Author Archives: kathyprokhovnik

What can I do?

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Climate change. What can I do? Four words, four questions. Just change the emphasis.

What can I do?

This is the easy question. There’s so much you can do. For starters:

  • Carbon offset your emissions
  • Use petrol that has the lowest emissions
  • Use public transport or walk
  • Change to ‘green’ electricity
  • Reduce your meat and dairy intake
  • Plant trees
  • Interrogate your purchases – do I need it? Can I buy it second hand? Is it produced by a sustainable method / company?
  • Question politicians / companies / superannuation / banks about their own sustainable practices and policies then change your superannuation / bank / who you purchase from / who you vote for
  • Use sustainable agriculture practices
  • Buy from people who use sustainable agriculture practices
  • Install solar panels
  • Consider how much energy you use every day and how you can reduce it, particularly at peak times.

What can I do?

This is a more despondent question. It asks whether it’s possible to do anything in the face of this all-encompassing threat fuelled by human greed – a greed that seems uncontrollable and unresponsive to the damage it’s causing, unwilling to accept its murderous consequences. But do you doubt your own ability to effect change, or the power of collective effort? Consider water restrictions. They’re put in place to limit our collective use of a natural resource. They’re used regularly, embraced by the community, and have a tangible effect.

What can I do?

This question is about the power or weakness of the individual. It’s a mess of individual choices and decisions that has got us into this mess – individual choices influenced by a group-think about ‘needing’ things and the devaluing of care for community and wider consequences. Has this devaluing been encouraged by technology replacing face-to-face interaction, reducing our possibility for empathy for others and the effects of our actions on the wider world? Or have we as humans always valued ourselves over others, unable to see ourselves as part of a web of interconnectedness of humans and the rest of the ecology of the planet, the universe? Either way, if individual choices got us into this mess, surely they can get us out of it again.

What can I do?

This question is about your willingness for action. The answer is that you can not give up, not accept that we are doomed. You can be bolder. You can voice your concerns. When people say, ‘Let’s not get political’ you can say ‘It’s not about politics. It’s about human survival.’ When people say, ‘That’s alarmist,’ you can say ‘What other body of scientific thinking do you question?’ If the car’s brakes are faulty do you just pretend nothing is happening or do you do something about it? You can think up your own metaphors. There is so much caution in our world, so many seat belts and helmets and little yellow things on posts – why aren’t we being cautious about this? Protest against the big businesses that are making money while the world burns. Protest against the politicians who think that a burnt house is an economic opportunity for builders.

If you don’t do it, who will?

We can be lyrebirds

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Yesterday was hot. Oven hot. Even as the sun went down it was hot. Last night was hot. I woke from my final bit of restless sleep and, thirsty, reached for my cup of water. The water had become tepid overnight.

Today will also be hot. I sit in the shade with my breakfast and enjoy the light breeze – cool, disarming – while I can, before I’m forced into the house, blinds drawn, seeking out any habitable corner.

The bush is quiet. A small flock of birds flies overhead, quietly. Are they in mourning in this heat-scorched landscape? Lucky not to have burnt, large patches of trees are nevertheless covered in dead, brown leaves. I can almost see how the waves, the billows of heat came off the fire, landing in this patch, and this one.

A kookaburra calls. A deep throaty call. There is no reply. None of the hilarious groups of chuckling I was hearing a few months ago.

One of the good news bushfire stories I’ve read recently is about a group of lyrebirds sheltering in a dam while a fire raged around them. I’ve seen a photo, the lyrebirds in startled poses dotted awkwardly around the dam’s edge. The wonder is that they got there – fiercely territorial, they would have had to walk through each other’s territory to reach it – and the other wonder is that they stayed there, jostling, overcoming their innate competitiveness. Maybe ‘jostling’ is the wrong word. Maybe they were more like magnets with their same sides facing, only reaching a certain point of proximity before being repelled, maintaining a bare minimum gap. I look out at this silent bush around me and wonder if any unseen scenes of miraculous behaviour occurred around our muddy little dam. Last night, standing on the deck in the slightly cooler air, a sickly half-moon of cream-yellow above the trees, I heard a wallaby or kangaroo crunching through the leaves. I saw the quiet flight of an owl, felt a tiny bat shape its dive around my head. Did they all survive near the dam, each hunkered down in its own sweet way?

But I’m wary of these good news bushfire stories, these images of impossibly coloured leaves sprouting from thickly blackened trunks. Just as I’m wary of conversations that start with ‘We’ve always had fires’ or ‘This is how I remember summers in childhood.’ I’m wary of them being the beginning of a smoothing over, a covering up, a pretence of normality. A shrugging of the shoulders that accompanies a statement like, ‘Ah, nature! She’s a bastard.’ I want the agitation of emergency to endure. My little neck of the woods is safe for now but others aren’t. When Greta Thunberg says ‘Our house is burning’ she’s not talking about her family’s house, or her country’s house, she’s talking about the planet’s house. It seems to be human nature – and not an aspect of it that we can be proud of – to think small when we think of ‘our’, and to use ‘our’ as an exclusive force against ‘their’. The first – and maybe the hardest – step to take against climate change seems to be that we have to see ‘our’ in a different way. We have to quell the basic human desire to improve our lot at the expense of others, where ‘expense of others’ might mean exploiting others, ignoring others or using up the resources of others. If lyrebirds can challenge their instincts in order to survive, why can’t we?

Thank you firies

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When I turn off the highway I notice handmade signs dotted along the road. ‘Thank you firies’ they say. These are heartfelt messages. There are patches of burnt out bush and the ground is covered in leaf-litter from trees shedding their leaves to survive. Everything looks exhausted, drooping. The bush is quiet: few birds, nothing bigger. This is the land that the fire approached, having jumped the Shoalhaven River after days of sitting at its edge, slavering. You can see that the land itself couldn’t have resisted. You can see how the fire would have gobbled up that leaf-litter and bounced into the trees themselves, crawling up the trunks. How it would have leapt through the canopy, looking for more to devour.

The stories I hear from my neighbours are of miracles and lucky breaks. We’re lucky the firies chose this spot to try to draw a line against the mighty Currowan fire, so it didn’t spread down to the more inhabited parts of north Nowra. We’re lucky they contained it where they did, that a neighbour was here to show the firies from Queensland where the overgrown fire trails were. That a firebreak got out of hand but they firebombed it back into control. We’re lucky our houses didn’t explode like one neighbour’s friend. We’re lucky another neighbour has a son who’s a firie, who came up here to check on how it was going, sending back messages of reassurance.

We shake ourselves and say it again. We’re lucky that we didn’t join the hundreds of thousands, millions, of Australians disastrously affected by the bushfires that have been burning across the country since September. That we didn’t, along with so many others, lose our much-loved house. We had some days of worry, one night of complete resignation facing the worst. It is a holiday home, not our only house. And it is a house, not our lives, or our livelihoods. But it is our house. The house we’ve built over the last two years, and only lived in for the past year. Planned and furnished and filled with love. It’s the house Martin was taken from to the Shoalhaven hospital. It’s the house I returned to the same night, after a day of hospital staff stabilising Martin’s breathing, to find the whole community gathered nearby around the pizza oven. They flocked to me, invited me in, loaded me up with food and warmth. It’s the house and community I have planned to live in in years to come.

But even though the house is still standing and even the plants in the planter box have survived, something has gone. Through the missing trees I can see houses I never knew were there. I stand on the ashy ground and see burnt leaves everywhere. No insects bang at the night-time windows. More than that, it’s a sense of trust that has gone. The trust that fires can be controlled. That this little house would be here for me, that I would add to the garden and learn all the plants, all the birds in the bush around me. Having imagined the destruction of such a raging fire, I can’t unimagine it. It’s a version of the world that stays with me. In one moment, it all could have been lost. The fact that it wasn’t means I’m sitting in a ghost house, where ruins might have been. I can’t look at the bush or be in the house without that knowledge. It all looks transient now, shaky, the lines blurring in and out of view, dream-like.

 

Fires in NSW

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These are the fires in NSW today, December 6 2019.

A bush fire is burning in the Mount Marsh, Tullymorgan, Mororo Road, Ashby Heights, Woombah and New Italy areas. The fire is more than 115,000 hectares in size and is being controlled.

A bush fire is burning in the Yengo and Dharug National Parks. The fire is more than 11,000 hectares in size and is out of control.

There are multiple bush fires burning in the Yengo National Park area. The fire is more than 43,000 hectares in size and is out of control.

A fire is burning between Batemans Bay and Ulladulla. The fire is more than 73,000 hectares and is not yet under control.

A bush fire is burning in the Wollemi National Park area. The fire is more than 250,000 hectares in size and is being controlled.

A bush fire is burning west of Garland Valley and Howes Valley areas. The fire is more than 10,000 hectares in size and is out of control.

A bush fire is burning in the Goulburn River National Park, south-west of Merriwa. The fire has burnt more than 9,500 hectares and is being controlled.

A bush fire is burning in Carrai East, north west of Kempsey. The fire is more than 121,900 hectares in size and is being controlled.

A bush fire is burning in the Lake Burragorang area. The fire is more than 35,000 hectares in size and is out of control.

The bush fire is burning through the Tallaganda National Park, and the Bombay and Braidwood areas. The fire is more than 31,000 hectares in size and is being controlled.

The Carrai Creek bush fire is burning across a large area including the Oxley Wild Rivers area and Yarrowitch. The fire is more than 226,700 hectares in size and is being controlled.

A bush fire is burning to the south of the Katoomba and Leura area. The fire has burnt close to 1,100 hectares is being controlled.

A bush fire is burning in the 50km west of Grafton area. The fire is more than 107,100 hectares in size and is being controlled.

A bush fire is burning at area of Pelaw Main near Cessnock. The fire is more than 300 hectares in size and is being controlled.

The fire is burning in the Corrabare State Forest, east of Wollombi. The fire is more than 2,700 hectares and is out of control.

A bush fire is burning in the area of Martins Creek, east of Paterson. The fire is over 290 hectares and is out of control.

A bush fire is burning in the area of the Cataract National Park near Paddys Flat, north of Drake. The fire is more than 1,000 hectares in size and is out of control.

A bush fire is burning in the Washpool and Billilimbra State Forests. The fire is more than 98,000 hectares in size and is being controlled.

At a minimum that is a total of 1,136,590 hectares, or 11,365.9 square kilometres, of land burning, or burnt, today in NSW.

The radio broadcasts reports every 15 minutes. The message changes. Sometimes it is to tell people in certain areas that it is too late to leave, and that they should seek shelter as the fire approaches. I feel for those people. It feels like they’re being abandoned by the rest of us, listening to the bushfire reports in our cars, blanketed by smoke for the last week, each day feels worse. But not as bad as being told that it’s too late to leave, that you should seek shelter. Wait out the fire burning around and over and through your house, seeking shelter here then there, wondering if this shelter will hold, or whether you’ll need to run to the door as your shelter collapses, out into the heat, the burning, the crashing and the blazing.

The news on the radio also reports that 150 more Australian Federal Police are being posted at airports because of a perceived threat, and I wonder – why isn’t the real threat being addressed?

My September challenge

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A couple of weeks ago I decided to set myself a challenge: to do something personal about climate change each month. My challenge for September was to find out which was the least damaging petrol for the environment. Spending time in the bush at Tapitallee is a wonderful antidote to the pressures of city living, but driving down here is an environmental burden.

It turned out there was no simple answer to my question. And the answers I found were dispiriting – more evidence of woeful environmental leadership in Australia. The articles on the subject were unanimous – ‘compared with most of the rest of the world, our fuel is filthy’[1]  and ‘… this country still uses much dirtier fuel than most of the rest of the world. Indeed, Australia is ranked 70th in terms of fuel quality because of the relatively high percentage of sulphur permitted.’[2]  and ‘Australia’s 91-octane standard fuel is allowed to have sulphur levels as high as 150 parts per million. The world standard in markets such as China, Europe, India and Japan is 10 ppm.’[3]

The levels of sulphur in our petrol are a problem because our petrol is ‘pumping significantly more sulphur dioxide – a common cause of breathing problems and generator of acid rain – into the atmosphere than other OECD members, creating excessive engine wear for consumers and even costing us more at the pump, because the dirty fuel doesn’t burn as efficiently as if it had less sulphur.’[4] Moreover, because our petrol has these high levels of sulphur, ‘the latest-technology, low-emission engines cannot be supported in the domestic market. “If you go to a higher quality fuel, the vast majority of vehicles on our roads automatically (become) more fuel efficient,” said Mr Weber [chief executive of the Federal Chamber of Automotive Industries (FCAI)]. “There would be an improvement in the fuel economy of vehicles across the fleet of 17 million vehicles in Australia, not just the new ones”.’[5] The FCAI has said that ‘improving Australia’s fuel quality would offer a “3% to 5%” improvement on CO2 performance “overnight”.’[6]

We have four types of petrol available: 91RON, 95RON, 98RON and E10. (RON means Research Octane Number – ‘Octane is the measure of a fuel’s ability to resist the phenomenon known as ‘knocking’ … [which] is the uncontrolled combustion of fuel that can destroy engine internals.’[7]) 91RON petrol has a 150 ppm sulphur content, while 95RON and 98RON have a 50 ppm sulphur content. So even our best petrol has five times more sulphur than the world standard.

E10 is not the obvious choice either. ‘E10 is a blend of regular unleaded (RON 91) petrol and between 9% and 10% ethanol. Blending the ethanol at this ratio increases the RON to 94.’[8] So E10 has 90% of the sulphur of 91RON petrol (so, 135 ppm). The manufacture of the ethanol is probably less environmentally detrimental than the production of petrol, and ethanol ‘is a clean burning fuel that produces less greenhouse gases than unleaded petrol’[9]. However, ‘the sustainability certification of Australian produced ethanol is not transparent. We know from studies conducted by organisations including the European Commission that when coal is used to produce ethanol, it can result in “little or no greenhouse gas emissions saving for ethanol compared to gasoline” on a well-to-wheel basis. This is a significant consideration for Australia, given our current reliance on fossil fuels.’[10] Also, ‘E10 has around 3% less energy than the equivalent amount of RON 91 petrol. On average, this can translate to an increase in fuel consumption of around 3%, which has about the same effect on fuel consumption as driving on tyres with inadequate air pressure.’[11]

So what, I hear you clamour, is our government doing about this? High levels of sulphur polluting our air and choking our people; dirty fuel leaving us unable to use the latest technology of low-emissions vehicles; unclear certification on ethanol – surely they’re keen to listen to the Federal Chamber of Automotive Industries and improve our CO2 performance ‘overnight’?

Well, in December 2016 the Department of the Environment and Energy released a discussion paper called ‘Better fuel for cleaner air’ which set out the problem succinctly:

  • Motor vehicle emissions can be split into two categories: noxious emissions which affect human health and the environment and contribute to respiratory illness, cardiovascular diseases and cancer, and greenhouse gas emissions which contribute to climate change.
  • Petrol fuelled light vehicle emissions are one of the major causes of air pollution in urban Australia. Our expanding vehicle feet, increasing urbanisation and aging population mean that further action is needed to improve air quality and reduce the health impacts of air pollution.
  • Improving fuel quality can help reduce the level of noxious emissions, which improves air quality and health outcomes.
  • Some advanced vehicle technologies (including advanced emissions control systems and certain fuel efficient engine technologies) require higher quality fuel to work effectively. The quality of fuel influences which engine and emission control technologies can be supplied to the Australian market.

It also states that ‘Catalytic converters in vehicles are designed to filter emissions and reduce noxious substances emitted from vehicles. Sulfur clogs the catalytic converters making them less effective.’ It then outlines five alternative approaches, ranging from ‘no change’ through to the staged introduction of world standards from 2020. Sadly, the decision that was reached was closer to the ‘no change’ than introducing the world standards[12]. The sulphur in petrol will be reduced to 10 ppm – from July 1 2027. The aromatic content in petrol will be reduced from 42 per cent to 35 per cent, effective 1 January 2022, to be reviewed and reduced by 2027. [‘Aromatic content’ refers to chemicals like benzene, toluene and xylene used to increase the petrol’s octane rating since lead was banned. The effect of these chemicals is being increasingly questioned. ‘The chemicals get released into the air as nano-sized particles – ultrafine particulate matter, or UFPs – that can be absorbed through the lungs or skin. Studies in peer-reviewed journals like the Journal of Environmental Science and Health, Environmental Health Perspectives and Particle and Environmental Toxicology, have linked these particles from aromatics to diseases ranging from ADHD to asthma.’[13]]

So where does that leave us? I’m thinking that E10 is only 10% ethanol, has 135 ppm sulphur, is less efficient, and even the production of the ethanol is not necessarily clean. So for now I’m opting for the petrols with less sulfur (RON95 and RON98). But I’m also looking into carbon offsets, and electric cars. My October challenge.

 

 

 

 

 

[1] https://www.whichcar.com.au/features/australias-petrol-is-one-of-the-dirtiest-in-the-world

[2] https://www.afr.com/opinion/cleaner-petrol-a-bigger-help-than-electric-cars-20180124-h0nnfg

[3] https://www.canberratimes.com.au/story/6079636/our-poor-quality-petrol-slows-the-drive-to-improved-emissions/

[4] https://www.whichcar.com.au/features/australias-petrol-is-one-of-the-dirtiest-in-the-world

[5] https://www.caradvice.com.au/714921/why-australia-needs-better-quality-fuel/

[6] https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2019/sep/02/eu-to-push-australia-to-clean-up-petrol-standards-as-part-of-free-trade-deal

[7] https://www.mynrma.com.au/membership/my-nrma-app/fuel-resources/can-premium-fuels-clean-your-engine

[8] https://www.e10fuelforthought.nsw.gov.au/facts

[9] https://www.racq.com.au/cars-and-driving/cars/owning-and-maintaining-a-car/facts-about-fuels/ethanol

[10] https://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-07-04/e10-cheapest-petrol-fuel-emissions-biofuels-ethanol-australia/9922938

[11] https://www.e10fuelforthought.nsw.gov.au/facts

[12] https://www.environment.gov.au/protection/fuel-quality/standards

[13] https://morningconsult.com/2015/04/22/growing-chorus-of-complaints-on-chemicals-in-gasoline/

A wombat

19 Monday Aug 2019

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At dusk – that soft time of day when the fading light brings out the fantastical – a wombat wandered into the yard. I saw it under the wattle tree – yellow flowers reduced to grey, billowing scent and heady hum of bees vanished with the setting sun – tugging at a tuft of grass, scratching the hard earth with its no-nonsense paws. I crept off the balcony and slowly made my way across the yard. The wombat gave no sign of seeing me, yet somehow the distance between us never varied. I would creep, it would waddle nonchalantly, even stopping to attack another clump of grass, but I didn’t seem to get any closer. It went around the end of the shed, past the chairs that it had clearly knocked over on a previous expedition. I thought to cut it off at the pass, but it veered off, again turning its large square rump to me.

It made me realise I know very little about wombats. Could it hear me, or see me, or detect me in some other way? Or was it simply unafraid? All I knew of wombats I had learnt in Tasmania, at the Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary (‘Here, knock on that’, the assistant invited us, and we each took a turn of knocking on the thick square bony bum of the obliging wombat, each of us astounded in turn by its solidity. ‘If it’s in danger it ducks into its burrow head first and blocks the entrance with this rump’, she explained. ‘It can crush a dog’s head against the side of burrow,’ she added cheerfully.)

So I turn to the Australian Museum and NSW Department of Planning, Industry and Environment websites for information on wombats. Ok, so I can’t go further without mentioning that I was intrigued to read the museum’s section on Conversation status – unfortunately not a section on how to converse with wombats, but nevertheless pleasing as it reveals that the Common Wombat (our wombat) is not listed as being under threat, even though its distribution has been greatly diminished in the past 200 years.

From the websites: The wombat is a marsupial with an average length of a metre and an average weight of 26 kg. They are very strong and can run at up to 40km/hr over short distances. Females tend to be slightly larger than males. They are usually seen after sunset, when they leave their burrows to graze. (Yes!) Their main food is fibrous native grasses. They are generally solitary animals, although they can share their burrows. They are very territorial about their feeding grounds, and will defend them aggressively. I like this bit about communication from the Australian Museum:

A warning call is usually a low guttural growl, but when a wombat is alarmed or angered, rasping hiss can also be heard. The animal repeats this high, loud call as it expels air. Sometimes the call can be a more aggressive ‘chikker chikker’ sound and/or a more guttural sound similar to that of an angry brushtail possum. Communication is also apparent between younger animals and their mothers. Young make repeated, softer ‘huh huh’ calls when they lose sight of their mother, and she usually responds in the same manner.

Wombats usually have one joey at a time. It gestates for about 30 days then makes its way to the mother’s pouch, where it grows for up to 10 months. It leaves the pouch after that but remains with its mother for a further 8–10 months before becoming independent. The pouch faces backwards so the joey is protected when the mother is digging (or diving down her burrow). Mating takes place after an exhausting series of chases over a wide area and includes much rump biting.

It’s neither of those websites, but the Wildlife Rescue South Coast website that answers my questions about the wombat’s perception of my stalking presence:

While their eyesight is poor, wombats have a keen sense of smell, excellent hearing and very large brains.

So yes, it knew I was there, it maintained the distance between us, and it was in no danger of me taking a better photograph.

Black lines loom above us

02 Friday Aug 2019

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Blooms are appearing on the wattles by the side of the road and on the tree in the middle of the yard. The activity of the birds increases, week by week, as they intuit the coming of spring. Birds that I don’t know in this dry sandstone country, so different to the rolling hills and green valleys, rainforest, rivers and creeks of Gloucester. I have to start again with our massive, cumbersome Cayley’s What bird is that? ($20 at a second-hand shop many years ago – a purchase that seemed Quixotic at the time – pointless folly – but which has given us hours of entertainment and illumination, even when it has to be cross-checked with the two volumes of A field guide to Australian birds by Peter Slater).

A black and grey flycatcher in the wattle darts out and then, as if it realises it has forgotten something, darts back to the tree. There’s a black and white treecreeper on the gums behind the house, then on the poles near the pizza oven, making its hopping way up and around. When I went down to the chook house I walked past the canopy of a eucalypt full of silent silvereyes, giving themselves away only through the sudden flutter of their wings as they flew from branch to branch. From another tree nearby came a deep and melodious ‘whoo’, rising from ‘wh’ to ‘oo’: a white-headed pigeon, its large white belly puffed out. Closer to the house a different ‘whoo’ – a repetitive, shortened ‘whup whup’, very low, very rhythmic – a bird I’ve heard before and searched for in vain. It’s not the loud and proud wonga pigeon that we used to hear at Gloucester, its unstoppable call filling the valley, but almost the antithesis with its sombre, nearly sub-hearing vibratory noise.

Next to the house there is a little cloud of tiny birds in the eucalypt making their weightless way from leaf to leaf, searching, needle sharp and fast, for insects. Looking up towards the sun it’s hard to make them out, but maybe there are dots, and golden yellow bellies. Maybe they are weebills, or spotted or striated pardalotes. When I consult Cayley I think I can rule out the spotted pardalote, which is described as having ‘a monotonous call-note, like “slee-p ba-bee”’, as they cheeped constantly and vivaciously, but my imprecise ear hasn’t retained the difference between a ‘wit-e-chu’ (striated pardalote) or ‘weebill’ (weebill). Striated pardalotes would be so exotic! Even though they occur all over Australia, I’m yet to see one. I remember my upswelling of jealousy when a visitor to the farm told us of the pardalotes who return every year to his property in Victoria, to nest in a tiny gap in the wall of his house.

I haven’t had one full year here at Tapitallee yet, so I have no way of knowing how the bush has changed over the past 10, 20, 50 years. I can only observe the now. Yet, I’m sure it is changing.

Today’s news story from the Copernicus Climate Change Service says that it looks like July was the warmest July on record, following on from June having being the warmest June on record. Average temperatures in Europe were more than 2 degrees C above ‘normal’ (whatever that is now) and the global-average temperature was about 0.1 degrees C higher than the previous warmest in 2016. A graph on their website showing the daily average temperature for Europe in June has a dark line of dashes snaking above a tangle of other lines – the dark dashes represent 2019, the others represent every fifth year since 1979. The previous warmest year was 1999, but that never reaches the consistent heights of 2019. I can’t help but see the heavy black lines of the warmer years dominating the gentler pink and blue lines of other years, leading them to rise ever higher, a horrible metaphor for our world.

We can see now that climate change isn’t just affecting us this year, or last year, but for many years past. After many years denying the warnings of scientists, and more years believing it was way in the future, we are feeling, not the first faint stirrings, but the full and mature effects of a radical change to the climate.

It’s NAIDOC week

13 Saturday Jul 2019

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Governor Phillip’s voyage to New South Wales and the first year of the colony are recorded in a book published by John Stockdale in London in 1789[1]. There can be no question, from reading these accounts, that the British understood that the land they had started to clear and plunder was owned by other people. Much of the volume reports their encounters with tribes of Aboriginal people – people who took them to their encampments, who helped them to find water, to make fires, to find shelter. People who Phillip realises, within his first 12 months in NSW, were farming the land with fire, knew how to process foods to make them edible (removing the ‘noxious qualities’ from ‘the kernels of that fruit which resembles a pine-apple’ – the cycad[2]), and ‘are not without notions of sculpture’[3] – his response to the rock carvings of ‘figures of animals, of shields, and weapons, and even of men’. He holds their apparent lack of clothing or permanent shelter against them, but contemplates on the fact that they have developed ‘the arts of imitation and amusement … [which] seems an exception to the rules laid down by theory for the progress of invention.’[4] He follows this train of thought by adding that it may just be that they don’t need clothing and shelter and that ‘had these men been exposed to a colder atmosphere, they would doubtless have had clothes and houses, before they attempted to become sculptors.’ He has a high regard for their courage and bravery and their ‘lack of treachery’.

Phillip’s main purpose in his dealings with the Aboriginal people seems to be based on a blind belief that British influence will improve their lot. He cannot help but believe that, once the Aboriginal people start to mix with ‘their new countrymen’ they will ‘enrich themselves with some of their implements, and to learn and adopt some of the most useful and necessary of their arts.’ He allows himself the doubt ‘whether many of the accommodations of civilized life, be not more than counterbalanced by the artificial wants to which they give birth’ but steadies himself with the thought that they would be teaching ‘the shivering savage how to clothe his body, and to shelter himself completely from the cold and wet, and to put into the hands of men, ready to perish for one half of the year with hunger, the means of procuring constant and abundant provision, must be to confer upon them the benefits of the highest value and importance.’[5] This despite the fact that he has previously acknowledged both that their needs for clothing and shelter are limited, and that his colony is depriving them of their food stocks.

He believes that the land can only be improved by blind adherence to British principles too.

Nothing can more fully point out the great improvement which may be made by the industry of a civilized people in this country, than the circumstances of the small streams which descend into Port Jackson. [By clearing the streams of all obstacles they will flow more freely, be ‘more useful’, and the adjacent ground will be drained] … habitable and salubrious situations will be gained where at present perpetual damps prevail, and the air itself appears to stagnate.[6]

Phillip acknowledges that the presence of the British is not welcome. In a journey of exploration between Port Jackson and Broken Bay his group encounters a party of about 60 Aboriginal people: “Some hours were passed with them in a peaceful and very friendly manner, but … they seemed best pleased when their visitors were preparing to depart. This has always been the case, since it has been known among them that our people intend to remain on the coast.”[7] Despite this sensitivity to the feelings of the Aboriginal people, Phillip has no qualms about digging open a mound, suspected of being a grave. What punishment for grave-robbing in England?

 

[1] The Voyage of Governor Phillip to Botany Bay, London 1789 (facsimile edition Hutchinson 1982)
[2] p135
[3] p106
[4] p107
[5] p141
[6] p98
[7] p133

The bombing of Sydney Harbour

31 Friday May 2019

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Seventy-seven years ago today, on Sunday May 31 1942, three Japanese mini-submarines entered Sydney Harbour. The Sydney Morning Herald didn’t report it until Tuesday, June 2, 1942:

First news of the attempted raid was contained in the following special communiqué issued at General Headquarters, Melbourne, yesterday. It was: “In an attempted submarine raid on Sydney three enemy midget submarines are believed to have been destroyed, one by gunfire, two by depth charges. The enemy’s attack was completely unsuccessful. Damage was confined to one small harbour vessel of no military value.”

The ‘one small vessel’ was HMAS Kuttabul, housing seamen at Garden Island.

Wounded Man Interviewed: Seaman Eric Davies, who lives in Allum St, Bankstown, and who played soccer football with St George, said that soon after midnight he went to bed in a hammock on the lower deck of the ferry. He was asleep for about an hour when the roar of an explosion awakened him. It was the bursting of the torpedo. ‘The flooring of the deck above must have been torn right open,’ he said. ‘I was thrown up into a hole in the woodwork, half through to the top deck. I had to struggle to extricate myself from the splinters of timber into which I had become wedged.’[1]

The torpedo – possibly aiming at the US warship USS Chicago moored nearby – went too low and hit the sea wall, with the explosion sinking the Kuttabul. A casualty list was published on June 3 on page 7 of the Herald – eventually twenty-one (Allied) men were quietly declared dead from the action, the Sydney men buried with full honours in the naval sections at Rookwood cemetery.

One of the submarines had caught itself in the Boom Net that protected Port Jackson, stretched between Georges Head, Mosman and Green Point, Watsons Bay. When they realised they were trapped, the two Japanese sailors scuttled the submarine, killing themselves in the process. The second submarine was the one that fired its torpedo then escaped from the harbour – its remains located only in November 2006. The third submarine was attacked as it entered the harbour, but it recovered and made its way to Taylors Bay, between Bradleys Head and Chowder Head, where it was destroyed by Royal Australian Navy fire. [2] The two sailors on board also killed themselves.

The two submarines in the harbour were retrieved, and, on the order of Rear Admiral Muirhead Gould (Naval Officer in Command, Sydney), the bodies of the four Japanese sailors cremated in a military ceremony – their remains were returned to Japan, a gesture that is still remembered with gratitude by Japanese officials and relatives of the men.

On June 8 one of the ‘mother’ submarines that had brought the midget submarines this far shelled Woollahra “from Rose Bay to Bradley Ave, on the heights of Bellevue Hill”[3], possibly targeting the flying boat base at Rose Bay that had been expanded across Lyne Park to accommodate the huge flying boat patrol bombers. The mayor, KD Manion, reported that he had inspected the ten areas that had been shelled, and that only one person had been injured.

Shell tore through wall above bed. [The shell] tore a hole through the two brick thicknesses above the head of Mrs Hirsch’s bed, skidded along the wall flanking her bed, bursting the bricks through in a large gash … then pierced the third wall of Mrs Hirsch’s room below the end of her bed, tore through the two walls flanking a hall and finished up on a staircase between the first or second floors.[4]

Newsreels from the time show the unflappable inhabitants of houses and apartments displaying the remains of curtains and holes in their walls – the people laugh as they tell how they put their hands through the wall; little boys play in the rubble, looking for souvenirs of shrapnel.

The abject failure of Sydney’s defences in May/June 1942 was hotly denied by officials. Peter Grose calls it ‘The Battle of Sydney Harbour’[5] and suggests its importance was downplayed – including the failure to award medals – to avoid proper examination of flaws in communication, equipment and lines of command.

One contributor to a book of memories about life in Kings Cross recalls that after the sinking of the Kuttabul: “The Cross was a strange sight – Macleay Street and other streets full with house removalist wagons. I remember standing outside ‘Macleay Regis’ and counting 28 flats vacant. The owners of ‘Franconia’ offered us a flat for two pounds ten shillings per week just to have people in the building …”.[6] One commentator suggests that misgivings about living near the harbour were not completely dispelled until the building of the Opera House.[7]

 

[1] SMH June 3, 1942

[2] http://www.naa.gov.au/Publications/fact_sheets/fs192.html

[3] Jervis, J. The History of Woollahra. Municipal Council of Woollahra, 1960 p.144.

[4] SMH June 8, 1942

[5] A Very Rude Awakening. Peter Grose, Allen & Unwin, 2007

[6] Memories: Kings Cross 1936-1946, Kings Cross Community Aid and Information Service, 1981, p108.

[7] Peter Webber, ‘Chapter 1: The Nature of the City’, in GP Webber (ed.), The Design of Sydney, The Law Book Co Ltd, 1988, p1.

Anzac Day

25 Thursday Apr 2019

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On February 24 1916 The Sydney Morning Herald reported that a hospital ship had arrived at Woolloomooloo wharf, carrying the last men from Gallipoli.

Rain was falling heavily. The whole scene was a study in gloom, and the voluntary motor cars of the Red Cross Society were splashing high the mud of a road under repair … Quite a number of people, mostly women, had taken up places as near to the wharf as they were allowed to go.

In 1916, people weren’t sure if they wanted to commemorate Gallipoli or just try to forget it. There was strong attendance at talks on Gallipoli, such as the Rev. T Gordon Robertson, Chaplain of the 6th Light Horse, who spoke at the Pitt Street Congregational Church of his experiences, or Ashmead Bartlett, an English war correspondent who gave a series of lectures at the Town Hall: ‘With the Anzacs at the Dardanelles’.[i]

There was almost daily discussion in the paper about the best way to commemorate the actions of the ANZACs at Gallipoli. Some writers of letters to the Sydney Morning Herald felt that the name ‘Anzac’ was being used too freely, and that this diminished its sanctity (29/1/1916) or, as one woman put it: “As a mother of two Anzac men I read with sorrow that it was proposed to name roads, avenues, tramlines after that most sorrowful of all names to so many.” (5/2/16) Others proposed various routes for ‘Anzac Avenue’, and one bold person suggested that our capital city be renamed ‘Anzac’ to commemorate “those brave and valiant boys of ours, who … by their universally acknowledged un-paralleled heroism and ‘grit’ re-discovered Australia to the masses of the western world, and incidentally the eastern also.” (10/2/16)

But there was more muted discussion about the idea of commemorating April 25. Mr P Board, Director of Education and under-secretary to the Department of Public Instruction, spoke strongly for the celebration of April 25 1915 as “an Australian Empire Day … [when] Australia passed beyond a partnership resting on the mere sentiments of kinship into a partnership of national sacrifice” (SMH 22/2/16). But even at that stage, after months of debate and with only two months to go, the NSW government hadn’t decided whether to mark the day. Maybe the whole Empire would celebrate the landing at Gallipoli – maybe there should be a day to commemorate all the large battles of the war, and that day should be set at the end of the war. On March 1 the Herald reports that Anzac Day will definitely be commemorated in Brisbane, but that it is not to be a fundraising event, and “no provision is to be made for rejoicing.” A letter on March 3 suggests that April 25 should be a day “set aside as a day for a street collection throughout NSW” for war widows and their children.

On April 25, 1916, the first Anzac Day parade in Sydney gathered in the Domain before marching down Macquarie, Bridge, George, Liverpool, Elizabeth Streets, then back to the Domain.

As the troops passed through the streets, the crowds received them warmly, very kindly, yet with a sort of awe. There was much hand-clapping, but little cheering. The people pushed and crowded to see the world-famous ‘Anzacs’. There was pride in the faces of the men, and tears in the eyes of the women, as the little groups went by; for in every group, almost, a man was to be seen without an arm, or with shattered features, or limping painfully with a stick. Fifty motor cars, carrying soldiers unable to walk, made a marked impression upon the onlookers.[ii]

The collection of funds was like a release for the people in the crowd.

The rattle of money-boxes kept pace with the marching troops. Lady collectors were everywhere at first, but a working partnership quickly developed between the cheerful invalids in the cars and the girls with the boxes. The collectors rode in the cars or on the footboards, and the soldiers pushed the boxes under the noses of the public. If coins came freely before, they came with a rush now. The people had been eager to do something to show how keenly they felt towards the ‘Anzacs’, and the ‘Anzacs’’ appeal for money provided the proper opportunity. Coppers were literally showered upon some of the cars, and the soldiers gathered the coins in their hats.[iii]

Little boys ran alongside to pick up the coins that fell, and ‘every penny was scrupulously placed in the collection boxes.’

[i] Sydney Morning Herald, February 12 1916.

[ii] Sydney Morning Herald, April 26 1916.

[iii] Sydney Morning Herald, April 26 1916.