points of detail!

Speaking of walks and historic places, this is a photo of part of the obelisk in Sydney's Macquarie Place. All of the road distances in early colonial NSW were recorded from this point. The distance to Bathurst records the route Neil talked about. The obelisk is meant to mark the start/end of the the Great North Walk to Newcastle. You know, for such a major walk I could not find a single descriptor in or near the obelisk! Maybe I'm just dumb, but I felt quite annoyed!

Well, I have so much more to write, but I fear that I am out of time this morning. I have other things that I must do.       

Saturday Morning Musings - conversation with a busker

The regulars on the 343 get to know each other, at least by sight, often through conversation. I had been on an excursion to Circular Quay and the Rocks. Coming home on the bus, I got chatting to a busker. He was lumping this huge suitcase. It was old but still relatively recent because it had wheels. Despite that, it was still cumbersome.

"What's in the case", I said. "My amps", was the reply. "I need to charge them."

We chatted on. I mentioned that I had been watching buskers around Circular Quay. This lady is a contortionist warming up.

And this is her equipment.  I thought of my youngest daughter when the performer said she was into extreme performances. Just what can you do with that, I wondered?

"Do they make much money there?", I asked my friendly busker. "Its a good beat", he replied, "but you must have $10 million public liability insurance, and that costs $320 per annum. That puts people off." I wondered about that. It certainly stops the casuals, and that may explain why there are fewer buskers now, why the place is less interesting.

By the way, do you know what circular breathing is? I didn't. It means that you breath in through the nose while breathing out through the mouth. It's absolutely critical to the playing of things like the Aboriginal didgerdoo. This player is explaining the technique to a member of his audience.  

We chatted on. "Where's the best beat?", I asked. "You can make $400 per night at the Cross", my informant explained. Kings Cross is red light and entertainment district about 2k to the east of the CBD. He went on: "But you have to be careful not to be rolled. What I do is to grab an on-looker, promise them some beers, and get them to watch while I play." 

The bus had arrived at the Kingsford roundabout. We got off, still chatting. It had been an interesting trip.

The world is awash with money

A very, very short post tonight just to record an impression that I want to write about later. I have been following global policy developments reasonably closely, including quantitative easing and the currency wars.

The thing that is making me increasingly uneasy is the feeling that the pre-conditions are being set for an economic crash. What makes perfect sense for one country, becomes a mess when multiple countries do it. What I'm trying to work out in my mind is a scenario that would allow multiple quantitative easing to be unwound without tipping the wheelbarrow  over and us all onto the ground.

I can see how one country might do it, but not economies making up, what, more than 50% of the global economy if they all start doing it around the same time. That's my problem.                       

Australian Life - a travesty of justice?

If correctly reported,  I found this Armidale Express story quite staggering. I repeat the story in full. Comments follow. 

An Armidale camper who fled an armed attack found himself in court after police charged him with negligent driving.

Ian Bettinson  was found guilty of the offence and drink driving  while seeking help from police after he was bashed in the head.

He had been camping alone in the Tweed Valley when he was allegedly attacked by three men with baseball bats.

The court heard after escaping from his attackers, Bettinson, who didn’t have access to a phone, drove his car to seek help and, seeing a police vehicle, pulled over behind it to alert them of the attack.

He remained in his car while the officers called for an ambulance, but Bettinson became increasingly agitated about his injuries and released the handbrake, causing the car to roll slowly forward into the police vehicle.

They then charged him with negligent and drink driving, having been found to be just .01 over the legal limit.

The court heard that Mr Bettinson suffers from cancer and mental health issues, which contributed to his level of agitation.  Magistrate Karen Stafford said while she had taken the circumstances into account, she felt  Bettinson still needed to be punished for getting behind the wheel.

“Members of the public on Tweed Valley Way were put at risk as he was driving with an injury and while intoxicated,” she said.  

Bettinson was fined $150 for negligent driving and $350 for drink driving and lost his licence for six months.

A police spokeswoman said the department could not comment on whether the police should have made the charges or if they went in search of the assailants.

Sorry, if this story is in any way accurate, it strikes me as a travesty of justice.

What on earth were the police and Magistrate Stafford thinking? So Mr Bettinson who has just been bashed and is seeking police help is to be punished for driving with an injury and while intoxicated. So what is he meant to do. Go away and suffer his injuries in silence?

I know that I often complain about Australia's present rules based obsession, but surely this is crazy? Maybe some reader can provide a rational defence of just what happened. For the life of me, I can't see it!

Has the Financial Review been Australianised?

I had intended to do an update on my Monday Forum post to try to encourage discussion. Instead, my attention was been caught by something else, the shifting lines of ideological warfare. This short post  records my observations for later discussion.

While you won't have seen many signs of it yet, my recent reading has been heavily focused on economics and the economy. I have been updating my knowledge, for we are now at another shift point.

As part of my updating, I have been again buying the Australian Financial Review. I enjoy it, it still has real content and my attention is constantly struck by things worth writing about. However, last week reading the editorial in association with the columnists, I found myself wondering just when the Financial Review first started reading like the Australian?  It's been quite recent. I wasn't conscious of it even a few months ago, but now the stamp is unmistakable. As an example, you find an editorial on the need for budget restraint juxtaposed with guest columns from people connected with the Institute of Public Affairs.

The wording used has started to catch my attention. For example, in a recent piece, the writer talked about Australia's straightened budget position, that the country could no longer afford the welfare measures of the past.

I thought, hang on a bit. The past the writer is talking about is not the immediate past, but the longer term past. Looked at it in this way, the comment is silly. The Australian economy is far larger than it was in the past. Relative to that past, Australian Governments have the capacity to do far more than when certain welfare measures were introduced. The question is not one of capacity to pay, but of our willingness to pay. That is the dividing line around which the ideological fight revolves.

As a general personal statement, while I know of little empirical evidence that the size of the Government sector actually matters in terms of relative economic performance within at least broad ranges, I do believe that there are advantages in minimising the size of Government. Simply put, smaller Government means, other things being equal, that more resources are available for private activities.

That standard economists' qualification is important. In all the debate about the size of Government, we have been under-investing in key things: we have naval ships withdrawn from service because nobody could find the money to invest in preventative maintenance; we have a social housing stock that ran down so much in quality terms that the rising cost of basic backlog maintenance almost bankrupted the public housing system; we have university colleges in just the same position; we have growing gaps in infrastructure, including the collapsing minor country roads that once formed an integral part of the community backbone. It seems to me that the only infrastructure that gets built now is that where a direct price can be extracted, and then we get it wrong!

We talk about an entitlements' culture. I'm damned if I know what that actually means. The only "entitlements" I can see around is an expectation by predominantly middle class Australians that they can impose their view of what they perceive to be right on others. As the political ability of Governments to actually do declines, they focus on the areas that they can still control or at least think that they can control, and that's behaviour. We can no longer do a simple thing like maintain a ship or a house or a university college, but by hell we can regulate down to the minutest detail when it comes to just how a teacher or social worker works.

We are in a mess, and not one of the nostrums now being peddled by the Financial Review will help.

Monday Forum - Gatsby, Brideshead Revisited and more!

Over at his place, Neil Whitfield was inspired in Gatsby revisited. This led our collective regular commenter kvd to a somewhat different view that spread over into a comment at my place on Sunday Essay - why I write. Now before buying into the discussion, I actually have to read the book! However, it started me thinking in a broader way,

Do you remember the TV series Brideshead Revisited? Now some of my friends actually cringed at the dialogue, but I liked the slow tempo. So taste is very much in the eye (and ear) of the beholder. I could do a Gatsby version of my early morning walks, but it wouldn't quite fit.

So now I am posing a very open question. What writing do you most hate. What writing do you most like? And in both cases, why!

Sunday Essay - why I write

I woke very early and then went for a long walk to clear my head. I do this several times a week, nearly always the same route, up Gardeners Road to the roundabout and then down Anzac Parade. I am getting to understand the early morning patterns before they are replaced by the normal daily routine. Next time, I will take my camera and see if can get some photos to share with you.

My thoughts this morning were disconnected, linked only by some common connection to writing. I have been suffering from something approaching writer's block, as well as conflict over time and priorities. It's actually been quite difficult. Still, in all this, one of the things that makes me just so grateful is the feedback I get.

In a private Facebook message, a friend wrote: "I have no idea how you manage to juggle so much knowledge across so many interests, all with grace, exquisite humor and cogent writing."  Another friend wrote:

Sorry to hear that your struggling with writing your next piece, but I'm sure you'll get there. Hope you become reinspired! Fingers crossed : )

By the way, thanks for keeping me inspired! I don't think I would be as excited or this motivated to learn about my people, myself, and most importantly be responsible for revitalising such an integral part of my culture and passing it on.

By it's nature, so much of what I do is isolated and can be isolating. I share a little, but it can be hard to explain what I do, why I do it and the joy I sometimes get from it, as well as the frustration that can result.

Some people write because they must write. Their focus is on their writing, on the art of writing and, often, on their need to explore, understand and explain their personal world in all its confusions. That's true for me too, but basically I write for people. Most of my pieces are written with a specific audience in mind, sometimes just one person. In my mind, I am talking to that person. They are there in front of me as I write. It is our conversation.

I am, I suppose, still something of a reformer, a campaigner. I want my writing to have an effect. Most times, this doesn't happen, or at least nothing that can be measured. But then, sometimes it does. The effect may not be large, but it is clear. Then I smile. I am inspired to go on, to try something new. 

In writing, I draw constantly from my fellow writers and especially my fellow bloggers.

Wikipedia, where would we be without it?, defines a salon in this way:

A salon is a gathering of people under the roof of an inspiring host, held partly to amuse one another and partly to refine the taste and increase the knowledge of the participants through conversation. These gatherings often consciously followed Horace's definition of the aims of poetry, "either to please or to educate" ("aut delectare aut prodesse est"). Salons, commonly associated with French literary and philosophical movements of the 17th and 18th centuries, were carried on until quite recently in urban settings.

I don't go to writers' events or to the functions or festivals put on by various writers' centres, although perhaps I should, for I am totally outside what I perceive to be the writing mainstream. After all, it's only quite recently that I have defined myself as a writer. Before that, I would have thought of that classification as simply presumptuous!

  To me, the internet has become my salon and, what's more, an open egalitarian one. The French or English salons were always a bit precious, elitist. The internet is different, for in the kaleidoscopic exchange of views there is constant inspiration, constant refreshment. I rely on that very heavily. Let me give you an example.

Go to Denis Wright's My two daughters. When I read Sylvia's message to her dad, I was reduced to tears. I have two daughters. They are very different women, but both are wonderful. As I read Sylvia's letter to her dad, Denis is dying from a brain tumour, I thought that''s what it's all about.

Who would have thought when I really began writing, just how much joy I would get from it? Who would have thought that I would meet new friends from around the world? Who would have thought that I would end up knowing dozens of fellow writers, some very successful? Who would have thought that I might bring a measure of joy and inspiration to at least a few?

That's what it's all about. That's why I write.   

3 May 1917 - remembering a family death at Bullecourt

The Second Battle of Bullecourt began early on the morning of Thursday 3 May 1917[1]. The offensive had originally been intended to support a failed attack to the south.. The French attacked on 15 April 1917 but failed. However, both British and French leaders agreed to continue operations, one of which was a combined British and Australian attack on the Hindenburg Line around Bullecourt where the previous attempt to capture and hold sections of the German line had failed so disastrously on 11 April 1917. The objective was to capture the railway embankment at Reincourt, thus damaging German transport while opening an immediate front beyond German fortifications.

The battle was a confused one. Two hours after it started, the centre of the 2nd Australian Division had reached its second objective, but with troops barely able to hold it, let alone to push onto Reincourt at the scheduled time of 6am. Around 7am Colonel Murray and some of his men from the Australian 18th were pinned down in shell-holes facing O.G. 1, the first of the defensive lines. CEW Bean, the official Australian War historian, described the following events in this way:

A little later, Lieutenant M. C. Drummond (Petersham and Leichardt) N.S.W), the intelligence officer of the 18th Battalion, succeeded in reaching from the rear the shell-holes in which Colonel Murphy and a number of men were lying in front of O.G.1. On learning of the situation Murphy decided to attempt the rushing of the trench. On rising to make the charge, however, the gallant Drummond, a sergeant, and two men were instantly killed. Seeing others also fall, Murphy gave the order to dig in and hold on.[2]

This view of Morris (photo) was shared by others. On 6 May 1917, three days after Morris’s death, a fellow officer (Lt. Jim Harrison) wrote to brother Will: “Maurice was ... the most fearless officer in the Battalion, he was exceeding his duty at the time, very typical of him.”

The story that ended here began in 1914. On 4 August, Britain declared war on Germany. The Australian Prime Minister declared Australia’s support the following day, offering an expeditionary force of 20,000 men to serve in any destination as required by the Home Government. On 6 August, London cabled its acceptance.

There was a rush of patriotic support for the war. On 25 August 1914, Will, the oldest of the Drummond boys, enlisted[3]. It had been an agonizing decision. His Christian beliefs would not allow him to take life, but he also felt that he must do his duty. His solution was to join as a stretcher bearer: 'I have tried to play the game and to live up to the ideas Jesus has set before me', he wrote to Morris on the day of the Gallipoli landing (25 April 1915).

Morris and David Drummond did not enlist immediately. The three brothers had agreed that David, as the only married one, should stay to be in a position to look after their sister Ellie should that prove necessary. Later, when David did try to enlist, he would be rejected twice, probably on the grounds of his deafness. He couldn’t have heard orders in the battlefield din.

For Morris's part, he followed events closely, finally deciding in August 1915 that he too must enlist. “Perhaps you will not be altogether surprised”, he wrote to David in August 1915, but I have felt it coming on - like a bad cold... while I have the conviction that men are really required I cannot hang back and let someone else carry my bundle... I've taken the step and hope it won't be labour in vain, but at any rate I've no delusions about the fun and glory of it.”

Morris was offered an immediate commission, but declined it.. His sister recalled later that officer training would have delayed his passage, and he also wanted first to know something about the men he would command[4].

I wondered about this, for family stories are always uncertain things and especially long after the event. However, the official Australian War Memorial form required for inclusion in the Roll of Honour includes this reference: “Refused to accept any promotion in camp & again in France until he had served in a battle.”[5] The information was supplied much earlier by Brother William, but is consistent with his sister’s recollection.

Based on this and other records, Morris was clearly a remarkable man.

The death came as a huge blow. The three brothers had always been very close, with Morris and Will forming a close knit team providing support to both David and Bid (the brothers' pet name for sister Ellie). Throughout the war Morris had written regularly to David; cheery letters full of details, such as descriptions of French farming methods, intended to interest the younger brother. However, they also gave a clear picture of the hardships and dangers associated with the war.

Brother William survived the war. He was repatriated home and had to spend some time in convalescence. The photo shows him during that period. For his part, Morris’ memory as a remarkable man was carried down through the generations to this day. 

---

[1] C.E.W. Bean, 'The Australian Imperial Force In France 1917', Volume IV, The Official History of Australia in the War of 1914-1918, Angus and Robertson, Sydney, 1933 p412f

[2] Op cit, Note 88, p456

[3] The Australian Army's Central Records Office (CARO) provided original enlistments details for Will and Morris Drummond. (CARO to author, 5 February 1982.)

[4] Interview with Mrs Morris, 1 October 1982

[5] Australian War Memorial Records, http://www.awm.gov.au/collection/records/awm131/awm131-15-0676.pdf, accessed online 3 May 2017.

Train Reading - Scaramouche and that dangerous gift of eloquence

This continues my theme from Tuesday's post, Train Reading - introducing Sabatini's Scaramouche. I had no idea when I read the book at school just how much I was learning about both theater and the French Revolution.

  Following the death of his friend Philippe de Vilmorin at the hands Marquis de la Tour d'Azyr in a forced duel, Vilmorin was killed because, in d'Azry's words, of his "gift of eloquence" that threatened the established order. Moreau leaves for Rennes to seek justice from the King's lieutenant in Brittany. Denied this, ridiculed, Moreau uses Vilmorin's own words and Moreau's own gift of eloquence to inflame the crowds first in Rennes and then in Nantes, in so doing setting events in train that would help lead to the French Revolution.

Now a fugitive, Moreau falls asleep on a great stack of hay in an open barn, He is woken by the sound of voices. At first he takes them seriously, although the story of threatened love seems a little melodramatic! Then he bursts out laughing when he realises that they are a travelling company, rehearsing in the Commedia dell'Arte style.

Climbing down, he discovers M. Binet's players. He is introduced to the cast who all use their stage names. There is Pantaloon, M. Binet himself. Polichinelle (Punch in English), Harlequin, Scaramouche, Colombine played by M Binet's lovely daughter Climene and so it goes on.  The image shows a 1683 representation of Colombine.    

Before going on, Debbie reminded me in a comment that the Queen song Bohemian Rhapsody actually provides an introduction to  Commedia dell'Arte. One verse goes: 

Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango
Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very fright'ning me
(Galileo.) Galileo. (Galileo.) Galileo, Galileo figaro
Magnifico. I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me

Now Sabatini clearly knows his theater. Moreau not only knows about Commedia dell'Arte, but has the advantage over M Binet in that he has read and enjoyed Molière. No M Binet has in fact lifted some of his ideas from Molière, something that he indignantly denies, but he doesn't have Moreau's understanding. Moreau' joins the company and then when Scaramouche is injured in an accident, he takes that part. It suits him, you see, because he remains anonymous behind the mask.

As a company member, Moreau' borrows shamelessly from Molière and provides the company with detailed guidance. His own gift6 of eloquence that had inspired the crowds in Rennes and then Nantes proves equally adept on stage. The company's success grows, and Moreau plans a series of moves that will promote the company. culminating first in performances in Nantes and then using that as as springboard for Paris itself.

If Moreau borrowed from Molière, then so did Sabatini, for Moreau's plans for the Binet troupe are very like the exact course that Molière followed with his own troop.

Sadly, things do not go according to plan. Moreau falls in love M Binet's daughter, the beautiful Climene. The troupe does arrive in Nantes and to considerable success. Sadly, the fickle Climene is seduced by none other than the  infamous Marquis de la Tour d'Azyr. Now truly feeling, in the words of Queen, I'm just a poor boy and nobody loves me, Moreau strikes back, With d'Azyr in the audience, Moreau uses that dangerous gift of eloquence to incite the packed theatre to turn against the Marquis.

The performance ends in a riot, d'Azyr escapes, but the company breaks up with  Moreau on the run again. If you are going to follow any more of this particular melodrama, you will just have to read the book! 

Australian Life - the decline of the swagman

Perhaps Australia's best know song begins "Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong". The idea of the swagman was deeply embedded in Australian mythology. In very simple terms, the term swagman emerged during the 1850s Australian gold rushes and referred to an itinerant bush worker who walked from place to place looking for work. Or, in the case of prospectors, the next strike.

A swagman was not the same as the tramp, a much more derogatory word, although some were tramps and some were thieves. It was just a way of life, of travel between work when there were no cars or trains or, indeed, bicycles. No, bicycles is not a misprint. Once invented, they became a major form of transport in country Australia.

This 1896 painting by the Australian painter Frederick McCubbin is called simply On the Wallaby Track. It shows a family on the move. Dad is trying to boil the billy, while Mum sits exhausted.

The term on the Wallaby Track apparently first appeared in 1849. It appears to be based on the tracks that Wallabies created by hopping through the Australian bush moving towards food or water. It came to mean the track followed by people on the move.

From time to time, I have felt that it would be interesting to go onto the Wallaby Track, to see the country as swagmen once saw it. And, in case you wonder, I can walk long distances; I can survive in the bush to some degree, although I know that life might be unpleasant in cold or wet weather; I know how to build a camp, to create a proper fire, to boil a billy, to cook damper.

I would make some concessions to modernity. I would want to carry a camera and my writing logs. That means waterproofing, and probably requires a pack instead of the rolled-up blanket or swag.

Why don't I do it then? Well, apart from work issues, I'm not sure that it's possible anymore. Even forty years ago you could stop by a creek on the side of the road. light a fire and create a camp. You could tramp through the bush and create a camp there. Today, it's all rule bound. I would probably be arrested for breaking one law or another. Instead of just going, my trek I would require detailed investigation in advance, and that defeats the point.

Today, the term swagman has been replaced by tramp or homeless. I think that's a pity.