History

This is Emery Barcs’ autobiographical account of his early years in Australia. The bulk of the book deals with the time from his arrival in August 1939 until his discharge from the Australian Army in (according to my reckoning) October 1944. The book is divided into three sections - corresponding to the three distinct episodes Barcs experienced during this period. The first, entitled ‘No­body Owes You a Living’, deals with Emery Barcs’ attempt to make a living in Australia in the phoney-war period.       

The two local histories in this group are about utterly different places and are quite unalike in technique and form, yet they do share a common motivation. Both emanate from the researches and pens of local inhabitants, determined that the outside world should appreciate the qualities and problems of ‘our town’. However beyond this, they are linked only by ironies. One is the story of an environment and community being destroyed by an excess of wealth; the other is of a working-class suburb’s character and difficulties that spring from quite the reverse. The first is Nancy Cato’s very angry The Noosa Story: a Study in Unplanned Development; the second, In Those Days: Collingwood Remembered, is the fruits of the Collingwood History Committee.

Wrecks and the relics of wrecks have always fascinated. Their search and finding brings the excitement of the chase, their identification involves detective sleuthing, their background entails historical research; the very sight of them evokes the adventure of their days of sailing, and the drama of their night of death. Australian writing is rich in books about them, with earlier emphasis more on the adventure and the drama, less on the historical research and the archaeological interpretations. But with the coming of modern underwater techniques and sophisticated instruments, the haphazard sampling of maritime ruins has changed into the modern science of marine archaeology. The enlightened Maritime Archaeology Act (W.A.) and Historic Shipwrecks Act (Commonwealth) have made these relics a part of our national heritage, the Marine Archaeology course at the Western Australian Institute of Technology has formalized the new science, and the Western Australian Museum has built up a compendious catalogue of all the wrecks ever recorded on the Western Australian coast, together with all facts known about them.

In the closing years of the Napoleonic War, Edward Primrose Tregurtha saw active service in the navy for three years, and at the end of the war was honourably discharged – at the age of twelve years, after which he went back to school! He resumed his adventurous career as an officer in the East India Company, and saw further action in the Opium War in China, and in the troubles at Rangoon. Then followed five years of sea-faring and whaling until he finally settled at Launceston in 1836. His journal, which is reproduced in this book, covers first these early adventures and then a further sixteen years in Van Diemen’s Land and on the mainland.

Notwithstanding recent expressions of disaffection with large-scale narrative biography (e.g., James Walter's biography of Whitlam), I remain a devotee of the genre. In Australia, our communal sense of identity, our historiographical debates and our literature are diminished by the infrequency of such works.

A colleague questioned my choice of these two books for this page, wondering whether they are too localised for a national journal. This reminded me of a Victorian friend who once aired a theory that the poetry of Kenneth Slessor. That man of Sydney, is not highly regarded in Victoria while ‘Furnley Maurice’ (Frank Wilmot) is little appreciated north of the Murray. What rubbish. Admittedly a writer’s presence on his own soil can be important both for his work and, in some ways, for his audience. It was only when Patrick White and Christina Stead returned to Australia after long absences overseas that they gained proper honour here. But universality also cuts across boundaries and there are universal qualities, or at least for ‘new world’ countries, in each of these books.

For any who may suffer under the delusion that the production of good histories is easy, these three books offer some valuable lessons. The first, J.0. Randell’s Yaldwyn of the Golden Spurs, is the work of a Gentleman (i.e. amateur) historian, the other two are very much the labours of mere Players. William Henry Yaldwyn (1801–66) was a Sussex squire, (in Burke’s LandedGentry by the skin of his teeth), who turned Australian squatter to boost the family’s dwindling fortunes. He was certainly ‘in’ on some of the most significant historical action in midcentury Australia – pioneering Victorian squatter, a Port Phillip Gentleman and founder of the Melbourne Club, a visitor to the gold fields in 1852, and a few years later a pioneering squatter again, this time in Queensland. It was only Queensland that amply rewarded him, both financially and personally. He served two brief terms in the Legislative Council where, Mr Randell informs us, his ancestors’ Cromwellian sympathies encouraged him to propose a motion, finally passed by both houses in 1862, which established the elective nature of the upper house at the expense of the power of the Crown. As one of the few Queensland farmer politicians to have advanced the cause of Democracy, he is indeed a raraavis.

Playwright Christopher Fry long ago wrote that ‘The bridge by which we cross from tragedy to comedy and back again is precarious ... if characters were not prepared for tragedy there would be no comedy ... their hearts must be as determined as the phoenix ... what burns must also light and renew’.

The men of the 2/30th Battalion laughingly enlisted. They didn't laugh on 16 February 1942 when, as part of the 8^th Division and the Singapore garrison, they reluctantly surrendered to the Japanese. Happiness being relative, some of these Australians laughed all the way from Changi to a new camp near the wharves. Struggling to load bagged salt, they had no laughter, just helpless sickness in the stomach, as Sergeant Stan Arneil was savagely beaten by guards. Scenes change, states of mind go up and down, until the survivors are about to disembark in Sydney late in 1945: ‘and everybody on the ship is laughing all the time’.