Four years ago today.
Mum was an airhostess with TAA before she married.
Posted in Uncategorized
And so to the final day. Only two sessions today, then off to the airport and home.
The first session, titled rather intriguingly POST-COLONIAL COLONIAL ADOPTIONS, covered the rather disparate areas of doctors’ professional organizations, enquiries into ‘lunacy’ institutions and the Vice Admiralty court.
Gabrielle Wolf’s paper looked at the Medical Board of Victoria which had had to wait over seventy years to be granted the right to strike off medical practitioners for ‘infamous conduct’, even though the parallel board in England had had this power since the mid 19th century. When, in 1933 it finally was enabled to do so, it took some three years before the first doctor was struck off- a Dr Cohen who was found guilty of disreputable billing practices.
The second paper by Fiona Davis also addressed a critique of the medical profession, this time through the West Australian Royal Commission into Lunacy in 1928. This inquiry was instituted through the needling of an ex-patient W. E. Courthope, an articulate and educated activist, who had been briefly committed to Claremont, Western Australia’s largest asylum. The commission, headed by a Victorian expert who was himself deeply embedded in the parallel system in that state, was not lengthy but it did take testimony directly from patients. Courthope was given latitude by the Commissioners to provide lengthy testimony to the commission, possibly as a means by which his state of mind could be brought into question. The commission mainly exonerated the staff and recommended business as usual. Courthope left for England, where he became engaged in labour activism.
The final paper in this session was delivered by Bevan Marten, who discussed the Vice Admiralty Court which had empire-wide jurisdiction but relied on local colonial personnel. The appointment of the Governor as Vice Admiral seems to have been fairly straightforward, but the establishment of the Vice Admiralty Court and the judges to sit in it was ill-defined. The whole concept seems to have been a rather haphazard undertaking with indeterminate roles and processes that seemed to be discovered more in the breach than by outright direction. Nonetheless, ‘my’ Judge John Walpole Willis managed to become embroiled in the question of appointments to the Vice Admiralty Court, and Bevan’s presentation helped to explain why there seemed to be such uncertainty about judicial involvement in the court.
The last session, and the one for which I was scheduled was headed ‘COLONIAL OFFICE CASE STUDIES’, but because one of the presenters was absent, it combined the speaker from the other stream. I was preceded by Mel Keenan who gave a fascinating paper about the attempted annexation of New Guinea territory by Queensland, and the discomfort that Governor Gordon of Fiji and many at the Colonial Office felt over this prospect. Gordon argued that Queensland in particular was unfit for the task, given its treatment of South Sea Islanders indentured as ‘blackbirds’. Although the Colonial Office disallowed the Queensland annexation, it very shortly annexed the territory itself, for fear of German activity in the region.
Then in my own paper I looked at two cases- one in British Guiana and the other in Port Phillip- where the Special Magistrates and Protectors appointed by the Colonial Office to oversee the protection of ex-slave Apprenticed Labourers and Aborigines were subjected to the scrutiny of the Supreme Court through Judge John Walpole Willis.
The final paper for the session and the conference was quite different both in time-span and approach to much of the rest of the conference. It was delivered by Louis Sicking from Amsterdam. He examined the phenomenon of funduqs, fondacos and feitorias which acted as a medieval form of consultate established by the Amalfi, Venetian, Catalan, Genoan and Portuguese traders during the early Modern period around the Meditteranean. His final graphic showed the harbour front at Canton harbour, with the factors of the European powers, each in their own European building with flag flying at the front. It hadn’t been timetabled this way, but as the very last presentation of the conference, it made a striking visual and historical link between this century-old trade and the colonialism that the conference had addressed through the theme of ‘Law’s Empire or Empire’s Law?’.
And so, home James and don’t spare the horses. Well actually, the engines were held because after embarking and settling in, we all had to disembark because of a technical fault, only to be called back to re-embark about fifteen minutes later. I’m writing this on my tablet as the plane nears Melbourne. My ears are popping, the seat belt sign is on, the turbulence is rocking the plane and I think that finally the ANZLHS conference is over for this year.
Posted in ANZLHS Conference 2014
Up bright and early for Day 2. I’m not staying at the conference venue, but at a motel some 800 yards away. When I booked it I anticipated that I would be able to walk to the conference venue but my thrifty ways have been thwarted by the Pacific Highway! I soon realized that there was no way that I would be able to cross the four lane highway during peak hour, so I’ve had to resort to getting a taxi the whole 800 metres. I guess you could say that this little chicken DIDN’T cross the road!
During the first session I room-hopped between presentations because there were several that I wanted to attend. While you do get to hear the papers you want, it is nonetheless a rather disjointed experience. I started with John Orth’s presentation on The Rule of Law, which has been defined by the Oxford Companion of Law as “a concept of the utmost importance but having no defined nor readily definable content”. As an American historian, he spoke mainly about the American concept of ‘rule of law’ and how it has been embodied through the constitution and its checks and balances.
Then off to hear Grant Morris who has recently published a biography of the 19th century NZ judge, Justice Prendergast, well known in New Zealand for his hostile attitude towards the Treaty of Waitangi. I was particularly interested to hear his perspective on legal biography in NZ (although I must confess to only having read one of the biographies that he mentioned).
Finally, off I scuttled to hear John McLaren whose recent book ‘Dewigged Bothered and Bewildered’ deals with 19th century colonial judges who had been removed from office, including my own Judge Willis. His presentation dealt with a 20th century judge this time, the Irish judge Sir Michael McDonnell, who was Chief Justice of Palestine between 1927-1936. It was an interesting paper, which drew connections between the British administration of justice in Palestine Mandate, and their handling of justice in Ireland between 1910-1921.
I stayed put in the one room for the second session which dealt with ENVIRONMENTS OF EMPIRE. Libby Connors started with a disturbing account of environmental oversight (or lack thereof) in Gladstone harbour. Her paper dealt with the industrialization of the harbour, especially after being declared a State Development Area, and the shortcomings in state and national law in complying with international protection protocols to protect the reef. All rather discouraging.
Rachel Young’s paper on the concept of ‘timber’ as a legal category explored the question of whether the English doctrine of waste (i.e. that tenants could not clear trees from their landlord’s land) applied to Australia: whether law devised for oak, ash and elm trees also applied to stringybarks and mallee.
Finally, Nicole Graham noted that Australian law is not English, but is only ‘local’ in that it is not-English and is perhaps better understood as a variation of English law rather than something completely different. After all, English law also has agricultural, pastoral and mining components, even though they differ. She suggested that ‘Antipodean Law’ might be a better description. not so much of a place, but a relation.
The session I attended after lunch(SHAPING THE FAMILY UNIT) had only two papers. Henry Kha gave an overview of divorce law and public policy in Victorian England, explaining the divorce process before and after the Matrimonial Causes Act of 1857.
Bettina Bradbury looked at property and inheritance cases that were referred from Lower Canada, Cape Colony, Victoria and New Zealand to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. She described a number of cases, many of which focussed on wills, where the mobility between colonies often made complex situations even more complicated.
Then, to finish the day, the final plenary lecture, given by Mike Grossberg from Indiana. He picked up on Joan Scott’s famous observation about gender as “a useful category of historical analysis’ and suggested that age, likewise, form a ‘useful category of analysis’ in legal history. He focused on childhood in this paper. He grounded his presentation in stories , most particularly Joseph who unsuccessfully sued his aunt and uncle for placing him into an institution where he remained, it seems, for the rest of his life; Pearl S. Buck’s daughter, and Charley Ross who was kidnapped. Even WonderWoman got a look in!
Posted in ANZLHS Conference 2014
Well, here I am up in Coffs Harbour, at the Australian and New Zealand Law and History Society conference. It’s a terrific conference- not too many delegates, friendly and a diverse range of interesting papers. It’s being held at a resort on the beachfront, which is certainly a more picturesque setting than most conferences enjoy. It’s humid and thunderstorms and torrential rain sweep in from the ocean, then the clouds clear and the rainforest steams in the sun. I’m not giving my paper until the last session of the last day but I suppose that someone has to be last, and this time it’s me. Continue reading
Posted in ANZLHS Conference 2014, Conferences
2014, 156 p.
I don’t know how Joan London managed it, but by only page 32 into this book, my eyes were brimming with tears. It was a feeling that stayed with me right until I turned the last page – a deep sadness that not once threatened to tip into sentimentality.
The (real life) Golden Age was a former hotel in suburban Perth during the 1950s. At a time before the Salk vaccine put an end to the fear of polio, rehabilitation hospitals were established for children affected by polio. The door stayed open all night and parents were welcomed but many – fearful, distressed and bound to work and their other children- came only at set times, or barely at all. They were frightened by the illness and the future for their hurt, sick, too-aware children.
Thirteen year old Frank is almost too old for this children’s home but too young for adult hospitals. He is the only child of Jewish Holocaust survivors, cultivated educated Middle European migrants who have already lost so much, finding their way in a new country. He falls in love with the frail, thin, Elsa who tumbles from her harried family into the quiet world of the Golden Age.
The horrific scenario of young bodies stilled, weakened and contorted by polio is lulled into a quiet, soothing, muffled presence. This is a serene book, told in very short chapters like snapshots. They are laid out before us, intersecting each other: gentle, soothing middle-aged Sister Penny who takes lovers when she can; Albert Sutton who runs away; the older boy Sullivan, an accomplished athlete and poet who dies in an iron lung; and Frank’s own parents, his father a successful Budapest businessman now driving soft drink trucks and his mother the angry, coiled-tight concert pianist who plays a twilight concert in the yard of the Golden Age with the factory lights blazing next door. The thread that connects them is Frank and Elsa, shyly negotiating new feelings.
This book reminded me of two other books: Atonement by Ian McEwan and The Go-Between by L. P. Hartley. Both those books are suffused with summer heat and bathed in regret and nostalgia. So too is The Golden Age. It is a beautifully crafted book, quiet, confident and sad. It’s very good.
I really must tally up my books for the Australian Women Writers challenge.
2010, 398 p.
Many books, history books included, have a page of acknowledgments. Along with the usual thanks to colleagues and family, appreciation is often expressed to librarians and archivists who have offered assistance along the way.
In this book, the author Tony Moore makes another acknowledgment. It is to the commissioning editor of Murdoch Books, Diana Hill, who selected him to fulfil the brief for this book. Commissioned books, of course, are nothing new: institutions and individuals have often paid a writer to document and argue their significance to a wider audience. But this commission is slightly different in that it was for a narrative concept- transported rebels to Australia- left to the historian chosen to flesh out. When Tony Moore spoke at the Australian Peace Coalition seminar I attended recently, he noted that the ABC has since commissioned a documentary series based on the book. Certainly the book and the topic is ripe for a television series. It has, in effect, five self-contained episodes, studded with articulate, interesting people, and ripping yarns of defiance, escape, coincidence and courage.
As Moore notes in his introduction:
This is the story of how the British Government banished to the ends of the Earth political enemies viewed by authorities with the same alarm as today’s ‘terrorists’: Jacobins, democrats and republicans; machine breakers, food rioters, trade unionists and Chartists; Irish, Scots, Canadian and even American rebels. While criminals in the eyes of the law, many of these prisoners were heroes and martyrs to their own communities, and are still revered in their homelands as freedom fighters and patriots, progressive thinkers, democrats and reformers. Yet in Australia, the land of their exile, memory of these rebels and their causes has dimmed (p. 8)
He notes that when he was growing up, Australian history seemed bland and uninteresting, especially compared with European, American, African and Asian history with blood, revolutions, wars etc. He later came to learn that Australia had its own robust history of dissent and resistance to authority, and the blood and war was there all along.
We elide the nuances when we uncritically celebrate the convict trope of the “poor downtrodden peasant transported for stealing just a ribbon!” and we are largely unaware of the political prisoners transported to Australia: 3600 of them out of a total of 162,000 sent between 1787 and 1868 when transportation finally ceased in Western Australia. Of these political prisoners, 2500 were from Ireland, 1200 from England Scotland and Wales and 151 from North America. It is these political prisoners that Moore deals with in this book. Continue reading
2013, 338 p
On a hot July morning in 1976, recently retired Robert Riordan gets up from the breakfast table and announces that he’ll pop out to get the newspaper. He doesn’t come back.
His wife of 40 years, Gretta waits a little while, then calls her children. Two of them, anyway: school teacher Michael whose wife is growing away from him as she becomes increasingly engrossed in her Open University course, and Monica whose relationship with her stepdaughters is strained and leaching into her second marriage with an older man. Gretta can’t call her youngest daughter, Aoife in New York, because she doesn’t know her number. Aoife, who has struggled with dyslexia all her life, has a job as a personal assistant to a photographer she admires, and is just embarking on a new relationship. She had fled to New York after a falling out with her sister and had cut off all contact. But once the word is out, all three children come home to help find their father, trailing their disappointments, anxieties, tensions and resentments behind them.
The action stretches over four days, but a very long four days in narrative terms because so much of the story is being told in flashback- not a technique that I’m particularly fond of. The focus shifts from one family member to another, with the exception of the absent Robert, who is just as ‘missing’ in the book as he is in the plot.
The book is set against the 1976 heatwave that roasted London with sixteen consecutive days over 30 degrees. English houses are not built for heat, and water restrictions were imposed. (There’s some good photos here). I must admit that as a reader more accustomed to antipodean heat waves, it didn’t quite capture heat as we know it here . We were being told about the heat, but as a reader, I didn’t feel it. What I did feel was the oppression of family arguments and pain, and the burden of secrets.
I read this for bookgroup and it was a good bookgroup choice. It always sounds a bit patronizing saying that, but it was the sort of book that nudged you into making judgments and taking sides. It was certainly easy to read and my interest in the characters ensured that I didn’t particularly care one way or the other about what happened to Robert, and whether he did get that newspaper after all. The book’s not really about him at all, or the heat, for that matter. It’s about families and secrets, and choices and their consequences.
My rating: 7.5
Read because: CAE bookgroup
Posted in Book reviews, The ladies who say ooooh
When I look at the header that runs across the top of this little blog, with its picture of the first Supreme Court building here in Melbourne, Crocodile Dundee comes to mind. “Call that a court? Call the man hidden away inside that humble little building a judge?”
Now this is a judge!
Lord Mansfield was born William Murray at Scone Palace in Scotland in 1705 and he was Chief Justice of the Kings Bench in England for 32 years. His long life (1705-1793) spanned most of the eighteenth century, and he was related to varying degrees with many of the momentous occasions of that time: the Jacobite uprising, the age of Enlightenment, the coffee house culture, the American Revolution, the Wilkes and Gordon riots and most famously for us today (although somewhat incorrectly), the question of slavery. He is remembered as the father of commercial law. Continue reading
2010, 223 p
Right at the end of this book the author, Maggie Mackellar, tells us what she has set out to do:
At times I feel like a voyeur in my own life. What right do I have to portray these events, to try to place them in a frame I might understand? I return to the question asked by Anne Carson of Euripides’ tragedies: why is tragedy so important as an art form? Her answer brings me up against my own terrible truth. Tragedy is important because it enables us to imagine our own reactions in a dark well of horror. It lets us watch others suffer. By watching, we are prepared. By watching, we place a frame around our world and pace its boundaries. We guard against unknown horrors that call to us from beyond our walls. I watch so that I might know, and write so I might be understood. But my terrible truth is that no matter how carefully I place that frame, no matter how deeply I dive under the sea, I will never really understand why. (p216)
As readers, we have been watching a tragedy unfold as this young widow, historian, mother, daughter packs up her Sydney life and academic career to return to her grandmother’s home in a small outback town with her two young children. She has come undone with grief. Her husband had committed suicide, four years earlier, leaving her with a five year old daughter and an unborn son. Her husband (for this is how she refers to him throughout) had been admitted to a psychiatric hospital, when he absconded and killed himself. She had been many miles away, unable to reach him in the depths of his illness and frightened by his violence. Her mother was there for the birth of now father-less child, and it was her mother who taught her to love her new baby:
It was my mother’s hands that received my baby boy as he slipped from my body. She held him and sang to him, her hands firm around him, swaddled him, patted him, learnt him…. It was a relief to let her hold him. To watch her loving him. I followed her lead. This baby, whom I’d sheltered and who’d grown stronger within me even as his father’s mind was splintering; this baby, who was my constant companion through trauma and despair, had finally arrived. I didn’t fall for him as instantly as I did for Lottie…. In the end it was my mother who taught me to love him. She held him high, she held him to her. (p. 17)
Then suddenly her mother died, struck down by a fast-moving cancer. Her grief for her mother’s death was not alloyed by anger and a sense of betrayal as her response to her husband’s death had been. Her mother’s presence and assistance had been the rope that tethered her to the semblance of a career and single motherhood, and with the cutting of that connection, it just all became too hard: the child-care, the teaching, the marking, the academic hamster-wheel. She took leave of absence from her job and eventually resigned, knowing the significance of turning her back on a job as an early-career researcher and lecturer at Sydney Uni.
She returns to her grandparent’s pastoral property in Central Western New South Wales, her mother’s childhood home and a place that has happy memories for her. Her aunt and uncle have taken over the farm, and she knits herself into small-town country life with the primary school, the Tuesday Ladies tennis club, sheep, tractors, horses, dogs, chooks and snakes. In many ways she is fortunate: she steps back into an extended family network; she has the financial resources to take the children to Europe for seven weeks for a holiday (brave lady!) and academic projects seem to come to her, instead of having to seek them out.
Her outback country life is juxtaposed against her memories of a six-month trip she and her husband took to Alaska when she was twenty-three years old and unexpectedly pregnant. They had rock-climbed and kayaked in the wilderness, then lived for three months in a tiny shack outside a small Alaskan town. It had been a “shape-altering” trip that underscored her husband’s physicality as they talked about the future, study, life with a small child. And now, as she watches their children fit into their new life in the red dust of the NSW outback, without him there, Alaska seems very far away.
The blurb on the back of the book describes her as “a brilliant new talent”, but I’d met her on the page before and even blogged unwittingly about her here. She talks about her academic work, and I know the SLV manuscript room that she describes and, because I’m a historian of the Port Phillip district, I know of the people she’s researching. She brings her skills as historian and academic to this memoir as well. She tells us that
After he died, I sought clarity by writing in strict chronological order the events that led to his death. I took each day, sketched its beginnings and end, recalled each mood, read into every silence some sort of message. I wanted to trace the trajectory of his breakdown, to look for clues about spaces into which I could have stepped and saved him. I wanted his past to speak to me. As I wrote, what emerged was not clarity, nor understanding, nor peace; what was left was a chaotic scrawl filled with pain- and, looking back, an inevitable end (p. 5)
In this book, she has left strict chronological order behind and instead spirals around her story. The book is written as a series of short chapters, mostly in the present tense, that read a bit like newspaper columns in that each one seems self-contained with apparent closure in the final paragraph of each one. But you turn the page, and still it goes on – just as she must. As one chapter follows another chapter, she is still circling warily around her pain but gradually stepping away from it as well. The academic is always there, making connections with other writers and literature, and her observation that she is a “voyeur in her own life” is apt. There is much pain here, but there’s a detachment and abstraction as well. A memoir is a construction, and I was very aware of the layers in this beautifully written, honest, intelligent book.
I guess I’m still doing this Challenge although I’ve probably reached my target by now. Nonetheless, I’ll still post my review to the Australian Women’s Writing Challenge.
Posted in Australian Women Writers Challenge 2014, Book reviews, Historians
Tagged Maggie Mackellar
2012, 182 p.
If I bemoaned the lack of poetry in Nick Cooper’s London Underground at War , then I found it- as I might have expected- in the astoundingly prolific Peter Ackroyd’s London Under.
London Under is written as a slimmer companion volume to Ackroyd’s big baggy monster London: A Biography. In that book, he described London as a palimpsest, alternately destroyed and rebuilt, the same patterns or practices repeated on the same site, albeit in different manifestations, across the centuries. This book repeats the same theme, but this time he delves under the surface where layer upon layer reflect similar patterns over time. But there’s also a web-like aspect as well:
In a previous book I have explore the city above the surface; now I wish to descend and explore its depths which are no less bewildering and no less exhilarating. Like the nerves within the human body, the underworld controls the life of the surface. Our activities are governed and sustained by material and signals that emanate from beneath the ground; a pulse, an ebb, a flow, a signal, a light, or a run of water, will affect us. It is a shadow or replica of the city; like London itself it has developed organically with its own laws of growth and change. (p. 1-2)
His underground world is often a watery one, based on the rivers that flow beneath the streets of the metropolis. He starts by considering the wells that early Londoners were so dependent upon, and which are often marked by street-names in the world ‘on top’. In ‘Forgotten Streams’, he traces the thirteen rivers and brooks of London as they entwine themselves with the underground infrastructure which has been superimposed on them in the form of sewers and tube lines. The pages are sprinkled with black-and-white illustrations, many from the early nineteenth century, which show the presence of these rivers before they were subsumed by development. The chapter ‘Old Man River’ concentrates on the Fleet, the most powerful of all London’s buried rivers. ‘Heart of Darkness’ examines the construction of the sewers that carried away the filth from London while the ‘Pipes of London’ looks at gas and water piping that brought facilities to London. The ‘Mole Men’ deals with the Thames Tunnel, which from an engineering viewpoint was the precursor of the Underground, which is dealt with in ‘The Deep Lines’. Three chapters, ‘Far Under Ground’, ‘Buried Secrets’ and ‘The War Below’ deal with much of the material covered by Cooper’s London Underground at War, although in a more people-focussed manner. The final chapter ‘Deep Fantasies’ draws out the theme of imagination and the underground which he has mentioned in several places in the book.
There are no footnotes in the book, although it does include a bibliography at the end. Like so much of Ackroyd’s work, it is atmospheric and erudite, steeped in literature and popular culture, especially that of the nineteenth century. The language flows seductively and smoothly in a very easy, beguiling read.
And by coincidence, what should be on SBS recently but ‘Secrets of Underground London.’ It’s on SBS Catchup until 25 November 2014.