Cinema

Gadfly 228 By Robert Macklin There are times – like now – when life is just so wonderful, so special, that you just have to share it with our little part of the world. That part of which I speak, is of course Australia and more specifically this southern corner of NSW that includes the national gem we call Canberra. You can keep your mighty metropoles, Canberra is the ‘Four Seasons’ of human settlement, not least because it actually possesses the quartet in annual array. And despite the belching pollutants from the crowded, industrial calamities, we can breathe the clean Canberra air all year round. If the winter winds fain chill the blood, or the summer westerlies swell the mercury, the Mediterranean zephyrs of Tuross or the mountain airs of the Snowy uplands are each no more than a morning’s easy drive away. But if work demands your presence in the capital, then Canberra in January or July is sheer delight. The former nicely named for Janus, the two-faced Roman god who could see both back and forth, is basically empty of Canberrans who are splashing in the South Pacific. So us stay-behinders are transported back to the 1970s when the daily rush hours were all of ten minutes morning and arvo. And these days the evaporative cooler fills the home unit with delicious breezes. While July, courtesy of the great Caesar, is snuggling-down time with crackling fires and electric blankets and footy on the telly. But it’s also the time when Tuross beckons and that little bolthole repays its investment with savings on gas bills and reunions with the friends of that village community. It becomes ever more interesting as new retirees and workers from home add sparkle and heft to the communal conversation. We even enjoy the journey there, through the burgeoning Bungendore and the irresistible stop at the Braidwood pie shop or the Nelligen café for their incomparable flathead tails and crisp, golden chips. If at anytime we chose the mountains or the hinterland, a smorgasbord of delight awaits in the charm of Adelong and Tumut, the history and friendliness of Gundagai and the strange, ghostly surrounds of Batlow, the apple capital of NSW with its vast white sheeting coddling the ripening orbs. To the west is the goldrush and bushranger country of Lambing Flat, Eugowra, and crooked old Canowindra. But home is where the heart is, and the real measure of Canberra – like everywhere, I guess – may be found in its people and the things they value most. Oh yes, there’s the great National treasures of the Museum, the Gallery, the ANU and the Arboretum. And for the visitors the Parliament and War Memorial. But for us denizens it’s the intellectual companionship that’s the real joy; and it was delightfully revealed most recently in the Canberra Times. It printed a local poll that found the following: Will you get a flu shot this year? 92 per cent said ‘Yes’. Did you go to Church this Easter? 80 percent, ‘No’. Do you care that Anthony Albanese stumbled over the unemployment rate? 77 percent ‘No’. And here’s the big one: Do you know who you will vote for at the Federal election? 83 percent ‘Yes’. Indeed, the very fact that we’re free to vote in a war-torn world is cause for wonder and delight. And no prizes for guessing just who we’ll be voting for…or against! That really warms the cockles. robert@robertmacklin.com

“How good is this Bazza? The Easter break followed by the ANZAC Day long weekend and our publican has even put on a Happy Hour.” They both took long sips. “Well that explains the small miracle of you shou ng, Mick. But here we are squeezed between the hope and renewal of Easter and the remembrance of the Gallipoli campaign.” “I see it more like two long weekends in a row, Bazza.”

Mick tapped his finger on the front page of Bazza’s newspaper. “Bazza…..you spend too much me on the front sec on of the newspaper. You need to read it from the back. I mean….. who really cares about the Solomon Islands? In fact, where is the Solomon Islands?” “North east of Australia, Mick, about the same distance we are to Perth.” Mick shi ed on his bar stool.

“Don’t worry, Mick. We will steer clear of ScoMo’s version of the Pacific Solu on but I did go to the Solomon Islands a few mes for work. In fact, I caught the best fish in my life, just off Gizo.” “Its hard to imagine you off a bar stool, Bazza, but I don’t mind a fishing story.” They both took decent drinks. “Well, Mick…… one of the locals takes me out in his nnie. No bloody lifejackets so I am scared shitless in the open sea. Anyhow, we start fishing and he casually points to Kennedy Island, named a er JFK, President of the USA. He tells me the story of the then young Lieutenant John F. Kennedy, who skippered a patrol boat in the waters around the Solomon Islands during World War II. On a starless, pitch black night a Japanese destroyer smashed their patrol boat, and the survivors clung to the wreckage before swimming for some five hours to that uninhabited island once the sun came up. Kennedy breaststroked, towing one of his injured crew by a rope clenched between his teeth.” Bazza took a long drink. “Anyhow, stranded for days and in Japanese occupied waters they were lucky enough to be spo ed by some Solomon Islanders. Kennedy was able to scratch a message with his penknife onto a smooth coconut shell and the locals risked their lives paddling a canoe in open, enemy seas to deliver it and bring about their rescue.”

“Thats a good yarn, Bazza, but what’s that got to do with fishing?” “Absolutely nothing, Mick, but this local bloke was le ng me know the fate of the Free World was in the hands of these courageous Solomon Islanders. Meanwhile……. we are pulling in the fish and that is when I caught this bloody good sized Coral Trout, easily the best fish we caught that day.”

Reading—A beer with Baz con nues... Bazza paused for a sip. “On the way back in, I take old mate through the details of preparing this fish for the barbeque and the ingredients we would need. He’s far from excited about my self claimed cooking exper se and just gently smiles.

“We get back in, return to his place and clean all the fish. I obviously take great care with my Coral Trout and am s ll going on about various recipes and the need to not overcook it on the barbeque.” “I’m ge ng a bit peckish, Bazza.” “Anyhow, Mick, just as he lays all the fish out on a sheet of plas c on his front verandah his brother turns up, picks up my Coral Trout, says ‘Thanks’ and heads off. His sister then arrives and helps herself to three other really good fish, smiles, and walks off. Before long various family members arrive and leave with all the really good fish. All that is le is pre y much the rubbish fish for us to eat.” “Well that’s pre y rude, Bazza.” “Exactly what I thought, Mick, and then he explained the custom. When you return from fishing…..family, friends or neighbours get to choose the best of the catch.

Lukim ples blong mi

He then threw his head back and laughed and says ‘It’s a pity you have to head back to Australia on the weekend as my brother is a really good fisherman.’” “Ah…..so that’s what ScoMo means by the Pacific Family.” Have a beer with Bazza at john.longhurst59@gmail.com

Reading—history 100 Years Ago—22nd April 1922

NAROOMA was well patronized again this year by long distance tourists, judging by the car loads that passed through Moruya making that way. The weather has been ideal for seaside resorts. Barbed wire may only be used lawfully if it falls en rely within the land boundaries of the person erec ng it. WEDDING. – The Sacred Heart Church, Moruya, was the scene of a very pre y wedding on Wednesday morning, the 19th inst., when Winifred, youngest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. C. Johnson, of Moruya, and William John Fuller, son of Mr. and Mrs. Geo. Fuller of Yass, were united in the holy bonds of matrimony. The Children of Mary, wearing their uniforms, formed a guard of honor as the bride entered the church on the arm of her father. … She wore a tulle veil, mob-cap fashion, encircled with a coronet of orange blossoms. Miss Annie Johnson (sister of the bride), wearing blue and gold shot taffeta with black tulle hat, and carrying a bouquet of pink roses and carna ons, a ended as bridesmaid. Mr. William Johnson, brother of the bride, was best man. Mr. and Mrs. Fuller le per car the same day, via Kangaroo Valley and Moss Vale, for Sydney. [Their] future home is Boorowa. Wednesday, April 26th at the Amusu Theatre ‘Loot” – grand special a rac on by Arthur Somers Roche. The story that has thrilled millions. It will grip you and thrill you too. Don’t miss it. “Fa y” Arbuckle, the famous star, has been discharged a er the third trial for murder. FARM TO LEASE. – TO LEASE the Farm at Moggendoura known as Marsden’s and now occupied by Mr. C. Irwin, containing 80 acres, about 10 of which is fenced for cul va on. Erected thereon is a 4 roomed co age. Apply – R. H. HARVISON, Auc oneer, Moruya. AUCTION SALE. – At Mosquito Creek, near Nelligen. Saturday, 29th April, at 2 o’clock sharp. In the estate of James Aus n, deceased. 10 Good Cows in full milk; 7 Young Bullocks; 20 Head Young Mixed Ca le; 1 Draught Horse, 7 yrs.; 1 Sulky Mare; Sulky and harness; Plough and harness; Harrow, Bullock Yokes; Crosscut saw, Mall and Wedges; Grindstone and Crowbar; 16 Sheets 9 . Iron, Bent; Separator, Churn, Buckets; 2 Coppers; Fowls. HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE AND EFFECTS. 2 Double Beds and Bedding; 2 Single Beds and Bedding; 1 Washstand set; Curtains, Chest of Drawers, Oil Cloth; 1 Dressing Table; Oil cloth 10x8, Oil cloth 14x14; 1 Large round cedar Table; 1 Dining-room Suite; Safe, Couch, 2 Kitchen Tables, Dresser; Stove, Crockery, Kitchen Utensils; Meat Safe, 2 large Boilers. The land may or may not be offered. M. E. RYAN, Auc oneer. Extracted from the Moruya Examiner by the Moruya and District Historical Society Inc. h ps:// www.mdhs.org.au

Tracks through the Vietnam War THE VIETNAM WAR ROCKED AUSTRALIA TO ITS CORE...

By Biff Ward The Third Chops ck transports us back to those days. In starkly beau ful prose Biff Ward, herself a protester, seeks to understand the war from mul ple angles. She balances the hear elt mo va ons of the protest movement with candid accounts from veterans about what was happening for them in Vietnam and a erwards. In rive ng interviews, she explores combat, the ravages of PTSD, and the acceptance that can come with ageing and peer support. She also takes us to the peaceful Vietnam of the post-war years, capturing poignant images of the a ermath of what they, of course, call the American War. Her lyrical evoca on of the people she meets and war sites she visits render the war in a new light. The Third Chops ck is the profoundly moving story of one woman's passion to bear tender witness to those involved in that tumultuous me. A must-read for all the Vietnam genera on, their descendants and friends.

Peter Yule, author of The Long Shadow, said, I have been studying the impact of the war on the lives of Vietnam veterans for many years and I learnt more from this book than any other I have read.

BOOK DETAILS Published: 2022 Trim size: 6 x 9 Page count: 330 Internal pages: B&W Binding: Paperback

The Third Chops ck ebook versions: Please visit this page for informa on on downloading your ebook to your device or app: h ps:// themoshshop.com.au/pages/downloading-your-ebook-to-your-device-or-app Prologue “My cousin Hugh was an Australian soldier in the Vietnam War. I interviewed him more than twenty years a er he was there. He told me that being on patrol meant having no idea where you were or where you were going and that he found this deeply disturbing. He worked out that the only way to know what was going on was to carry the wireless set on his back because the platoon commander just grabbed it to talk to HQ or other units. No one else wanted the job because the radio weighed over twenty-three pounds – ten and a half kilos in

today’s terms – but Hugh put his hand up. It meant he got to hear everything that was said, including where they were. While Hugh was carrying his pack and gun and the heavy radio in the s fling heat and monsoonal rains of Vietnam, I was pain ng Stop the War placards on my dining table, standing beneath Viet Cong flags at demonstra ons and raising my chan ng voice at every opportunity. I kept it up in one form or another un l that surreal ending, the fall of Saigon in April, 1975. Decades later, along an unan cipated path, I became fascinated by Vietnam veterans. I wanted to know what the war had been like for them, the detail of what they had experienced. One I befriended was Ray Fulton, a na onal serviceman who had been a twenty-year-old carpenter called up against his will to serve two years in the army. While I was demonstra ng, Ray was bedecked with the military paraphernalia of an Australian infantryman, patrolling through the scrub and villages of Phuc Tuy Province where he was charged with overseeing the movements of the people who lived there, who had their homes and rice paddies there. At gunpoint, if necessary. When I met him in 1998, he was working relessly to help other veterans, mainly by se ng up systems so that they could get their en tlements. In the intervening years, he told me that he’d had been spectacularly alcoholic, homeless, crazed, in gaols and psych wards but was now doing okay, thanks to Alcoholics Anonymous. He spoke o en in ellip cal snippets, bewildering outbursts or ques ons, such as ‘What is death anyway?’, delivered in a belligerent tone. I was always stumbling to unpack his wild words, to plumb his secrets. He was so charisma c and so vola le that he came to represent for me a kind of archetypal veteran. A er his death I was given his own account, some seventy pages of his handwri ng, outlining what had happened to him in Vietnam. Even as I gained some understanding of his exquisite agony, I felt there was a piece missing. Gradually I accepted that his story would always be incomplete in some way that I couldn’t discern. Years a er Ray died, it turned out that the answer was closer to me than I could ever have dreamed. Cousin Hugh. In phone conversa ons across the country, Hugh in Esperance, me in Canberra, it turned out that he held the missing piece of Ray’s story even though they’d never met. On a wave of serendipity, our words lit up tracks which had not been visible before. Hugh and I joined links in the tragic chain of events that had engulfed Hugh’s close friend John McQuat, Hugh himself and my friend Ray.

Reading Timely Biography To Be Launched In Moruya

A newly-published and mely double biography of two remarkable Federal Members for Eden-Monaro, Aus n Chapman and Allan Duncan Fraser, provides fresh perspec ve for looking at the role of a representa ve of the people. In The Quest for Eden Monaro – a core sample of Australian democracy Narooma author Eleanor Robin examines the quali es that enabled each parliamentarian hold popularity and votes in this discerning electorate for 25 years or more, over tumultuous eras in Australia’s history. The book will be officially launched by the newly-elected State Member for Bega, Dr Michael Holland, at Moruya Books next Friday evening, April 29th, 2022. Professor of History at the Australian Na onal University, Frank Bongiorno, has described the work as ‘poli cs in the raw’, ‘a poli cs from below, a story of ordinary people and those they choose to represent them’.

Eleanor says her work is apoli cal. She explained that the inspira on for it stemmed from concerns about the results of recent well-researched surveys showing Australians’ declining trust in Parliament and Australian democra c ins tu ons. She sought to answer the ques on of ‘what makes an effec ve local Parliamentarian?’ In following the careers of Chapman and Fraser she focused on the tension between local advocacy and party loyalty, the compe ng me and a en on given to na onal issues, as well as the influence of na onal leadership, personal style, ability and stamina, to say nothing of the vast size of the electorate. Eden-Monaro gained its reputa on as a na onal bellwether a er Allan Fraser re red at the end of 1972 and held the dis nc on for 50 recent years. Eden-Monaro – one of the most famous and intensively-studied federal electorates – once stretched as far north as Sussex Inlet; its northern boundary was brought south as far as Tuross recently as its northern and western boundaries extended to take in an arc from Yass to Tumut and Tumbarumba.

Eleanor worked ini ally in the Canberra news media and the Federal Parliamentary Press Gallery, and later, always wri ng, in the Commonwealth Public Service. She has a doctorate in history from the University of Tasmania and an OAM in recogni on of her services to conserva on of Australia’s natural, Indigenous and cultural heritage.