Kunapipi 18(1) 1996 Full Version

Kunapipi, Dec 1996

Kunapipi 18(1) 1996 Full Version.

A PDF file should load here. If you do not see its contents the file may be temporarily unavailable at the journal website or you do not have a PDF plug-in installed and enabled in your browser.

Alternatively, you can download the file locally and open with any standalone PDF reader:

http://ro.uow.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1459&context=kunapipi

Kunapipi 18(1) 1996 Full Version

Kunapipi 0106-5734 Kunapipi 18(1) 1996 Full Version Anna Rutherford 0 Recommended Citation 0 University of Aarhus , Denmark - IdldVND>I 8L IdldVN.O>I Kunapipi is a tri-annual arts magazine with special but not exclusive emphasis on the new literatures written in English. It aims to fulfil the requirements T.S. Eliot believed a journal should have: to introduce the work of new or little known writers of talent, to provide critical eval­ uation of the work of Jiving authors, both famous and unknown, and to be truly international. It publishes creative material and criticism . Articles and reviews on related historical and sociological topics plus film will also be included as well as graphics and photographs. The editor mvites creative and scholarly contributions. Manuscripts should be double-spaced with footnotes gathered at the end, should conform to the MHRA (Modern Humanities Research Association) Style Sheet. Wherever possible the submission should be on disc (soft-ware preferably Word for Windows Wordperfect or Macwrite saved for PC) and should be accompanied by a hard copy. All manuscripts and books for review, should be sent to: Anna Rutherford Editor - KUNAPIPl c/o Anne Collett Department of English University of Aarhus 8000 Aarhus C Denmark SUBCRIPTION RATES: Individuals:l year: lnstitutions:l year: £18 I US$35 I AUS$45 I CAN$45 £36 I US$60 I AUS$90 I CAN$90 Please address all subscription enquiries to: P.O. Box 20, Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire, HX7 5UZ, UK Please note that if payment is made in currencies other than £ sterling, or Australian $, the equivalent of £5 must be added to cover banking costs. Cheques made payable to Kunapipi. Copyright© 1996 by KUNAPlPI This book is copyright. Apart from any fair deahng for the purpose of private study, research, cntic1sm or review as perm1tted under the Copyright Act no part may be reproduced without written permission. Enquines should be made to the editor. VOLUME XVIII NUMBER 1, 1996 Kunapipi is published with assistance from the Literature Board of the Australian Council, the Federal Government's art funding and advisory body and the European branch of the Association for Commonwealth Literature and Language Studies. ·-~~{lor the Arts Christopher Lane's essay 'Passion's "Cumulative Poison": Colonial Desire and Fnendshtp in Kipling's Fiction' is reprinted with kind pe rmission from chapter one of his book The Ruling Passion: Brillsh Colonial Allegory and the Parado>. of llomoscxual Des1re, © (Durnam and London: Duke University Press, 1995) . rhe lyrics to 'Magntficent Obsesston' that appear 111 Barbara Rasmussen's essay 'Vtrgmia Woolf: Mascultntty as Imperial "'Parade"' are quoted by kind penmsston of Windswept Pacific Music Ltd. The short quotations from Memoir of Mohammed el lid/ that appear in Joseph Bristow's essay 'Passage to E. M. f'orster- Race, I lomosexuality, and the "Unmanageable Streams" of Empire' are reproduced by kind penmssion of !he Provost and Scholars of King's College, Cambridge. Plate I is taken from George Catlin, Illustrations of the Manners, Customs, and Conditions of the North American Indians (1876). Plate II is published by ktnd permissio n of the National Museum of American Art, Washington D.C. Plate Ill is publtshed by ktnd penntssion of the National Portrait Gallery, Washmgton D.C.. I am grateful to the Hogarth press for allowing me to reproduce Plates IV, V and VI from their 1938 edition of Virgina Woolf's Three Gumeas. Plate VII from Gunga Din (RI<O), © 1939 tS provided by the British rilm Institute Stills Collection and published by kind pemussion of Turner Entertainment Co., All Rights Reserved. Plate Vlll ts reproduced from Young Australia (1902-1903). Plate IX is reproduced from The Australian Boys' Annual(1912). Plate X is reproduced from The Australian Boys' Annual (1925). Plate XI is taken from Workerc.19l6. We have done our best to ensure that we have included all the people and publishers who should be thanked . If we have inadvertently left anyone out we apologize. This publication was made possible, in part, by the generous support of the Universtty of Bim1mgham's School of History and the Department of By.tantine O ttoman and Modern Greek Studies. Cover: 'Pieta' by Julie Burnett Kunapipi refers to the Australian Aboriginal Myth of the Rainbow Serpent which is the symbol both of creativity and rege neration . The journal's emble m is to be found on an Aboriginal shield from the Roper River area of the Northern Territory in Australia . I thank the contributors for the keen insights their papers have leant to my own understanding of masculinities and imperialisms, and for their generous co-operation and patience during an expedited editing process . Imperialism and Gender: Constructions of Masculinity in Twenbeth Cenh.Jry Narrative, the conference from which this book developed, owed much of its success to the co-operation and support of the University of Birmingham's Faculty of Arts Gender Seminar Group, especially the encouragement and work of Margaret Callander and Marianna Spanaki. To all conference participants, my thanks for creating two days of rigorous engagement with concepts of gender and imperialism. For granting me permission to use her painting on the cover, and for her support and interest in this project, my thanks to Julie Burnett. I am indebted to Jan Penrose who first encouraged me to think critically about formations of masculinity while I was studying at the University of Edinburgh. My appreciation also goes out to Anna Rutherford whose interest in and enthusiasm for this project was instrumental in bringing it to publication. I am grateful to Glenda Pattenden for her unwavering commitment to the book in her many roles. Thanks also to Susan Burns for her work with permissions, publicity and administration. Faye Hammill's able assistance with some of the proof-reading is much appreciated. I am grateful to Stephanie Bird, Nicholas Cull, Matthew Fox, Brian Harding, and Barbara Rasmussen for their support, and useful suggestions during the May 1995 conference and throughout the editing process. Christopher Gittings CHRISTOPHER E. GmiNGS Introduction So there I was, suspended in mid-story, in 1951, and there I remain_ sometime, waiting for the end, or finishing it off myself, in a booklined [sic] London study over a stiff brandy, a yarn spun to a few choice gentlemen under the stuffed water buffalo head, a cheerful fire in the grate, or somewhere on the veldt, a bullet in the heart, who can tell where such greedy impulses will lead? Margaret Atwood, 'The Boys' Own Annual, 1911' 1 Imperialism and Gender This collection of essays developed out of a conference on imperialism and gender held in May 1995 at the University of Birmingham. Historically, Birmingham served as one of the armouries of the British empire; it was the site of a lucrative munitions industry, producing the canons, rifles, and pistols that helped to arm the men who, by 1897 had imposed British rule on approximately 387,400,000 people. 2 It is not the purpose of this introduction to summarize each paper, but instead to locate individual papers in relation to an overview of the concepts of empire, gender and race raised by the book. Michael W. Doyle defines the process of empire-building as fhe relationship, formal or informal, in which one state controls the effective political sovere•gnty of another political society. It can be achieved by force, by political collaboration, by economic, political or cultural dependence. Imperialism is simply the process or policy of establishing or maintaining an empire.3 The contributors to this volume consider the roles British and French imperialisms, and American neo-imperialism have played in constructing masculinities. However, Imperialism and Gender: Constructions of Masculinity also includes, by way of an historical antecedent for the imbrication of empire and masculinity, Matthew Fox's essay on Hercules and representations of masculinity in the ancient world. Atlas, Hercules and Apollo, idealized images of masculinity found in classical literature and art, provided the paradigmatic texts that shaped western European concepts of masculinity and empire in the eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. And Fox's paper examines some original accounts which highlight ambiguities in gender construction even at this early stage. The writers collected here investigate how the conquest of territory and the imposition of the imperial power's economic, political and cultural systems onto the colony have shaped gender identities. In many narratives of imperialism women remain at home in the centre of empire waiting for, and subordinate to the soldier hero who ventures forth for the benefi t and protection of both the metropole and the passive woman. 4 Women, however, were involved in the Brih~h colonizing process; as wives of missionanes and military officer~, as teachers, nurses, shop assistants, farmers, or travel writers, they helped to translate the alien landscapes of North America, Africa, the Caribbean, India, and Australasia into the British familiar. Considering white women's subordination to white men and the 'borrowed' power imperial women had over colonized men and women, Anne McClintock has argued that white women were 'ambiguously complicit both as colonizers and colonized, privileged and restricted, acted upon and acting'.~ Moreover, the sign systems of empire are replete with the bodies of women who have been imported into the visual iconography of patriarchal political systems to personify the imperial state; for example, Marianne in France, and Britannia in the United Kingdom. Britannia was modelled on Athena the Goddess of War, but Britannia herself was originally conceived of as a subordinate, half-naked woman at the feet of the conquering Roman Emperor Claudius. 6 The British empire allegorized its hegemonic relationship to its coloni~s in a moth~r­ daughter image, a represen tati on more palatable to nmeteenth-century Victorians than the lasciviou s emblem of Roman impenahsm, although perhaps not as honest. Mother or Britannia had hermaphrodite powers and could transform herse lf/itself into a penetrating phallic entity. This phallic potential was manifest in male colonists who were invited to inscribe their British authority on feminized overseas territories.- Julie Burnett's cover painting, Pieta, plays with this image of Britannia as a phallic moth er. Burnett's Britannia conceives, births and nurtures the male war ma chine, infantilized here as a ridiculous child at play with a toy globe and an impotent phallic sabre. Barbara Rasmussen's essay avers that Yirgina Woolf also responds with reductive parody to the ludicrous figure of the imperial soldier hero in Three Guineas and To the Lighthouse. Gender identity is formed by many factors. In the epigraph to this introduction Margaret Atwood genders imperialism as male. 'Boys' Own Annual, 1911' interrupts the masculinized narrative of 1mperialism to ask questions about the production of a destructive and debilitating martial masculinity that is suspended in time: 'the issue with the last instalment had never come'(p.ll). The legacy of imperial masculinity lntroductJon lives on for both men and women. Atwood's response to the colonizing British text Boys' Own Annual- a collection of narratives representing aggresstve and frequently racist British boys plundering the 'playgrounds' of Africa and India - constitutes a postcolonial counter­ discourse or decolonizing narrative. Before venturing any further with a reading of Atwood, a few words on concepts of the postcolonial. Simplifying to the extreme, post­ colonialism describes a critical practice dedicated to addressing the types of cultural marginalization propagated by imperialism. Problematically, the term is ascribed to both invader-settlerS cultures such as Canada and Australia, and former l:.uropean colonies in Asia, Africa and the Caribbean." As one of the principles of postcolonial critique ts the arttculattOn of difference in resistance to imperial a!.>stmilatton, the ascnption of the term to a culture must be continually recontextualized and reconceptualized so as to avoid the potential for homogemzing the colonial expenences of diverse groups. Arun P. Mukherjee reminds postcolonial critics who 'erase differences' that 'we have not all been colonized in the same way. "Race" has made a tremendous difference in how the empire treated us' .w The Boys' Own Annual serials disciplined an exclusive gender identity for white-settler Canadian boys, inculcating English values that equated mascultmty and honour with military service and the sacrifice of life for the empire. 11 In Atwood's re-writing of imperial discourse, a Canadian female voice, a voice on the periphery of empire and power, assumes narrative control over the male space of the Boys' Own Annual from the centre of the British empire, refiguring narratives of imperialism as destructive and 'greedy impulses' that could place a bullet tn the heart of their reader. The prose piece ends with the appearance of just such a damaged reader, the narrator's half uncle 'gassed tn the first war and never right since'. We learn that ' the books had once been his' (p. 11). Here is a ramification for consuming Hoys' Own Annuals and companion texts like Chums, and here also is the ending that Atwood writes for imperial power struggles. 'Boys' Own Annual, 1911' and the essays in this book deconstruct imperial systems, and the nexus between imperialism and masculinity, arguing that masculinity is socially engineered, and that imperialism is an agent of thts process. Atwood's prose piece would suggest that the reading materials of young boys and girls help to determine gender identities. John Marttn's paper develops this theme, examining the prescriptive role 'Boys' Own' Annuals p layed in forming Australian masculinities, while Peter Hunt's essay considers the texutalization of empire and masculinity in a range of English children's literature. Susan Bassnett also interrogates the stultifying influence of British imperialism's heroic male narratives for both men and women at home in the metropole. Despite the efforts of Atwood and others, imperial formations of masculinity persist in the late twentieth-century. Individual societies continue to require the manufacture of soldier heroes to secure the interests of the state in conflicts such as the Falklands and the Gulf Wars. Investigations into historical formations of masculinity and imperialism can provide insights into contemporary constructions of masculinity. Ken Lukowiak, a veteran paratrooper of the Falklands conflict (an operation arguably designed to resurrect Britain's imperial past) 12, describes the process of making martial masculinity in a newspaper article e ntitl ed 'Break 'em, make 'em' .13 As the title implies, Lukowiak delineates a systematic breaking down of civilian gender identity through humiliation, and physical exertion at the hands of the British military's paratrooper training personnel, 'then once you are broken they build you up the way they want you' (pp. 2.2-2.3) . Lukowiak joined the Parachute Regiment 'because [he] wanted to be a man'(p. 2.2), and to accomplish masculinity he believed he had to learn aggression (p. 2.3). Paratrooper masculinity is constructed as a definitive and hierarchical gender identity, one that feminizes what it reads as inferior formations of masculinity. Lukowiak describes a group of soldiers not in the paras as ' a gaggle of crap hats. Chewing their little-girl sandwiches and sipping poofy Ribenas'(p. 2.2). Here, paratrooper culture abrogates the homosexual subject's male gender identity, and interiorizes the feminine. The work of Graham Dawson14 and R. W. Connell1s argues convincingly that the military has been of fundamental importance to the definition of the soldier hero as a hegemonic and idealized form of masculinity in European and North American cultures. Soda/ Construction Theory and Gender The discussions of gender formation articulated above, and the essays which follow this introduction, assume that gender is a social construction. Masculinity and femininity are not categories that exist organically, but are produced socially. Social structures like the family, and institutions such as the church and the military instil myths of gender which punish peripheral gender identities, and reward dominant ones.16 Our understanding of ourselves and our world is shaped by the society in which we liveY Peter Jackson's and Jan Penrose's encapsulation of social construction theory provides a useful lens through which we can read the category of gender: social construction theory argues that many of the categories that we have come to consider 'natural', and hence immutable, can be more accurately (and more usefully) viewed as the product of processes which are embedded in human actions and choices. IS One other category inextricably linked, and sometimes mistakenly ;; confused with gender is sex. Sex - male or female - has been read as a biological and therefore 'natural' category determined by anatomy, hormones, and physiology. 19 However, the research of endocrinologists, biologists and social scientists suggests that the chromosomal, gonadal and hormonal elements determining sex roles '"work in the presence and under the influence of a set of environments"?0 they are tempered by the process of socialization. Socialization encompasses psychosexual development, the learning of social roles and the shaping of sexual preferences, processes constructing gender identity (Lorber and Farrell p.7).21 Sexual preference and choice of sexual object are closely related to gender identity. As Lorber and Farrell write 'Boys who consider themselves male and girls who consider themselves female are supposed to be sexually attracted to each other' (p. 7). Same sex attraction is interrupted and disciplined by what Adrienne Rich calls 'compulsory heterosexuality'. 22 Connell defines the ruling or socially dominant heterosexual masculine as the configuration of gender pracllce wh1ch embodies the currently accepted answer to the problem of the legthmacy of patriarchy, which guarantees (or is taken to guarantee) the dominant position of men and the subordination of women. (Connell p 77) This totalizing masculinity oppresses women and other formations of masculinity: heterosexual 'nerds' or 'wimps' (p. 79) and all formations of gay masculinity: Oppression positions homosexual masculinities at the bottom of a gender hie rarchy among men. Gayness, in patriarchal ideology, is the repository of whatever is symbolically expelled from hegemonic masculinity, the items ranging from fastJdious taste in home decoration to receptive anal pleasure. Hence, from the point of view of hegemonic masculinity, gayness is easily assimilated to femininity. (Connell p . 78) We can see this hegemonic masculinity at work in Ken Lukowiak's narrative of paratrooper masculinity, and in many of the texts investigated in the essays that follow, where behaviour that does not fit a ruling group's concept of masculinity is derided as feminine or homosexual. Susan Hayward's essay analyzes how French imperialism reads race and gender to construct a subordinate and femimzed subjectivity for the African houseboy Protee in the film Chaco/at. British imperialism also responded to racial difference in this way, subordinating African and Bengali men as feminine. 23 Building Empire: Constructing Race Western European imperial projects were predicated on the dominant white patriarchal construction of difference to itself as inferiority. This type of alterity or othering is sexual, gendered, racial and cultural. The European colonizer can, as Brian I larding's essay illustrates in the case of George Catlin, project a romanticized image of the male colonial subject as ' n oble savage' onto the colonized, thereby identifying with thi s idealized indigene built from white materials. Frantz Fanon argued that the white male colonizer's relationship to the black colonized male subject, or extrapolating for our purposes here, the indigene, is always other- black, red, yellow- 'in relati on to th e white man'. 24 Diana Fuss's gloss on Fanon elu cidates the colonizer's subjugating construction of racial otherness: The colonized are constrained to impersonate the image the colonizer offers them of themselves; they are commanded to imitate the colonizer's version of their essential differcnce.25 This problematic paradigm is traced here in Susan Hayward's essay on Chocolat, Nicholas Cull's analysis of Gunga Din, Graham Dawson's reading of Lawrence of Arabia, and Joseph Bristow's exploration of the rela tionship between E.M. Forster's autobiographical representation of his Egyptian lover, and the mixed race union in the author's late short story 'The Other Boat'. Gargi Bhattacharya's polemical essay ironizes and d e flates the power of the white he terosexual masculine in the late twentie th century by revealing its decaying and impotent image as constructed in the eye of its other: the ' Mahogany Princess'. Europeans co uld rationalize their invasion and conquest of Africa, the Americas, Asia and the Caribbean as missions civliisatrices designed to bring th e ' light' of Christianity to 'benighted ' peoples by replacing their cultural systems with European ones, to era se difference, and create 'Empires of th e self-same'. 26 Of course, n o matter what the success of cultural assimilation, the colonized would always be marked by race, a distinction that, within the imperial cosmology, perpetuated the perceived n eed for 'w hite fathers ' to administer the lands and resources of ' dark children'. Imperialism 's White Homosodal Landscape The martial and hierarchical terrain of imperialism is marked by white homosocial codes. In th e case of the British army and e mpire, a raciall y homogeneous community (albeit one stratified by class and marked by region) of m en in partial isola tion from white women form strong homosocial bond s. Paradoxically, the pote ntial for ho mosexual te nsion threatens the very ideal of ruling he te rosexual masculinity that facilitates the formation of those bonds. These tensions are investigated here in my essay on Timothy Findley's The Wars, and in contributions from Joseph Bristow, Christopher Lane, Andrew Michael Roberts, and Alan Williams. In turn homosocial relations, as Bristow, Cull, Lane and Roberts observe, are frequently represented as threatened by the presence of women. Diana Brydon's essay delineates a correlation between the imperial narrative of Conrad'., Heart of Darknes.'i and the malignant homosocial world of Timothy Findley's Club of Men in Headhunter. The legacy of nineteenth-century Canadian colonial masculinity, Brydon argues is vis1ted upon late twentieth-century Toronto in the form of a corporate masculinity. Contributions from Peter West and Brian Matthews supplement the fictional and legendary representations of imperialism and masculinity hitherto discussed. West provides a history of male socialization in one colonial Australian town , while Matthews' autobiographical essay moves away from the theoretical to reflect on the lived experience of becoming a 'bloke' in the Australia of the last half-century. This book contributes to understandings of the relationships between masculimty and imperialism, and the ramifications of these relationships for men and women. Formations of masculinity in the metropole are considered in relation to how these formations translate to the emptre and onto the colonized. The anthology traces imperial and colonial formations of masculinity in th e ancient world, twentieth­ century Africa, Australia, Canada, l:.ngland and India, as well as nineteenth-century America and England. NOTES Greek & Roman Hercules: Moments in Pre-Historical Imperialism MATTHEW FOX My title has a double meaning; Hercules as a figure representing imperialism both as a pre-historic forerunner for the subjects of imperial Rome themselves, and as a point of pre-historic reference for this collection. The re is a danger in contributing an essay on classical material to a collection of studies of the contemporary world; a danger that the specificity of ancient society will be passed over in the urge to find similarities, or worse, to find origins and causes. However, it is a danger that can be productive, in that a recognition of similarity can restrain an unjustified sense of the uniqueness of modern conditions. And for the classicist to look at the configurations of ancient empire from a modern perspective is to look at an area traditionally characterized by its political irrelevance, and to find new possibilities in the details of how different imperial subjects related to each oth er. This paper will look at Hercules as the mythical founding figure of the Roman empire, in two very different accounts of his presence in pre­ historic Rome. In o ne, Hercules acts as the bearer of an ideal civilization; in the other, h e boasts of his credentials as a woman. In both accounts, the figure of Hercules can be read as the focus for conflicting interpretations of maleness, and these interpretations are themselves part of a larger discourse concerning the role of the citizen or subject within an imperial context. But first some historical background. My two texts, Dionysius of Halicarnassus' Roman Antiquities and poem 4.11 of Propertius, come from the beginning of the Roman empire; empire in the sense of the rule of the emperor, in this case Augustus. Augustus, however, acceded to a realm that already included most of the Mediterranean world, since the expansion of the city of Rome to world rule had already been underway for several centuries. In terms of augmenting the empire with new territories, Augustus was not as active as some of his fore-runners, the generals at the heads of the republican armies. However, together with his remarkable achievements on the constitutional front, supplanting an oligarchic democracy with Matthew Fox permanent rule by one man, Augustus did effect great changes in the way in which the Roman empire carne to be perceived and understood. There had been sporadic indications throughout the course of Rome's expansion that her conquests required consolidation in the form of a new understanding of the justice of Rome's position in the world. Both in historical and literary works which propagated comprehension of Rome's rule, and in religious institutions which integrated its celebration among Rome's new subjects, Rome laid a reasonable basis for a stable imperial future. The Greek historian Polybius is the most significant apologist for the increase of Roman power, but even earlier, a Roman, Fabius Pictor, had written a history of Rome in Greek, intending thereby to explain and justify to her new subjects how Rome had reached her present prominence. 2 As well as these appeals to a small, literate audience, even if it was the elite-in-power, Rome's growth was accompanied by a growth in cults of the goddess Roma and similar institutions, which gave a focus in Rome's new communities for the profitable exercise of loyalty to central authority. Under Augustus, these two strands, the religious, and the literary/ideological were brought more closely together. Veneration of the person of the emperor became enhanced by a sense of the inevitable and divinely pre-ordained role of Rome in the world, both in Rome's provinces, and in the capital itself. In Virgil's Aeneid the nexus of an imperial presence, territorial expansion, and divine destiny fulfilled find their most subtle and wide­ ranging expression, in a work of unparalleled influence on other forms of ideologically-loaded representation. Ideas which we encounter in isolation on monuments or in the work of other poets gain in their breadth of significance by virtue of the existence of the Aeneid, which functions as the expression of Roman imperial ideology in its fullest form, and as a repository of significance from which all other descriptions of Rome inevitably derive a greatly enhanced language of symbols and ideas. Perhaps the most significant peculiarity of the Roman way of representing empire is its aetiological tendency. In common with much other ancient thought, the definition of empire itself was made by reference to an origin or a cause. You would not ask 'what is the Roman empire like?', but rather, 'what caused the Roman empire?', and thereby acquire an understanding of its character. So the origins of the city of Rome became a vital part of imperial ideology. For the opponents of empire, Rome's founders were barbarian shepherds, Rome's rule the manifestation of the randomness of the caprice of Fortune.3 More commonly, at least in the sources which have survived, the foundation and early history of Rome demonstrate and guarantee the virtue and wisdom which is characteristic of the whole history of Rome, from the beginnings to the present day. In this discourse, it is difficult to make clear demarcations between history and myth, and Creek &-Roman Hercules. Moments m Pre-!listoncal!mperialism indeed, important not to. But it should not be forgotten that for the Romans and the1r subjects, history was the dominant mode of explaming, and thus of understanding, the nature of Rome's empire. Hera des It would be an immense task to describe the multitude of manifestations which the figure of Hercules undergoes, and to give an introduction to the figure in th~ same manner as I have introduced the histoncal context would be incompatible with how l understand both !lercules and ancient myths m general. To prioritize any one representation of Hercules over another, or to suggest that any particular representation IS more true to tradition or to the real myth, IS to misunderstand the important fact that myths live only in their re­ presentations, and that to interpret a myth necessitates looking at its representational context. Perhaps particularly with Hercules, in Greek Heracles, versatility is a defining feature, and if we are to chart the significance of particular representations of him, 1t wtll be an encumbrance to thmk in terms of origmal meanings or fixed identity. So the only mtroduction I shall make will be to point out that both Heracles and Hercules were very popular, had a long history, and could take on a wide variety of roles and characteristics. 4 From this multitude one episode had special significance in imperial Rome: the arrival of Hercules in Italy on his return journey from Spain, where he had stolen the cattle of the triple headed monster Geryon, and his hattie with Cacus over the cattle on the Palatine hill. The story was an old one, appearing at least as early as the fifth century B.C.E,~ but gained in popularity in the early empire, perhaps as a result of takmg a central position m book 8 of the Aeneid, where Cacus is depicted as a fire-breathing monster. The first narrative I shall present g1ves us Heracles as a pre-historic civilizer. It comes from the Roman Anh'quities of Dionysius of I lalicarnassus, a Greek rhetorician and historian, who came to work in Rome shortly after Augustus had decisively installed himself as head of the Roman state. 6 Oionysius' subject matter is the origms and early history of the Romans. H1s h1story ends at the point at which Polybius begins, and he clearly has the same aim, of mediating the Roman empire to its Greek subjects. Polybius' stress on autopsy in historical writing gives his work a heavy bias towards contemporary events. Dionysius, on the other hand, employs a variety of techniques to press mythical material into service. He goes back as far in time as he can to demonstrate the character and virtue of Roman rule. Indeed, his trump card in making Roman supremacy acceptable to a Greek readership is the claim that the earliest inhabitants of Italy were colonists from Greece. His zeal to reconcile his Greek readers to the virtues of Roman rule thus leads him PETER WEST S o n s o f t h e Empire: H o w Boys Became M e n i n o n e Australian T o w n , 1900-1920 As well as being the main actors of war, men have also been the main victims R.W. ConneiP This article based on a project on becoming a man, in one town, Penrith (about which more later), started as an oral history of Penrith. Earlier, I had studied another major centre in Western Sydney, the settle ment of Parramatta2. When I learnt that there was another major project based on a women's history of Penrith, I decided to take the unexplored territory of men's history. In short, I wanted to ask what it means to be a man - and how that has changed this century. As I examined newspapers and other sources, I became caught up in the men's movement and began re-examining my own life as a man, just as feminist friends were doing with their lives as women. I began to look at history in a new light. I recall the day I read, in the Australian National University's Library catalogue; 'for men, see sex'. That comment said a lot about how we expect men to behave. Oral history is always a history based on people who volunteer to talk. In the period 1900 to 1920, there were no volunteers. A search of nursing homes produced very few men at all- for men die earlier than women, on average. No man was found who grew up before the twenties. So the project had to rely on written sources, primarily the Nepean Times. This newspaper was a vital way in which a small town found out about crop prices, and all kinds of events: local, natio nal and international. It also enabled people to keep a check on other people's misdeeds. It was unfortunate that nobody survived from the early period to interview; but a historian, however brilliant, cannot interview the dead. As data emerged, it was sorted by themes: Fathers, Being a Boy, Being Different, Men and Their Relationships to Women. I believe I am taking part in a personal exploration of masculinity. An acknowledged part of the process is my own being as a father, and as a man engaged in current debates about gender issues.3 Every man - and woman - makes history in his or her own image. 4 The Town The research site was a town called Peruith, apparently after a town in England situated in a similar terrain on the river near the mountains in Cumberland.' Its appea rance was clearly described by Miles Franklin, a well-known Australian female author: a few lackadaisical larrikins upheld occasional corner posts; dogs conducted municipal meetings here and there; the ugliness of the horses tied to the street posts, where they baked in the sun while their riders guzzled in the prolific ' pubs', bespoke a farming rather than a grazing district; and the streets had the distinction of being the most deplorably dirty and untended I have seen.6 Peruith was a railway town. It had been a set of farms scattered near the river, settled by families from the British Isles . The railway allowed residents to travel 50 kilometres east to the metropolis of Sydney. And it brought cattle from the vast western plains to cattleyards near Peruith. Boys grew up wanting to work on the railways, preferably driving a locomotive.7 Most boys left school after a primary education to work, generally on the railway or on the many farms which surrounded the town of about 2,500. In time, the town became a city. After the second world war it expanded with immigration and natural population growth, along with Australia's population as a whole. It is now one of two main centres in Western Sydney. This region contains one-twelfth of the population of Australia . Peruith is the home of the Mighty Panthers, who won the Rugby League Grand Final in 1991. It also contains the University of Western Sydney, created in 1989 to spread over a number of sites scattered across the region. Many residents seem to think the first achievement more important than the second. Boys and Empire Penrith boys grew up as proud sons of the mighty British Empire. The Commonwealth of Australia had begun in 1901, but it was at first a weak form of government. State Governments remained strong, with the most powerful being New South Wales and Victoria . In many ways, the mos t important connections were with England. Documents and newspapers of the period are full of affectionate references to l:.ngland, sometimes called the Old Country, or simply 'Home' .8 Much of the school day was spent reminding Penrith boys how lucky they were to grow up as sons of one of the greatest Empires the world had ever seen. In their classrooms, children looked at a map of the British Empire spread across the world. They were proudly told that it was an Empire on which the sun never set. Then there was Empire Day. This was a day set aside from 1905 onwards for children to gather toge ther to show their loyalty and appreciation for the Mother Country. Children sang 'The Englishmen', 'Auld Lang Syne', 'Dear Little Shamrock', and ' Rule Britannia ', all of which reinforced the boys' determination to be ready to serve their Empire and their King. Religion also encouraged this devotion to the Empire. For instance, at the Empire Day service in 1909 the Rev . 0. Jones reminded the children that 'if they believed in God they would sustain the Empire'. Even an advertisement for the Dreadnought Fund played on this need to be loyal subjects to show our appreciation for the privileges and freedom we enjoy in this su nny land of Australia ... freedom given to us because of England's supremacy on the seas 9 This constant emphasis on boys putting their masculinity in the service of the Empire would have brought before all boys the glorious life of the soldier or sailor willing to fight for England whenever the need arose. War: August 1914 Thus when war broke out in August, 1914, the foundations for boys' enrollment as soldiers were already laid. Local newspapers carried news of a Recruiting Campaign by running an advertisement which proclaimed '50,000 Troops Wanted -BE ONE OF THEM'. The speeches and newspaper editorials played on the themes of the bonds of Empire and the scarlet thread of kinship . Young men were urged to be a man by fighting for hearth and home. A popular song ran Rally round the banner of your country Take the field with brothers o'er the foam. On land or sea, where ever you be Keep your eye on Liberty. But England, home and Beauty Have no cause to fear. Should Auld acquaintance be forgot? No! No! No! No! No! Australia will be there Australia will be there.10 Young men who volunteered were highly praised . Masculinity was defined in terms of being the man the Empire needed, as we can see from this example: Private Reg McLean, who is in his twentieth year, is a typically athletic, valiant young Australian of the true Gallipoli standard ... who can be rehed upon to do his part valiantly against the foe ... in vindication of the principles of Human Liberty which are those of the Empire.11 Men like this were good Australian boys, loyal to their wives and children, who came to aid brother Britons. Others were condemned as shirkers or poor types of men . Be a man m the desired way, or you ' re not a man at all, the propaganda seemed to say. There were mcmy 'sold1ers' send-offs' described in great detail in attempts to coax more men to join up. Meanwhile, younger boys were not forgotten. The Boy Scouts movement helped to teach boys discipline through a military-style operation, particularly when participating in attack and defence games while camping. There was a constant reminder that England was the head of the glorious E:.mpire, and boys must always be ready to defend her cause. Brothers, fathers, and uncles away at the war would have only served to heighten this awareness. Several times the Nepean Times recorded the 'Unveiling of Memorial Tablets and Honor Rolls' by relatives of fallen soldiers. On 23 June 1917 the Times details the unveiling of a memorial tablet dedicated to the memory of the late Signaller A. Starling. The Rev. J.Tarn said of Signaller Starling he fought hts way through life, and though his career had been cut short in his youth, he has, neverthele~s. won through with honor, distinction and glory In hts youth, both at home and at school he was a pattern of neatness, gentleness and honor. As a comrade he was ever courteous, chtvalrous and loyal to hts mates ... hts actions were brave, firm and decisive ... a real patriot all the elements of goodness, greatness and heroism were well mixed in him.12 This description of courteous and chivalrous masculinity almost sounds medieval in compar1son with the impoverished 'action heroes' portrayed by Schwarzenegger and van Damme on television and movie screens today. By praising such a fallen hero, authorities hoped other men would crowd in to take his place. But as more and more were injured, died, or occasionally came home with venereal disease, there were fewer and fewer Australians willing to volunteer. The authorities then decided to use force. The national government under Prime Minister Billy Hughes put two conscription referenda to the people, but they were defeated. Penrith voted against both. In a town like Penrith, men were needed on farms. A family which had sent one or two boys to the war could not afford to lose another. And so people began to question whether the town ought to sacrifice all its finest young men on the altar of the British Empire. Problem Boys Penrith's civic leaders expected that males of any age should play a role in running the family farm and upholding community standards. But some boys failed to live up to these stern expectations of masculinity. The local paper printed several articles in 1909 and 1910 about the problems of youth. It was indignant when boys got drunk, played tricks on shopkeepers or festooned a bridge with toilet paper. Sir George Reid's 'manful protest against the undue devotion of Young Australia to sport' was noted on 22 january 1910. Sir George wanted boys to play sport, rather than standing on the sidelines and barracking, or yelling encouragement and boyish abuse: Muscular strength and physical address are invaluable endowments if worthily employed and directed. But everything depends on the 'if. Moreover, it is difficult to see how even muscular strength or physical address are promoted by ' barracking' at a football or cricket or boxing match; and for one who plays or wrestles or boxes, there are hundreds who are stmply limp and placid, though perhaps n01sy, spectators. Devotion to mere pastime, when worthier work ts called for, 1s bad enough. But merely to gaze at the pastime of others is a still lower depth of degeneracy. 13 Sir George did not like boys who were limp and placid. Perhaps like many similar comments this would be interpreted by some modern readers as urging boys on to manic displays of heterosexuality. Unfortunately Sir George did not take his own advice, as so often happens with these types who exhort young people to do this and that. Indeed, one historian records Sir George as memorable for his fatness . On one occasion he lifted his vast stomach onto a balcony rail for support, probably on the upper storey of a country pub, often used for political meetings. A member of the crowd yelled 'What are you going to call it, George?'. He replied: If it's a boy, I'll call it after myself. If it's a girl, I' ll call it Victoria, after our queen. But if, as I strongly suspect, it's only piss and wind, I'll call it after you.14 People spent a lot of time trying to make boys conform to their ideal of good sons of the Empire. In June, 1902 an article appeared in the Times, complaining of what boys did . Unfortunately, ' a harmful custom of sitting at street-corners, spitting and talking without object, except to kill time', was becomirlg apparent, resulting in 'mere lads, fresh from school' becoming 'careless in habit and speech, forsaking study ... classed as larrikins, ultimately becoming drunken and dissolute'. It would have been more profitable if these lads had spent this time in a more 'suitable place with dumbells or Indian clubs'. Like Sir George Reid, the author wanted strong boys who could be useful to the Empire in time of attack. The local paper carried regular reports of young men being charged with drunk and/or disorderly conduct. In June, 1917, two youths, 17 years and 18 years respectively, 'were charged with having used indecent language within the hearing of persons passing by in Queen Sons of the Empire: How Bo_rs Became Men in one Australian Town Street', while a 21 year old was charged w1th being drunk. 1 ~ In 1917 four young fellows were charged with having conducted themselves in a riotous manner in High Street, Penrith on the evening of 8 March 1917. The defendants 'were in town for the show and indulged in a bit of skylarking in High Street ... growing a bit too boisterous. 16 However, the semi-indulgent tone suggests that boys would always be boys. It might have been more upset if the boys had been effeminate. Males and Females Women in this era were seen mainly as spouses, wives and mothers. Girls and boys lived very different lives. A later generation still said 'Girls worked inside, boys worked outside'. An athletic sports gathering was held in Perry's Paddock at St. Mary's on Saturday afternoon, 3rd March, in aid of the Catholic church: '500 or more persons were present, and a real "bonsar" day's sport and competition resulted'. Men's sports on Boxing Day, 1905 were cricket, cycling, buck jumping, high jump and throwing at the wicket. Women and children were given less energetic sports to play: they guessed the weight of the pig, stepped 100 yards or took part in floral exhibitionsY Many races for boys and girls were held as well as 'Catching Rooster' and 'Throwing Sheaf of Hay' presumably for the men. Most sports days were affiliated with a local hotel where the sportsmen drank. The two sexes sometimes came together for a dance in the evening18 Miles Franklin's novel suggests that women still wanted men to be muscular. This female author wrote under a man's name. She suggests that muscular men make the best husbands in a comment on 'muscle' which seems to talk about a man's biceps and triceps, but might apply also to his penis: the wholesome athlete is generally more loveable [than an intellectual]. When his brawn is coupled with a good d isposition, he sees in woman a fragile flower that he longs to protect. His muscle is an engine a woman can unfailingly command for her own purposes, whereas brilliance of intellect ... is too liable to be too sharply turned against wives, mothers and daughters to be a comfortable piece of domestic furniture. On the other hand, the athlete may have the muscles of a Samson, and yet, being slow of thought and speech, be utte rly defenceless in a woman's hands. He cannot bring brute force to vanquish a creature so delicate lY Today there would be a different view taken of bruta l, muscular husbands, with references to domestic violence. Franklin was a feminist and wanted votes for women, but seems to admire men for their muscularity, and gives some erotic descriptions of the hero, Ernest, with his strong, beefy arms and powerful back. And in contrast, she portrays girls as soft, passive, almost weak. But there were some who asked if being a pretty wife was all a girl could be. In 1908 the Times THE UGHT THAT FAILf.D. c:@=>'-.JIO:::.":..'M.i...VOTE NO. F•tJM,CMU~RTI![r4u,cS.oc...,T""'- .._ c.t11a Plate XI: Claude Marquet (Worker c.1916) published an article as to 'Why Don't the Men Propose?' The writer believed it was one of the signs of the times in that there wasan apparent superiority of the female sex. fhe girls arc beating the boys in industry, in application, in good behaviour, and in general reliability There are exceptions, of course, but they only prove the rule. Why should a self­ respectmg g1rl, who is able to earn her own hving, take up with a young fellow who shnks of tobacco, whose language IS bad, who seems to have no thought beyond h1s own diVersiOns wh1ch range from p1ckmg the winners through every fashionable fad. The article suggested that there was an artificial standard of living which was as much the fault of the girls as the boys. 'If the girls can't have a home of a certain style they prefer to remain single'. 20 However, most sources suggest that people wanted women to complement strong men's muscularity, and support their role in the war. In the war years, women were enrolled in 'Win-the War-Leagues' and the Red Cross. There were women in the 'Would-to-Godder<;' . 'Wou ld to God I were a man' and 'Would to God I were Strong E:.nough to Fight' were the slogan5 of this group. 21 Some women sent white feathers to men who would not enlist. There was the strong suggestion that girls would only consort with a man who would do his duty for King and Empire. In sum, males of this time grew up in a society in which boys lived in one sphere, girls in another. Males were expected to be tough and physically strong; a male who did not test his strength was condemned by the usual array of do-gooders. In the war years these people were reinforced by urgers and ' Would-to-Gadders'. Being a man meant you had to protect your loved ones and the Empire by going off - perhaps to get killed. Women watched their loved ones go, and sometimes gave them a white feather if they refused. They had the horrors of childbirth in a local hospital to contend with. Looking back, it seems amazing that so few men did refuse to die for loved ones and Empire. But Penrith was a place tightly bound by kinship and religion as well as affection for the Empire. Conclusions This essay has given us some glimpses of how boys became men in the period around the First World War in Penrith. It appears that males grew up with a strong sense of responsibility. They had to turn over soil, tend crops, and feed animals. Some had the privilege of working on the railway, which seems to have been an envied occupation, particularly for the locomotive engine-drivers. Boys were expected to care for mothers, other family members, and farm animals. When war came, there was little questioning of the idea that they would protect loved ones in the Empire's hour of need. We could call this a dominant or sanctioned masculinity. Men were liked if they were strong and muscular and took charge in a difficult situation. These were the men who would come to aid Mother England in her hour of need. As Bob Connell suggests in the quotation at the head of this article, some men might commit war atrocities, but many men also died on the battlefield. Men were both the majority of the killers and the killed. And men had little room to move - they had to go to war or face all the horrors that society could throw at them for daring to resist. It seems very few did. There is another thread running through the sources studied, especially the newspaper. Boys played tricks, got drunk, acted as larrikins and scallywags. There seems to have been more tolerance of boys' misbehaviour than of girls. The phrase 'boys will be boys' captures something of the feeling expressed . The people of the town seem to have clucked their tongues, but were resigned to the idea that boys did get up to tricks. They received a good deal of education based on the premise that they were lucky to be sons of the mighty British Empire. In time these boys, too, would grow up to become her soldiers and sailors. The biggest question has not been answered. What of the males who did not subscribe to dominant forms of masculinity? What did a male do if he found himself attracted to other men, or if he did not want to spend his weekend playing sport? There are no answers in the newspaper, nor in documents examined. We have to assume that there were men who for various reasons did not subscribe to dominant forms of masculinity. We might imagine that they could have become priests or clergymen. Perhaps they lived out their lives as bachelors attached to one of the family groups in the town. Some must have left for Sydney, where sources in a later era point to undercover sex among males. But history has never been good at describing the lives of people who live unobtrusively. Perhaps the answers might appear when masculinity becomes a more respectable field of study. NOTES The data for this project was collected with ass1stance from Andrew Martm, Sandra Rutter, and Kirsten West. Advice and encouragemen t were prov1ded by Gar Jones and Jim Power. Plate Xff· Blokes on the Bar Room Wall BRIAN MATTHEWS Casually Over t h e Balcony: Memoirs o f a Bloke It comes on to September of 1989 and Arthur's cows are out on the road again. I' ve been looking after a dozen of them on my property (fifty acres of heavily mortgaged stringy bark scrub surrounding about ten acres of undulating pasture), but with the mellower airs of spring, the lushness underfoot, and the roaring of randy bulls each night in the perfumed darkness, two of these beasts have turned maverick and won't stay behind the wire. It's very tiresome trying to make cattle go where you want them to. They are at least as dopey as sheep and, while capable of thundering sprints which reduce everything in their path to mulch and fractures, they resort at other times to a dogged four-square immobility, a h eavy­ lidded ruminating recalcitrance which neither well-aimed clods of dirt, alliterative obscenities nor the flailing of battered Akubras will easily overcome. Once before I was reduced to pursuing them at Grand Prix pace down the track in my rattling old ute, heading off their lumbering charge and then high-speeding them back to my gate which they Light­ Brigaded past with eyes red and mouths frothing and so I chased them down the other way. This time it's all fairly routine. The two of them are sleepily swathed in languid camouflages of roadside banksia, half-grown wattle and native ti-tree. Their sleek, generous flanks are tight with the morning's illicit grazing. It is merely a passing and tolerable irritation for them when I insist that they lollygaggle home; so moodily back we all go, through the white-painted post and rail gateway where, having shooed them back down the paddock, I close off the entrance with a temporary gate. This is mostly for show because, while I have stopped their access to the road, only more robust and extensive fencing will keep them from random sallies into the ' home' paddock where they prune the roses, lean on and snap the young fruit trees, juice the burgeoning vegetables under dogmatic hooves, and shit everywhere with that lava spreading plop for which they are famous in joke and story. As a city boy from the backstreets of Melbourne's West St Kilda, I brought no knowledge, experience or expertise whatsoever when I walked on to this wild tract of fragrant, flower-strewn wilderness twenty odd years ago ('O ne for the Conservationist' the advertisement had promised, with as much of a forlorn, defeated sigh as real estate prose can muster). It was beautiful, peaceful and cheap. It was a mad thing to do, buying this property, and ensuing experiences with house­ building, neighbours' sheep and cattle, our sheep and cattle, sagging fences, disputed boundaries, blackberries, African Daisy, marauding foxes, garden-razing goats, cataclysmic storms, the worst drought on record followed by the worst fires in living memory all underlined the original luna cy. While keeping my day job, f worked on that farm till I had muscles of iron and skin like bark; my decrepit yellow ute could be seen waiting for me in the pub carpark on luminous Saturday evenings in summer while I, still grimy from the day's fencing or digging or woodcutting, yarned with the other rurals in the bar. When a shearer I'd hired looked me up and down and said, 'Well Brian, whadya do for a livin' , mate? I've got you down as a long distance truck-driver', I felt I'd crossed some critical divide, and I was glad. ll Talk about down among the women. I grew up among droves of them, my mother and grandmother in the bustling foreground of a large, volatile group which in later life I would characterise as ' my innumerable aunts'. They weren't really aunts, not all of them anyway. There was my Aunty Jean - slim, dark and flighty - who was a real aunt, be ing my mo ther's younger sister. But the n there was Aunt Bet and Aunty Tilly and Aunt Vina and Aunty Annie and Aunty Pat and Aunt Kitty and Aunty Letty and many others. All of these women were under the iron rule of two formidable matriarchs - Annie Murray, my maternal grandmother, and Agatha Cavanagh, her long-time best friend. They'd all grown up in Glasgow's infamous Gorbals where Annie, an Irish migrant who'd gone over to Scotland to marry, and Agatha were left to fend off the dangerous world after losing their young husbands in the trenches. With stunning resilience, they gathered up their few possessions and the nine fatherless children they had between them and went steerage on the SS Balranald to Australia. Landing in Melbourne, they homed in on the cheapest re nts and set up a little e nclave in west St Kilda, a gangster ridden, smokey and furtive purlieu that seems in memory to have been always foggy and half-lit just as, on its boundary, the Esplanade and St Kilda beach seem always smiling with sun and blue sky and Port Phillip Bay's dazzle of flat water. f was a small boy when all the males in this burgeoning Caledonian corner were suddenly drawn back into that same troubled Europe that Annie and Agatha had fled. Along with them soon after went my Australian father - to New Guinea. And there I was, among the women, a Feather Boa of aunts. They cleaned offices, pulled beer, worked in the Collingwood boot factory, sewed, mended, served behind counters, polished and scrubbed. They would gather for a drink and a smoke toge ther in Annie's Havelock Street house, or at Agatha's in nearby Clive Street; they laughed a lot and alternated between spoiling me and treating me, unwittingly, like a flunkey. I remember once, when I was about six or seven, confiding to a friend who Jived next door that I'd been 'born to run messages'. The shops were close by - Rollason's for milk, bread, smokes (and a bet on the SP) and Armstrong's ('the wee grocer's', as my Grandmother called him in delicate reference to his hunchbacked stature) for just about everything else. Up the other way, to Ackland Street and the beach were the butchers and the Village Belle market - far more interesting but forbidden territory for me until much later. I was taught by nuns when I started school, had no brothers and, effectively, no father. I saw few men and many of those I did see- the drunks around the Prince Charles on the corner of Fawkner Street scared me witless with their shouting, swearing and random violence. I followed the sad misfortunes of the St Kilda Football Club in the Victorian Football League, but only from afar, having no one to take me even to their home games at the Junction Oval. Mr Armstrong, the 'wee grocer', whom I got to know well because I ran so many errands, was always threatening to take me to see Brighton in the Association, but somehow we never made the trip. I felt different, hard done by and - because I was a loudly reluctant messenger boy frequently chastised for carelessness - I accepted I was irredeemably 'bad'. I was embarrassed by the swarms of women who seemed to be always buzzing round me. Other kids had their fathers more or less at home. Dennis O'Reilly's father was in a ' reserved occupation'; Keith Carter's was a drunk, Ray Waller's was in and out of gaol and the Finnegan boys' father was a journalist. There was not much cachet in having a father and uncles at the war because you didn't know where they were or what they were doing; mail was infrequent and the thud of a battered, much-travelled letter into the tin letterbox on the gate was an occasion not for joy but tense anxiety followed by tearful relief. These misanthropies were exacerbated by my growing conviction that, because I had temporarily no father, or anyone who could possibly stand in for him (even if we had gone to see Brighton in the Association, Mr Armstrong would never have done, he was too small and too strange looking), I was somehow not as tough as the other kids. When we played footy in the street with a 'ball' made of old socks or tightly rolled newspaper held together by elastic bands, I seemed to be more easily hurt than the others. I would crash to the ground or reel into the cobbled gutter or become espaliered on the Millers' front fence as the momentum of various ill-judged lunges, dashes and leaps carried me on to disaster. In summer, when our activities switched from kicking up and down the road to bowling as fast as we could across it, J would get hit in the testicles or on the nose - the latter producing merely lots of blood, the former an agony undreamt of in our philosophies. Worse, I would often cry after such encounters. I see now that some of my more bizarre juvenile exploits were efforts to assert in some other, more manageable way, the emotionless grittiness the street required . One day when the great Joe Louis was in the news, I boasted to Ray Waller, as we dawdled outside Mrs Murphy's Penny Library in Grey Street, that I was tough enough to take any blow anyone could dish out. 'Go on,' I said, 'hit me on the jaw . It won't hurt me. Go on!' Waller, who was as tough as a jumps jockey's bum, obliged with a smashing thump that knocked me over and relieved my lopsided jaw of a couple of baby teeth. Another time, discovering that to jump off the high balcony at school was something even Waller jibbed at, I sauntered casually up to the rail and leapt over it. When I hit the ground with both feet, my legs doubled like lorry springs and rebounded me into a spiral of continuous somersaults that seemed to go on forever. I should have broken both ankles at least; but in fact f came eventually to sprawling rest and had the presence of mind to dust myself off with a great show of nonchalance, sensing as I did so the shrill note of sensation rising through the schoolyard babble. In the shelter shed at the other end of that pokey school playground behind Sacred Heart School, St Kilda, I fought Dennis O'Gorman, a rangey ten year old who, however, I intuitively knew was all talk and bluster. This fixture was precipitated by a clash in the yard at playtime and arranged during the day's lessons by means of clandestine notes, significant glances and sibilant whispers. As always, I went into the contest with such exaggerated determination and displays of force and will that f was bea ting the shit out of O'Gorman before his superior reach could avail him anything. Being basically a crybaby (it took one to know one), O'Gorman, bloodied and grazed, was capitulating early in the contest (though he landed two blows which respectively split my lip and blacked my eye) when his seconds, with a mastery of bureaucratic authoritarianism which I resent every time I think of it, had the fight stopped and a draw declared before my more plebeian backers realised what was happening. This all sounds very sturdy but I was crying at the end and shaking before it started. Ray Waller, conversely, shaped up to such encounters, which were much more numerous in his way of life, with a genuine insouciance which I envied, aspired to but would never attain. /Why do you always cry/ Brian Matthews?' This question was addressed to me by a girl in my class at Sacred Heart who even then I could see was hard and tartish. I can't remember her name and I have no idea what became of her, but it was a good question. She asked it just after I'd been hit square in the right eye by a rock-hard, ink-soaked paper pellet fired from a shanghai across the classroom, so maybe even she wouldn't have been so stoic if hers had been the eye in question. The pellet wasn't actually intended for me, but I'd turned round in my front desk to survey the pandemonium induced by the temporary absence of nuns and was characteristically just in time to cop the winging missile at the height of its velocity. It hurt like hell and I felt surely blinded. Possibly a glass eye looming. Nothing I could do leaping publicly from no matter what heights, pounding no matter which better-equipped opponents, jumping from no matter what speeding trams - could apparently obscure the truth unerringly apparent to the tactless and precocious eye of youth: I was a crybaby; there was something suspiciously, well, soft in there. About that tram: one day, Sister Mary Burkman deputed me to take a large, round biscuit tin full of unconsecrated hosts over to the convent on the Esplanade in Middle Park. She gave me the tram fare and off I went. On the tram, the conductor and one of his mates started teasing me. I was wearing my school blazer the breast pocket of which proclaimed, in heraldic mode, SHS for Sacred Heart School. 'What's that stand for?' asked the conductor, 'Sheila's High School?' You see! Somehow, he was on to me, instantly. I employed my usual physically exhibitionist method of countering reflections on my toughness. When the tram was approaching the convent stop, I jumped off with great bravado before it stopped. Long before it stopped, as it turned out, so that I went cartwheeling along the road while the biscuit tin, having survived a ricochet off the footplate, hit the tarmac and burst open like a grenade. Unconsecrated hosts, their original explosive momentum added to by a slick sea breeze, blew and wheeled and rolled over most of Middle Park. The conductor laughed and laughed and his mate, fascinated by my now revealed burden, said 'Those little buggers'd be bloody handy for cards, wouldn't they Bert!' I picked every last one of them up. The tram driver, though equally convulsed, graciously refrained from moving till I'd levered fifty or so out of the tramlines, thus avoiding blasphemy and eternal damnation. At secondary school I started inventing brothers. My two best friends both had an endless supply of brothers. It took me no time at all to realise that, at my school, it was a huge advantage to have had an older brother, or preferably several, come through before you. This was a sign not only of a possibly large Catholic family - a sure way to pre­ empt approval from a De La Salle Brother who'd never before set eyes on you - but also of a sort of male continuity and solidarity. I felt convinced then and I remain persuaded now that my inability to cite a brother or two was a severe drawback, a subversion of any chance I had to impress myself on that intensely male world. Though I could now endure as well as the toughest of my classmates and much better than some the hundreds of strappings that attended our efforts to master French and Latin vocabulary and geometric theorems and so on , I failed to make a rugged mark. Years among the women seemed to have placed an insignia on me as readily visible as the scarlet letter. So, to those who couldn' t possibly know the truth I started to represent myself as having from two to four brothers, depending on need and what I could get away with at the time. Gradually, it seemed to become less fraught. I turned out to be a more than handy cricketer, a pretty good footballer, later on, an excellent squash player, a finisher in five marathons, a part-time farmer who really did get his hands dirty. The need for conscious emphasis on physical attainment seemed to diminish; it was now coming naturally. A broad Australian accent, a capacity to mix as easily with the local farmers as with my academic colleagues and a penchant for old utes and fishing trips added the finishing touches to the picture I'd been trying to paint all my life. In the end, I went too far. Despite having a wide circle of women friends, I became known as an archetypal bloke. The truth, I have now decided, lies as so often somewhere wimpishly in the middle. I' m utterly at home in the world of men but I' m not tough. I'd rather not go out in the boat in rough weather and I don' t ever want to go too far, even in glassy calm. I'd run a mile rather than fight. When a commentator on my fiction and biography detected a ' strong feminine sensibility beneath the unmistakably male voice' , I was momentarily shocked. But she was right and I took to accepting such insights as compliments. What else can a bloke do? I am winding along the track home admiring glimpses of the distant Southern Ocean flickering through the lattice work of roadside scrub. I'm thinking about running out the irrigation pipes because the weather's warming up, and I'm pondering a lecture I have to write on Gissing's New Grub Street and tutorials I have to give on Patrick White, and whether or not I should apply for a job at the Australian Studies Centre in London. Round the last corner and -the narrow roadway is blocked by cows . Arthur's cows, looking as soulful and as loopy and as ponderous as ever. Nothing's changed. Or has it? NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS SUSAN BASSNEIT is Professor in the Centre for British and Comparative Cultural Studies at the University of Warwick She has published extensively on Comparative Literature, Translation Studies, Women's Theatre Studies and British Cultural Studies. Recent books include: Comparative Literature: A Critical introduction (Blackwell, 1993) and Three Tragic Actresses (CUP with ). Stokes and M. Booth, 1996). She has just edited the forthcoming Studying British Cultures for Routledge. GARGI BHATTACHARYYA is a lecturer in the Department of Cultural Studies at the University of Birmingham. jOSEPH BRJSTOW is Senior Lecturer in the Department of English at the Umversity of York, England, where he is also affiliated with the Centre for Women's Studies. During 1995-96, he is Senior External Research Fellow at the Stanford Humanities Center. His most recent book is Effeminate England: Homoerotic Writing after 1885 (Open University Press/Columbia University Press, 1995). He is currently at work on a full-length study of sexuality and Victorian poetry. DIANA BRYDON is Professor in the English department at the University of Guelph, Canada, has research interests in the fields of Canadian and postcolonial literatures, funded by grants from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (1992-95) and the B.C. Matthews Fellowship (1994). She has written Writing on Trial: introducing Timothy Findley's 'Famous Last Words ' (ECW Press, 1995), Decolonising Fictions (with Helen Tiffin; Dangaroo Press, 1992), Christina Stead (U.K. : Macmillan; U.S.A.: Barnes and Noble, 1987) has edited the Postcolonial issue of Essays on Canadian Writing (1995), and is currently writing a book on Timothy Findley for Twayne. She has served as editor of World l.iterature Written in English (1989-1993); research consultant and national Canadian editor for the Encydopaedia of Post-Colonial Literatures in English (1994); President of the Canadian Association of Commonwealth Literature and Language Studies (19891992); and Administrator of the Commonwealth Writers Prize (199 1;1992 ). NICHOLAS ). CULL is Lecturer in American Studies in the Department of American and Canadian Studies at the University of Birmingham. His articles on propaganda have appeared in The Historical journal of Film, Radio and Television, The journal of British Studies and Diplomacy and Statecraft. He is the author of Selling War: British Propaganda and Amen·can Neutrality in World War Two (Oxford University Press, 1995). GRAHAM DAWSON studied at the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, University of Birmingham, and is now Senior Lecturer in Literary and Cultural Studies at the University of Brighton. His book, Soldier Heroes: British Adventure, Empire and the Imagining of Masculinities (Routledge, 1994), integrates Kleinian psychoanalytic theories of phantasy and identification into a cultural history of imperial adventure narratives and their heroes. He is currently researching English and Irish cultural memories of 'the end of empire' and 'the Troubles' focusing on the fiction of William Trevor. MAITHEW FOX studied in Oxford and Berlin. He is Lecturer in Classics at the University of Birmingham. He IS the author of Roman Historical Myths (Oxford, 1996), and researches gender, rhetoric, and historiography. CHRISTOPHER E. GIITINGS is Lecturer in Canadian Studies in the Department of American and Canadian Studies at the University of Birmingham. He has published articles on postcolonialism and gender, and the cross-cultural dialogue between Canadian and Scottish literatures. Currently, he is preparing a study of alterity and the representation of nation in Canadian cinema for Routledge. BRIAN HARDING is Senior Lecturer and Head of the Department of American and Canadian Studies at the University of Birmingham. Tie is the author of American l.iterature in Context, II, 1830-1865 (1982), has edited Young Goodman Brown and Other Tales (1987) and The Scarlet Letter (1990) for the Oxford Umversity Press World's Classtcs senes, and the forthcoming Nathaniel 1/awthome: Cnt1cal Assessments (llelm Information) SUSAN IIAYWARD is Lecturer m f;rench Studies at the University of Btrmingham, U.K., with research mterests in gender, and the auteur genre in French cinema . She is the general editor of Routledge' s National Cinema series, and the author of French National Cinema (Routledge, 1993), and a forthcoming glossary of cinematic terms. PETER HUNT is Reader in English Literature in the School of English at the University of Wales, Cardiff. He has lectured on Children's Literature at over sixty umversities world-wide, and has written several novels . His academic works mclude An lntroduclion to Children 's Literature (Oxford, 1994), The Wind and the Willows: a Fragmented Arcadia (New York, 1994), Children 's Literature: An Illustrated History (Oxford, 1995). CHRISTOPHER LANE is Assistant Professor of English and Comparative Literature at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, and in 1995-96, a Mellon Fellow in the English Department at the University of Pennsylvania. He is author of The Ruling Passion: British Colonial Allegory and the Paradox of Homosexual Desire (Duke Universtty Press, 1995), and of essays in Raritan, ELH, Differences, Cultural Critique, Discourse, LIT, Contemporary Literature, Democratic Culture, Pro~L' Studies, Literaturc• and Psychology, American lltCTJture, Cnbque and The New Statesman and Society. lie has also contributed to the collecllons Writing India, 1757-1990 (Manchester Universtty Press, 1995) and flomose>.ua!ity and Psychoanalysis (Macmillan, 1995). JOliN MARTIN is Assistant Principal at Lawrence Hargrave School in Sydney, New South Wales, Australia . He gave the paper included in this collection at the Issues in Australian Childhood Conference at Queensland Museum in September 1993. He gave another paper ' Real Men Don't Read' at the First Australian Conference on Men's Issues m Sydney in December, 1993. His research interests mclude getting bovs to read, develo pmg empathy in boys and changing constructions of masculinity in Austrahan htstory . BRIAN MATTIIEWS is Professor of Australian Studies, London University, and Head of the Menzies Centre for Australian Studies. He was granted an Australian Council Writers Fellowship in 1989 and was Chair of the Literature Board of The Australian Council from 1990-92. He is currently on secondment for the five year duration of his London University contract. He is the author of many articles, essays and broadcasts on modern British literature and on Australian literature, culture, popular culture and sport. In 1988, his novel Louisa (Penguin, 1987), won The Victorian Premier's Award for Non-Fiction (The Nettie Palmer Prize); fhe NSW Premier's State Award for Literature; the Gold Medal of the Australian Literature Society; and was joint winner of the John Hetherington Bicentennial Prize for Biography. In 1989, Quickening and Other Stories (Penguin, 1989), was runner-up for The Steele Rudd Short Story Award. In 1994 he was appointed to a Personal Chair in English - the first ever to be awarded at Flinders University, Adelaide and in 1995 he was elected to Fellowship of the Australian Academy of The Humanities. BARBARA RASMUSSEN is a lecturer in English at the University of Birmingham, with research interests in theories of gender, and psychoanalysis. She has published on Alice James, Henry James, and Jane Austen . She is currently editing a collection of essays on Virginia Woolf's To the Lighthouse. ANDREW MICI IAEL ROBERTS is Lecturer in English at the University of Dundee, with research interests in modern and contemporary literature and gender theory. His publications include Conrad and Gender (Rodopi, 199 3) and The Novel (Bloomsbury, 1994 ). He is currently completing a book on Conrad and masculinity for Macmillan. PETER WEST is Senior Lecturer in Education at the University of Western Sydney­ Nepean in New South Wales, Australia. He wrote A History of Parramatta (Sydney: Kangaroo Press, 1990) . He is interested in educational and historical aspects of how boys become men . He writes and speaks about a wide range of men's issues in the newspapers and on television. He is currently writing a report on boys, sport and schooling called Wounded Warriors: Why Boys Are Turning from School to Sport (UWS Nepean, Sydney, 1996). ALAN F. WILLIAMS is a historical geographer with special interests in transport and Canada. He has been Head of the Department of American and Canadian Studies, and is currently Director of the Regional Centre of Canadian Studies, both in the University of Birmingham. He is author of a number of books and papers on northern regions, including Scandinavia (with B. Fullerton) and Father Baudoin's War. He has just completed john Cabot and Newfoundland: 500th Anniversary of the Discovery for the Historical Society of Newfoundland. This collection brings together seventeen critics from the fields of Classics, Cultural Studies, Film Studies, Geography, Historical Studies, and Literature to discuss the representation of masculinity. The collection contributes to understandings of the relationships between masculinity and imperialism, and the ramifications of these relationships for men and women. This issue traces imperial and colonial constructions of masculinity in the ancient world, twentieth­ century Africa, Australia, Canada, England, and India as well as nineteenth-century America and England. Formations of masculinity in the metropole are considered in relation to how these formations translate to the empire and onto the colonized. CONTRIBUTORS: Susan Bassnett, Gargi Bhattacharyya, Joseph Bristow Diana Brydon, Nicholas J. Cull, Graham Dawson, Matthew Fox Christopher E. Gittings, Brian Harding, Susan Hayward Peter Hunt, Christopher Lane, John Martin, Brian Matthews Barbara Rasmussen, Andrew Michael Roberts, Peter West Alan F. Williams Cover: 'Pieta' by Julie Burnett DANGAROO 04 > 1 Margaret Atwood , 'The Boys' Own Annual, 1911 ', Murder in the Dark (Toronto . Coach I louse Press, 1983 }, p. 11 All further references are to th1s edit1on and arc included in the text . 2. See The florizon History of the British Empire Vol . 2 , ed., Stephen W. Sears, (London and New York: McGraw -! Jill , 1973 ), p. 315 . 3. Michael W. Doyle , Empires (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1986 }, p. 45 . 4 Sec Graham Dawson , Soldier Heroes: British Adventure, and the Imagining of MasculmJfies (London · Routledge, 1994 ), p. 2 . 5. Anne McChntock , Imperial Leather Race, Gender and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest (London and New York: Routledge, 1995 }, p. 6 . 6. See Marina Warner , Monuments and Maidens: Allegory of the Female Form (London: Pan Books , 1987 }, Fig. 19 . 7. For a discussion of imperialism and the gendering of colomzed territory as female see McClintock , pp. 24 - 30 , p . 354 . 8. I am adopting Diana Brydon's reversal of settler-invader to invader-settler. Brydon reverses the term "to stress that the narrative of settlement in itself occludes and denies the prior act of invasion ." See Brydon, 'Introduction: Readmg Postcoloniahty , Readmg Canada', Fssavs on Canadian Writing 56 ( 1996 ), pp . 1 - 19 ( 16 -F) 9. See Bill Ashcroft , Gareth Griffiths and Helen f1ffin, /he Empire Writes B<~ck: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures (London: Routledge , 1989 ), p. 2 . 10. See Arun Mukherjee, ' Whose Post-Colonialism and Whose Postmodemism?' World Literatures Written in English 30.2 ( 1990 ), pp. 1 - 9 (p. 2). For further interrogations of how postcolonial signifies see: my essay, 'CaRada and Scotland: Conceptualizing "Postcolonial" Spaces' , Essays on Canadian Writing , 56 ( 1996 ), pp . 122 - 146 ; Linda Hutcheon, ' "Circling the Downspout of Empire"· Post-Colomalism and Postmodermsm' , Ariel20 , 4 ( 1989 ), pp. 149 - 175 ; Stephen Siemon, ' Unsetthng the Lmp1re· Res1stance rheory for the Second Wo rld' , World Literatures Wntten m English 30 , 2 ( 1990 ), pp 30 - 41 . 11 See Dawson p . 1 . 12. See Dawson, pp. 2 - 5 . 13. The Guardian, 7 June 1995 , pp . 2 . 2 - 2 .3. All further references are to this issue and are included in the text . 14. See Dawson , p. 24 . 15. R.W. Connell , Masculinities (Cambridge, U.K.: Polity Press, 1995 ), p. 213 . All further references are to this edition and are included m the text . 16. See Ench Fromm , ' The Method and Function of an Analytic Social Psychology', The Cns1s of Psych oanalysiS (Hammondsworth : Pengum, 1973 ), p . 158 . Qtd in Horrocks, p . 16 . Regardmg gender and myths see Roger Horrocks, Male Myths and Icons. Masculinity in Popular Culture (Basingstoke, U. K.: Macmillan , 1995 ), p. 20 . 17. See Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckman, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge ([ 1966 ]; Garden City, New York: Anchor Books/Doubleday and Co., 1967 ). 18. Peter Jackson and Jan Penrose , ' Introduction', Constructions of race, place and nation, eds. , Peter Jackson and Jan Penrose (London : UCL Press, 1993 ), pp . 1 - 23 (p. 2 ) . 19 See Candace West and Don H. Zimmerman , 'Domg Gender', The Social Construction of Gender , eds ., Judith Lorber and Susan A. Farrell , (Newbury Park: Sage in cooperation w1th Sociologists for Women m Society , 1991 ), pp . 13 - 37 (p. 13 ). 20. A. Fausto-Sterling, qtd . in Judith Lorber and Susan A . Farrell, ' Principles of Gender Construction', The Social Construction of Gender, eds ., Judith Lorber and Susan A. Farrell , pp. 7 - 11 (p. 7 ) . All further references are to this edition and are included in the text . 21. For a sustained discussion of sex as a discursive category, see Judith Butler , Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits ofSex(London: Routledge , 1993 ). 22. Sec Adnenne Rich, ' Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existe nce' , Signs: j ournal of Women in Culture and Society , 5 ( 1980 ), pp . 631 - 660 . 23. On Afncan men see McClintock , pp . 54 - 55 ; on Bengali men see Mrinalini Sinha's Colonial Masculinity . The 'manly Englishman ' and the 'effeminate Bengali' in the late nineteenth century (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995 ). 24. Frantz Fanon , Black Skin, White Masks, trans., Charles Lam Markmann (( 1952 ]; New York: Grove, 1967 ), p . 110 . 25. Diana Fuss , ' Interior Colonies: Frantz Fanon and the Politics of Identification' , diacritics 24 , 2 - 3 ( 1994 ), pp. 20 - 42 (p. 24 ). 26. See Christopher Lane's consideration of Britain's ' Empire of the Selfsame' in ' Passion' s "Cumulative Poison": Colonial Desire and Friendship in Kipling's Early Fiction' in this collection . 13. Walvin , op. cit., p. 252 14. Fortieth Report of the New South Wales Religious Tract Society lor the Year Ending Sept. 30 1862 . (Sydney: The Religious Tract Society ), p.7 M.L. 206 / 4 'The New South Wales Tract and Book Society is connected with the English and American Tract Societies, and many publications of the latter Society, are particularly suited for usefulness in the colony' . 15. K. Boyd, op. cit., p . 146 . 16. Richards , op. cit., p. 103 . 17. Ibid ., pp 104 - 105 . 18. ' Dan of Roper's Gully' , Young Australia (London: Pilgrim Press, 1902 - 3 ), pp. 29 - 31 . 19. J.M. MacKenzie , ' The Imperial Pioneer and Hunter and the British Masculine Stereotype in Late Victorian and Edwardian Times' , in Mangan & Walvin , pp 177 - 78 . 20. Richards , op. cit., p. 105 . 21. cited in Richards, op. cit, p. 92 . 22. 'Crooked Straight', The Australian Boys' Annual . (London: Amalgamated Press, 1927 ), p. 83 . 23. Hammond , op. cit., p. 245 . 24. Boyd , op. cit., p. 163 . 25. MacKenzie, op. cit., p. 193 . 26. Ibid ., p. 194 . 27. Boyd , op. cit., p . 146 . 28. Hammond , op. cit., p . 244 . 29. Ibid ., pp 245 - 253 . 30. ' Pilberry's Century' . The Australian Boys' Annual. (London: Cassel & Co. , 1912 ), p. 173 . 31. ' The Last Lap' . The Australian Boys' Annual. (London: Cassel & Co , 1925 ), p. 52 . 32. 'Not Out, Uncle!' The Australian Boys' Annual. (London: Cassel & Co , 1927 ), p. 175 . 33. ' The Mystery of Monk Island' . The Boy (Melbourne: O.l .C., 1948 ), p. 129 Though this story is not taken from one of the two annuals it conforms to their type. Most tellingly, the school represented is a private boarding school . 34. Boyd , op. cit., p . 146 . 35. Ibid ., p. 163 . 36. Walvin , op. cit., p. 249 . 37. Kociumbas , op. cit., p. 27 . 38. Richards , op. cit., p. 113 . 39. Walvin , op. cit., pp. 242 - 245 . 40. Richards , op. cit., p. 113 . 41. Walvin , op. cit., pp. 242 - 245 . 42. H. Mortimer, ' Will the Anglo-Australian Race Degenerate?' Victorian Review, 1 November 1879 . 43. One interviewee from this time period in Penrith said, 'There were seven in the family, two girls and five boys. But he was crippled so I was the oldest boy'. The elder, crippled male was not classified as a male . Qtd. with permission from a forthcoming book by Peter West . 1. I R.W. Connell , 'Masculinity, Violience and War', in Men 's Lives, eds., Michael Kimmel and Michael Messner (New York and Toronto: Macmillan, 1992 ), p. 182 . This book is an excellent compilation of research and ideas on masculinities and is recommended to the serious researcher. The connell article is a thoughtful and compassionate piece worthy of attention by itself . 2. Peter West , A History ofParramatta (Sydney: Kangaroo Press, 1990 ). 3. An earlier report on the project is Peter West, 'Do Men Make the Rules or Do the Rules Make Men? Growing up Male m an Australian Country Town' , Masculinities (USA) , 2 , 2 ( 1994 ), pp. 46 - 59 . 4. Some of the expanding literature on masculinity can be seen from the followmg: Lynne Segal , Slow Motion: Changing Masculinities, Changing Men (London: Virago , 1990 ); Caroline Ramazanoglu, 'What Can You Do with a Man? Feminism and the Critical Appraisal of Masculinity' , Women 's Studies International Forum , 15 , 3 ( 1992 ), pp. 339 - 50 ; Michael Messner, Power at Play: Sports and the Problem of Masculinity (Boston: Beacon Press, 1992 ). 5. Bronwyn Power , A History of Penrith (Sydney: Western Sydney Project , 1983 ). 6. Miles Franklin , Some Everyday Folk and Dawn (Sydney: Virago , 1986 ), p . 2 7. Unpublished interview with Ruth Paget. All names have been changed to preserve anonymity. 8. In 1905 the Sydney Daily Telegraph enthused about 'the great Empire which binds together in an Imperial brotherhood about one-fourth of the human race .. . To the meanest man among the hundreds of millions who live under its world-embracing folds the British flag guarantees that full measure of rational freedom'. It went on to talk about the need for Australians to maintain the British connection as they were living next to a volcano. The rise of Japan and its success against Russia in the war of 1905 caused much anxiety in Australia. The Colonial Laws Validity Act of 1866 declared that British colonies could not enact a law repugnant to relevant laws enacted in England. Both documents are included in Peter West and Alan Dwight, eds., Australia: From Empire to Asia (Sydney: Science Press, 1980 ), p. 20 and p. 22 respectively . 9. Nepean Times , 10 July 1909 . 10. West and Dwight, p . 20 11 Nepean Times , 8 January 1916 . 12. Nepean Times, 23 June 1917 . 13. Sir George Reid, cited Nepean Times, 22 January 1910 . 14. Sir George Reid, cited in Humphrey McQueen , Social Sketches of AustraNa 1888 -1975 (Sydney: Penguin, 1991 ), p. 43 . 15. Nepean Times, 15 June 1917 . 16. Nepean Times, 31 January 1917 . 17. E. Thompson, Growing Up in Penrith. Unpublished paper. 18. Nepean Times, 17 January 1917 . 19. hanklm , Some Everyday Folk, p. 94 . 20 Nepean Times , 11 January 1908 . 21 Peter West and J.C. Bright, eds., Australia: From Empue to Asia (Sydney: Sc1ence Press, 1968 ) p. 33 .


This is a preview of a remote PDF: http://ro.uow.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1459&context=kunapipi

Anna Rutherford. Kunapipi 18(1) 1996 Full Version, Kunapipi, 1996,