(no subject)

I'm back in the Middle Ages for five weeks. My poor new students, who haven't yet sampled my sense of humour. Although maybe I should claim they're lucky, since I can't cook today (limited energies - teaching comes first) and I'm taking along nibbles instead. Also books. Many books.

I have to catch a bus to catch a bus, because I really shouldn't be carrying heavy things right now, but I can't teach this course without books. Mostly I can't teach tonight's class without books. Books and maps and perfume and scraps of wool.

I've done my handouts and my backpack is full and it's not yet time to leave. I have a few minutes to have a cuppa and admire four feet of marrow, sitting on my couch. A friend forgot to pick two zucchinis and they grew and grew and grew. She knows I cook with marrows when I can, so she gave them to me. This saves me from eating tinned food. I cooked a big crock of full of goodness, you see, to last till Thursday, then I forgot to refrigerate it and then I forgot again to refrigerate it and now I'm being sensible and throwing it out.

Those overgrown zucchini might have to be cut in half to fit in my oven.

One of them shall be stuffed with itself, quinoa and other interesting things. If I chopped it in segments, I could stuff two short segments and top them with egg, perhaps? Then the quinoa won't be cruncy. Egg? Or quinoa? Ah, decision, decisions.

Australian history, the Gillian way

I have ten minutes to fill and discovered that the Dunera Exhibition has already started at the National Library. I thought if I did a post about the Dunera Boys then maybe someone would be tempted into coming with me and enjoying the exhibition. It's on until late June, and ought to be a doozy.

The story of the Dunera Boys is not one of Britain's finest moments. It's the simple story of internees being deported to somewhere very far away, where they couldn't do evil things and betray Britain to the Nazis.

It changed Australia's art scene forever. In fact, I would say it changed it more even than the Vienna Boys' Choir being stranded here during World War II.

Underneath the simple story and the inspirational conclusion lie some unpalatable truths. First of all, something like 4/5 of the internees were Jewish refugees. Secondly, the British crew of the Dunera treated them shockingly. As I understand it, the genuine ruffians also transported on the Dunera (what is it with Britain transporting people here, anyhow?) were treated far, far better than the Jewish refugees.

It was vile, and I'm not going to go into detail because it makes me cry. These were the people who escaped - it would have been nice if they had been left dignity, or even allowed to get as far as Australia without their possessions being stolen or even thrown overboard. The officer in charge was court-martialled.

Once they arrived in Australia, apparently the authorities were nicer. By 'nicer,' I mean (as one of them told me once) they were treated like human beings. They were interned and remained interned until the need for somewhere to keep Japanese prisoners of war became more important.

The camp at Hay (I don't know much about the other camp) became a very special kind of village. There were many scholars and artists and musicians and writers, and they occupied their time teaching and creating and doing what they did best. This is why I want to see the exhibition at the National Library. I want to see the toilet paper upon which the camp journal was kept, and celebrate the scientific breakthroughs that were made. Felix Werder told me about the musical life of the camp (at a very different kind of camp, a generation later) and I want to see and hear and admire what those men achieved. My personal irony is that it was Felix Werder who taught me Mahler. I ought to write about that, one day.

The Dunera Boys have been an inspiration to me since my late teens.