towards oblivion
blue sky unbleaches to black,
streetlight symphony
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
book group
I was invited to join a book group a few months ago. It's a lovely bunch of local people who enjoy a chat about things literary and a cuppa. This time we are due to discuss Pat Barker's Regeneration, a fictional reconstruction of life in a mental institution for soldiers during the Great War. The novel is based upon a real life hospital in Edinburgh that was home, for a period of time, to war poets Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen.
Very interesting so far, with the institutional lunacy paralleling the wider madness abroad, namely, the war itself. Barker draws you into the cloistered sanitorium, with its damaged young men, its harried staff, its absurd logic.
A war to end all wars it was not. Sadly.
Very interesting so far, with the institutional lunacy paralleling the wider madness abroad, namely, the war itself. Barker draws you into the cloistered sanitorium, with its damaged young men, its harried staff, its absurd logic.
A war to end all wars it was not. Sadly.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Nadia's dad Lindsay is up for a couple of days. An artist and musician, he spends much of his time in Cebu in the Philippines. We get to see him every few months, a mixed blessing, as much of his stay is taken up with basic IT tutorials, the same ones every time. He also has many unfulfilled 'grand plans' and we get to hear about those too. He is sitting across from me now, snapping away with his camera at screen shots on his computer. I won't even try to explain that.
Meanwhile, his daughter is at her keyboard, working out harmonies for a gig she has coming up with her band. She is a backing vocalist. It's a little bit like being in an asylum, the inmates intensely focused on their own separate preoccupations.
Me too, I suppose.
Meanwhile, his daughter is at her keyboard, working out harmonies for a gig she has coming up with her band. She is a backing vocalist. It's a little bit like being in an asylum, the inmates intensely focused on their own separate preoccupations.
Me too, I suppose.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Normally I'm sensitive to criticizing others. I think that Jesus had this well covered when he told people not to consider the speck(of dirt) in their brother's eye when they had a bloody great log in their own. Bloody is my insertion, incidentally. And I have a few logs of various sizes inserted from time to time.
But when the speck is in the eye of one Rupert Murdoch (aka The Dirty Digger), then all bets are off. In my estimation, Murdoch has been one of the most baleful influences upon the mass media in the last 40 years. His reputation for dumbing down or sleazing up newspapers is well established. His notoriety as a 'kingmaker' in politics is almost legendary. His influence in public policy has been pervasive and corrosive. And of course, we now know that some of his employees have acted corruptly in circumstances that are morally repugnant. And perhaps criminally so too. Where the various inquiries will lead is anyone's guess but the demise of the appalling News of the World may presage greater calamity for the Murdoch empire.
I hope News Limited (aptly named as the news is often a construct of it's masters) is investigated thoroughly. It is perhaps, a one-off chance to clean up the monopolistic and sychophantic media culture that presents a danger to democratic governance.
On a personal level, there are a number of us who remember Murdoch's interference in the 1975 Australian Federal Election. Now may be time of reckoning. Now is high noon.
But when the speck is in the eye of one Rupert Murdoch (aka The Dirty Digger), then all bets are off. In my estimation, Murdoch has been one of the most baleful influences upon the mass media in the last 40 years. His reputation for dumbing down or sleazing up newspapers is well established. His notoriety as a 'kingmaker' in politics is almost legendary. His influence in public policy has been pervasive and corrosive. And of course, we now know that some of his employees have acted corruptly in circumstances that are morally repugnant. And perhaps criminally so too. Where the various inquiries will lead is anyone's guess but the demise of the appalling News of the World may presage greater calamity for the Murdoch empire.
I hope News Limited (aptly named as the news is often a construct of it's masters) is investigated thoroughly. It is perhaps, a one-off chance to clean up the monopolistic and sychophantic media culture that presents a danger to democratic governance.
On a personal level, there are a number of us who remember Murdoch's interference in the 1975 Australian Federal Election. Now may be time of reckoning. Now is high noon.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
early years 3
On our recent annual trips to North Bondi (as ostensible house and pet sitters), I have begun reclaiming some of my past. My family lived in the Eastern Suburbs until 1968, so my first nine years were spent there. Rose Bay Public was my entry into the world of formal learning, not necessarily a happy one, as schools in those days were not overly friendly places to attend. Compared with my son's cuddly induction into kindergarten at Hazelbrook Public, which involved all manner of getting-to-know-you reassurances and activities, my recollections are overlaid with a thick frost.
Take my 2nd grade teacher, Miss Lullam. Doubtless a competent educator, Miss Lullam appeared very elderly indeed in my juvenile estimation. I do remember her having a very wrinkled neck and hands, so the chances are that she was well over retirement age. Miss Lullam ruled with an iron fist - any infraction being liable to an (edge-on) ruler across the hand or knuckles. She sang with a high soprano voice that had a thick vibrato, creating the impression that a faded opera star had come into our midst. And while she taught us many things, the only thing I can remember her saying was, "I'll cane you child, I'll cane you and I'll cane you well." In those days, it was fine to whack students any time you liked.
Take my 2nd grade teacher, Miss Lullam. Doubtless a competent educator, Miss Lullam appeared very elderly indeed in my juvenile estimation. I do remember her having a very wrinkled neck and hands, so the chances are that she was well over retirement age. Miss Lullam ruled with an iron fist - any infraction being liable to an (edge-on) ruler across the hand or knuckles. She sang with a high soprano voice that had a thick vibrato, creating the impression that a faded opera star had come into our midst. And while she taught us many things, the only thing I can remember her saying was, "I'll cane you child, I'll cane you and I'll cane you well." In those days, it was fine to whack students any time you liked.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
early years 2
When my father died last year, I realized that I knew very little about him, his early life, so to speak. So for Tom's sake, I plan to write up a number of vignettes, memories etc. of my younger self. Accuracy is not guaranteed, for recollections necessarily emerge through the prism of former recollections, and so on. Who is to say where the truth lies, or even what the truth is.
Since Alan Myers loomed large in my teenage years, it is with him I will start. On his capacity for kindness I have already commented. It was his capacity for inspiring terror that remains the central abiding memory, for Mr Myers, the founding Principal of Killarney Heights High School, was tough, conservative and uncompromising. Not for him the changing social norms of the 1970's, the longer hair, the more casual dress. Nor the more relaxed ettiquette. Students wore blazers and ties and the ladies had hats and gloves to boot. In summer as well.
Mr Myers conducted regular hair inspections for the boys and authorized inspections of the girls underwear (blue, not black!) by means, as I recall, of a skateboard covered in mirrors. The latter was conducted by a female teacher, though I'm guessing that 600 boys would have volunteered for the mission if they had been asked.
The Principal's office had one-way glass so that he could inspect his charges as they arrived in the morning. He was known to intercept buses on their way home in order to do a uniform check. Most alarmingly, Mr Myers would review the entire school as we marched in formation, en masse, around the adjacent oval. General-like, he would be positioned high on a hill so as to review the troops to better vantage. It must have been a remarkable sight to passers-by!
His appearance on morning assembly would almost always presage some withering critique of student behaviour, often prefaced with the introductory, "I am concerned about..." It was quite clear that staff feared him as well. Our PE teacher, the redoubtable muscle-bound former Mr Canada, Vince Basille, once remarked, "I fear no man - except Alan Myers!" And my Year 9 history teacher, in sheer frustration at the levels of repression in the school, once incited us to mass insurrection. Wisely, we opted for bemused compliance. Though we didn't know it at the time, regime change was only just around the corner.
Since Alan Myers loomed large in my teenage years, it is with him I will start. On his capacity for kindness I have already commented. It was his capacity for inspiring terror that remains the central abiding memory, for Mr Myers, the founding Principal of Killarney Heights High School, was tough, conservative and uncompromising. Not for him the changing social norms of the 1970's, the longer hair, the more casual dress. Nor the more relaxed ettiquette. Students wore blazers and ties and the ladies had hats and gloves to boot. In summer as well.
Mr Myers conducted regular hair inspections for the boys and authorized inspections of the girls underwear (blue, not black!) by means, as I recall, of a skateboard covered in mirrors. The latter was conducted by a female teacher, though I'm guessing that 600 boys would have volunteered for the mission if they had been asked.
The Principal's office had one-way glass so that he could inspect his charges as they arrived in the morning. He was known to intercept buses on their way home in order to do a uniform check. Most alarmingly, Mr Myers would review the entire school as we marched in formation, en masse, around the adjacent oval. General-like, he would be positioned high on a hill so as to review the troops to better vantage. It must have been a remarkable sight to passers-by!
His appearance on morning assembly would almost always presage some withering critique of student behaviour, often prefaced with the introductory, "I am concerned about..." It was quite clear that staff feared him as well. Our PE teacher, the redoubtable muscle-bound former Mr Canada, Vince Basille, once remarked, "I fear no man - except Alan Myers!" And my Year 9 history teacher, in sheer frustration at the levels of repression in the school, once incited us to mass insurrection. Wisely, we opted for bemused compliance. Though we didn't know it at the time, regime change was only just around the corner.
Monday, July 04, 2011
early years 1
I am the only one of five boys who made it to Year 12 and completed the Higher School Certificate. I'm not sure why this was the case, since all my brothers could have done so. It was not uncommon for students to leave at the end of Year 9 and Year 10 in those days - perhaps most did - so that is a factor. There were more apprenticeships about then and qualifications for getting into many other jobs, such as banking, did not always require an HSC. Unlike today's increasingly absurd demands for qualification and experience in just about every field or position, young people in the seventies had real options if going on in education didn't suit or appeal to them.
For my brothers, that was far from the whole story, because, despite our nice middle class surrounds, we were one of the (few) families in our neighbourhood who were openly dysfunctional. An alcoholic, depressive and frequently suicidal father brought out different responses in all of us, though broadly they fell into three categories - flight, rebellion or repression. It's hard to say how things might have been different if not for our father's collapse, but they certainly would have been. Boys especially need to look up to a father who, at the very least, is in control of himself, if not his circumstances. It's more common now - men not being in control nor taking responsibility, so it's little wonder we see problems with many young people.
And there were no counselling options in those days, or none that we knew of. It was a case of getting on with it, stiff upper lip, as the Poms call it. That doesn't mean that there wasn't kindness. We had lots of help from neighbours - boxes of clothes, food parcels and the like. Sometimes kindness came from the most unlikely quarters. I remember one occasion when I was in Year 10 when I was summoned to the inner sanctum of the most high leader, Alan Myers. Mr Myers was our (deeply feared) Principal - a man of the old school. Small, tough and terrifying. I don't recall what the matter was about (I'm guessing that it concerned my father's first suicide attempt), but Mr Myers handed his office over to me so I could take that phone call in private. That was kindness.
For my brothers, that was far from the whole story, because, despite our nice middle class surrounds, we were one of the (few) families in our neighbourhood who were openly dysfunctional. An alcoholic, depressive and frequently suicidal father brought out different responses in all of us, though broadly they fell into three categories - flight, rebellion or repression. It's hard to say how things might have been different if not for our father's collapse, but they certainly would have been. Boys especially need to look up to a father who, at the very least, is in control of himself, if not his circumstances. It's more common now - men not being in control nor taking responsibility, so it's little wonder we see problems with many young people.
And there were no counselling options in those days, or none that we knew of. It was a case of getting on with it, stiff upper lip, as the Poms call it. That doesn't mean that there wasn't kindness. We had lots of help from neighbours - boxes of clothes, food parcels and the like. Sometimes kindness came from the most unlikely quarters. I remember one occasion when I was in Year 10 when I was summoned to the inner sanctum of the most high leader, Alan Myers. Mr Myers was our (deeply feared) Principal - a man of the old school. Small, tough and terrifying. I don't recall what the matter was about (I'm guessing that it concerned my father's first suicide attempt), but Mr Myers handed his office over to me so I could take that phone call in private. That was kindness.
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