Friday Five: Daniel Craig's Bond

I have seen the latest Bond. I have thoughts and some issues. But before I saw it, I refreshed myself by watching the previous Daniel Craig Bond films, beginning with Casino Royale, which is 15 years old. It took a few days, obviously, and I had a martini or two, but with gin - you know; the proper way. The following contains spoilers.

1. Casino Royale (2006) - rebooting Bond with Daniel Craig was utterly inspired. A little darker and more serious - less spoof and more spy - than previous outings in the Bond franchise, the third screen version of this Ian Fleming novel relied more on practical stuntwork than the CGI placements of former films. The torture scene is both excruciating and disturbingly erotic. The scene in the stationary vehicle was more thrilling and dramatic than when they are chasing each other through picturesque landscapes in high octane pursuits. We are also introduced to the DBS, which has the potential to steal the show. The acting is stellar as you would expect from folk more used to theatre; Judi Dench as M sparks off DC with the direct current those initials suggest, and Mads Mikkelsen does a great turn as the baddie, Le Chiffre. Sadly, the 'Bond girl' trope still puts pouting over substance, and Eva Green as Vesper Lynd is insubstantial. As these things demand, however (if Bond falls in love, the object of his affection must be elminated to give him motivation), she dies at the end - shutting herself into a lift in a derelict Venetian palace that crumbles into the Grand Canal.





2. Quantum of Solace (2008) - generally panned when it was released, I think this film has a lot more to offer than many suggested. Daniel Craig (or his stunt double) rides a motorbike, runs over rooftops, flies a plane, pushes bodies off buildings and through windows, walks across deserts, steers a boat, hangs off dodgy-looking scaffolding in building structures, executes dangerous overtaking manoeuvres on narrow twisting roads, and wears sunglasses like a boss. You want more? The Bond girl is actually good! Olga Kurylenko plays Camille Montes as a Bolivian agent who actually does something interesting. Mathieu Amalric is the main villain, Dominic Greene, who claimed to model his perfomance on 'the smile of Tony Blair and the craziness of Sarkozy'. We also get to see Rory Kinnear, Phil Ritter and Gemma Arterton (always a bonus) and the opening salvo by Jack White and Alicia Keys is pretty good too, although a departure from the popular Bond-ballad style of theme tune usually preferred. 

3. Skyfall (2012) - many people's favourite, and for very good reason. The opening sequence is worth the price of admission alone, as Bond fights a baddie atop a moving train and M instructs Moneypenny to 'take the damn shot'. As she does so, she accidentally shoots Bond who falls into a river and is presumed dead. Of course he isn't, although he takes advantage of the presumption for early retirement, only returning to service in London when the MI6 computers are hacked and their building blown up. There's some shennangians in Shanghai with a thrilling casino scene and even more palpitations in the London Underground - 'Health and safety; carry on.' Ben Wishaw pops up as Q, Naomie Harris is Moneypenny, Javier Bardem is top-notch fabulous villain, Raoul Silva, and Adele cashes in with the theme song. We see a softer side to Bond as he returns to his ancestral home in the Scottish highlands and Ralph Fiennes succeeds Judi Dench as M in a heartbreaking and brilliant handover.  

4. Spectre (2015) - Bond is once again sidelined due to unauthorised action, and M (Ralph Fiennes) is in a power struggle with Max Denbigh dubbed C (played with unctuous indifference by Andrew Scott). We have scenes in Mexico City (Day of the Dead), Rome (The Forum), Austria (snow), and London (helicopters crashing into bridges), and some decent stunts. Unfortunately the insipid Bond girl returns (Lea Seydoux as Madeleine Swann), and Bond falls for her and makes ridiculous choices. On the plus side we get Christophe Waltz as big daddy baddy Blofeld, Monica Bellucci providing an age-appropriate dalliance, and a throwback to an exploding gadget. We also get to see M take down the duplicitous C and say, 'And now we know what C stands for' - supposedly it's 'careless', after he hasn't checked the bullets in the gun, but I think we all know differently.

5. No Time To Die (2021) - There were all the spoilers in the world for this film. Mainly the connections to Jason Bourne - there was never just one. Daniel Craig is still superb and the supporting cast of M (Ralph Fiennes), Q (Ben Wishaw), Moneypenny (Naomi Harris), Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright) and Bill Tanner (Rory Kinnear) are all delightful. The new agents are a revelation. Lashana Lynch as the new 007 has gravitas, and the CIA agent, Paloma (played by Ana de Armas), is admirably engaging. Less so the charisma-free Lea Seydoux who returns to her Yoko Ono-esque role to mess up the Bond we know and love. The ending has way too much mawkish sentimentality and, with its sledgehammer points about the importance of parenthood, it made me nostalgic for the old sign-offs of double entendres and smutty humour.

Museum of Tropical Queensland: Diving

Continuing my visit to the Museum of Tropical Queensland, I enjoyed a side room, which contained a truly fascinating exhibit about diving apparatus and how it has changed through the years.

Part of the Langley Diving Helmet Collection

In the late 1830s, Augustus Siebe invented the first closed type of diving dress: a helmet sealed to a watertight suit. With the closed dress, divers could bend over and had more security. Siebe also built efficient hand pumps to force compressed air down the hose to the diver. Standard dress revolutionised diving, making the underwater worker an essential part of both salvage and civil engineering. Without standard dress divers, many of the great building projects of the Victorian era - bridges, lighthouses and tunnels which we still use today - could not have been built.

Augustus Siebe, diving helmet c.1840

This is the second oldest 'closed' standard-dress diving helmet known to exist. The standard diving helmet is a tinned copper dome (or bonnet) attached to a canvas and rubber suit by way of a corselet. The suit is placed over the bolts on the corselet and clamped down with metal straps called brails tightened with nuts to form a seal. Air is pumped into the helmet through the inlet valve to give the diver fresh air to breathe, and it escapes through the outlet valve. There is usually a front and two side windows (or lights), and an additional top light is sometimes fitted to give an upward view. 

The inlet valve is at the back of the bonnet and is at a right angle, turning down. This is to prevent snagging, the air hose comes down in front of the helmet, under the arm and back up to the back of the bonnet. Inlet valves are one way valves (known as non-return valves). This is so that if the air hose is cut or seriously damaged, the compressed air within the helmet is prevented from rushing out and creating a vacuum squeezing the diver's head up the air hose.

The outlet valve, usually positioned around the diver's right ear, is adjustable so that the flow of air escaping from the helmet can be controlled and the diver can adjust their bouyancy. Screwing the outlet valve closed ensures that less air escapes and the diving dress fills with air. The diver becomes positively bouyant and floats to the surface. Unscrewing the outlet valve allows air to escape, deflating the diving dress and the diver sinks. The outlet valve can be adjusted so that there is a constant flow of escaping air, allowing the diver to stay on the bottom or suspended at a chosen depth. 

A small hand-operated tap or spticock in line with the diver's mouth is sometimes incorporated in a standard diving helmet. It has two uses: to enable the diver to suck in a mouthful of water from outside the helmet with which they can wash down the inner side of the face plate if it has become fogged from the diver's breath; and as an auxilliary to the outlet valve in controlling the escaping air. 

Rotary air pump and box

This is a low pressure rotary air pump used to supply air to hard hat divers. The machinery was fitted inside the wooden box, which in turn would have been located either inside a purpose built housing or simply on top of the deck of a smaller boat.

This is a three cylinder rotary air pump, and as the name suggests, it had to be turned in order for it to pump air. A large flywheel (now missing) was located on either side of the box, each having to be turned by the diver's tenders. Inside the box, these wheels turned the crankshaft onto which are fitted three piston rods. When the crankshaft was turned, these rods lifted the pistons up and down inside the piston cylinder. 

In each cylinder, depending on whether the piston was up or down, air was either sucked in (piston up) or expelled (piston down). There was always a piston in neutral position midway through a cycle. Expelled air was forced into the manifold and from there it flowed into the outlet vlave and into the diver's hose. Three pistons ensured that there was always a smooth and unbroken air supply.

The hose entered the diver's helmet by way of a non-return valve and circulated freely around the diver's head. A non-return valve ensured that the air couldn't escape back up the hose in the event of the hose being damaged. The diver did not have any control over the flow of air and so had to signal the surface with specific pulls on his [sic] rope or airline to indicate that he needed more or less air. To accommodate this, the tenders had to alter the speed at which they were turning the wheel. 

It all sounds quite ingenious and absolutely terrifying. What could possibly go wrong? 

This homemade galvanised iron helmet was referred to as the 'Ned Kelly' by scientists who used it on the 1928-1929 Great Barrier Reef expedition to the Low Isles, off Port Douglas. The angle of the breastplate suggests it was specifically for viewing the seabed, allowing scientists to undertake surveys of the reef for the first time, It was probably made in Queensland for this expedition.

Open style shallow water diving helmet

There was lots of fascinating information and stories about diving pioneers, which I shall copy here, if only to remind myself to look them up later and as a record of their names and exploits. 

Augustus Siebe (1788-1887) was an inventor, engineer and manufacturer widely acclaimed as the 'father of diving'. Born in Saxony, Southern Prussia and educated in Berlin, Siebe served as a lieutenant in the Prussian army against Napoleon before immigrating to England in 1816. By 1819 he had established an engineering company and in 1828 Siebe produced a rotary water pump, which achieved public notice and financial success. he moved into 5 Denmark Street, London in 1830, which served as both his home and commercial premises. 

After being approached by Charles and John Deane to turn their patented smoke helmet (for fire fighting) into a diving helmet, Siebe became interested in the development and manufacture of diving equipment. Based on the smoke helmet, he developed the first open diving helmet for Deane brothers in 1829 and by 1839 he had patented the first closed diving helmet. 

Following experimentation and practical experience of salvage work through the clearnace of HMS Royal George where his closed diving suit was formally acknowledged as superior to all other available apparatus and recommended as admiralty standard, Siebe's company adverstised as 'submarine engineers' who could:

'Undertake all classes of Operations under Water, the Inspection of Works in Progress, Cleaning of the Bottoms of Vessels, the Recovery of Sunken Property, the Removal of Wrecks, Boring and Blasting of Rocks and Removal of same, Ship Raising, &c, &c.'

Some of Siebe's other inventions included a breech loading gun (1819), the dial weighing machine, a galvanic battery, and a paper-making machine. In 1850 he manufactured one of the first ever ice-making machines under license from an Australian, James Harrison. 

Siebe was awarded medals at the 1851 Great Exhibition and the 1855 Paris Exhibition and was elected an Associate of the Institution of Civil Engineers in 1856. He is still best remembered for the development of the closed dress diving dress which was successfully used in the the salvage of the Royal George.

In 1870 under the control of his son William Henry Siebe and his son-in-law, William Augustus Gorman, Siebe's business became known as the Siebe Gorman Company, famous for supplying diving equipment to navies and commercial operators throughout the world. Augustus Siebe died in 1872 of chronic bronchitis. In 2000 Siebe was honoured by the City of London with an English Heritage blue plaque at 5 Denmark Street, SOHO.

Melbourne 'Mel' Ward (1903-1966) was an actor, naturalist and marine collector, born in Melbourne and educated in Sydney and New York. He left school for a stint on the stage where he shone at acrobatic dancing and in pantomime routines. From childhood, Ward had been fascinated by the crabs he found on beaches; as a schoolboy he haunted the American Museum of Natural History. After a small red crab that he discovered in a Queensland beach was named (1926) Cleistostoma wardi after him, he abandoned the stage for marine biology. 

His expertise in marine biology was honed over a number of trips to the Great Barrier Reef and Northern Australia, and by the late 1920s, he had collected not only in Australia, but also in Samoa, Fiji and Hawaii, along the Atlantic and Claifornian coasts of the U.S.A., and in Cuba, Panama and Mexico. While in Cuba, he famously drew on his acrobatic skills in a daring feat to snatch a species of crab that lived in quicksand. He pioneered the use of goggles and diving helmets amongst Australian marine scientists and was the subject of the first underwater photograph taken in the Great Barrier Reef, and found turtle riding 'a fascinating sport, as exciting as anything I know'.

Possessing independent means, in 1930-31 Ward embarked on a scientific 'Grand Tour': he worked with Dr Mary Rathbun at the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, lectured at the British Museum, London, studied in museums in Berlin and Paris, and collected in the Mediterranean. In 1933 Ward and his wife (Halley Kate Foster) went to Lindeman Island on the Great Barrier Reef as entertainers, playing duets on the clarinet and guitar for tourists. They combed the reef at every low tide and Mel set up a museum and laboratory. He continued to collect for the Australian Museum throughout the 1930s, carried out research for the raffles Museum, Singapore, and the Mauritius Institute.

In 1929 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Zoological Society, London, and was appointed an honorary zoologist of the Australian Museum. Ward was made a life member of the Royal Zoological Society of New South Wales in 1947 and published in Australian and international scientific journals. Mel Ward died in 1966 in the Blue Mountains. His extensive natural history collections (including 25,000 crabs) were donated to the Australian Museum, Sydney.

Some of the Mel Ward collection of crabs at The Australian Museum

Friday Five: BorrowBox

I don't usually listen to audiobooks - I prefer the tactile nature of reading a book and will never ceased to be amazed by the fact that printed words on a page can conjure precise worlds in the mind. However, a friend introduced me to BorrowBox, an app affiliated to my local library, where I can borrow books to listen to, and I decided to give it a go. 

I am particularly intersted in autobigraphies and other works in which authors read their own words and tell their own stories. Here are five I have listened to and enjoyed so far. 

 

Candid and amsuing autobiography from a young woman who suffered a traumatic childhood, fragile mental health, the death of her son and a terrifying stalking incident that culminated in a home invasion. her voice is authentic as she describes learning about the highs and lows of the music industry (number one singles and mainly male media backlash) in a very public spotlight. Her father, Keith Allen, does not shine through this account despite his obvious assistance in her career - he gave her a recording contract and abandoned her to take drugs at Glastonbury. She is aware of her position of privilege, but also that she has worked hard for her success.

Gabriel Byrne has one of those voices that I could listen to reading the phone book. This is much more interesting than that. He speaks a lot of his youth and his training to be a priest and then a plumber, before trying acting, which he quickly discovered was his true vocation. His is a story of searching for acceptance and finding it in a passion rather than a place. Although he is occasionally sentimental and whimsical about the Ireland he has left behind, he is thankful for his chance to escape and create a life for himself, which he guards against the frivolities of fame.

Not just an amazing footballer, Megan Rapinoe is also a firm advocate of women's rights and social justice. She had a fairly typical loving family upbringing in the semi-rural town of Redding, California, the youngest (with her twin sister, Rachael) in a family of eight. She and her sister chose football - it pains me to read soccer, but she is American so I have to get used it - as an early means of self-expression. She talks of training, of games, of injuries and triumphs as one would expect from a sport memoir. She also talks of the drug epidemic, the penal system, the understanding that she was a lesbian, the reaction to her coming out, and the fight for equal pay. Her stand on taking the knee made her an outcast in her own team and to the likes of Donald Trump and those who want to 'keep politics out of sport' when it suits them to do so. She denies she is unpatriotic - she is proud to captain her country - but is still prepared to call out injustice, which makes many of the target white republican audience mad. "I know what it means to look at the flag and not have it protect all of your liberties." She has a strong work ethic and believes in learning from mistakes and trying to do better. It may sound simple, but it is sadly unfashionable. She also believes in using her platform (and as an olympic gold-medal and two-time World Cup winner, she has a pretty big one) to speak up for those who don't have a voice. 

Another beautiful voice, coupled with a love of food and family - this was music to my ears. Stanley Tucci relates his life through important gastronimical touchstones which invoke memories and discoveries as he learns about his culture and his past and relates it all to his present and his career. He has a delightfully sardonic style and a dry humour, which is unusual for Americans, and he tends to steer clear of hyperbole, which is frankly refreshing. Through film narratives, health scares, loss of a sense of taste, and a delight in family and friendships, he shares anecdotes and recipes in a way that has the listener drooling - only partly for the food.

William McGonagall is often lampooned as the world's worst poet. That is a pretty bold claim and I have been insterested as to why he is so called. His poems are bad - they feature endless repetition, deridable rhymes, irrelevant details, poor scansion and weak metre. The mockery existed during his lifetime (1825-1902) and continues today with his work being celebrated with an Ig Nobel award in 2011. (He was also J.K. Rowling's inspiration for the name of her beloved character Minerva McGonagall.) He had no idea of this ridicule and fancied himself as having a calling to write, announcing himself as The Queen's Poet. Despite Queen Victoria refusing him patronage, he walked almost 100 kilmoetres from Dundee over mountainous terrain and through a violent thunderstorm to present himself at Bamoral where he was refused entry and had to return home. He made some money reciting his poems in pubs (the anti-drinking ones were particularly ill-advised), theatres, and the streets. As his reputation grew, his performances were attende by raucous crowds who drowned out his recitations and occasionally forcefully carried him out of venues. He found lucrative work performing his poetry at a local circus where he was pelted with eggs, flour, herrings, potatoes and stale bread. His story has many parallels with that of Florence Foster Jenkins, and one could perhaps feel great discomfort at his treatment (he was very probably on the autism-Apserger's spectrum), were it not for the fact that his self-aggrandising writings are incredibly pompous and dismissive of others. His poems, biography and other works are read by Scottish actor David Rintoul in brilliant fashion. He allows the unintentional humour to shine forth and reveals the terrible poetry in all its magnificent awfulness. It is a thing of unimaginable joy.

Museum of Tropical Queensland: The Pandora

The Museum of Tropical Queensland (or Queensland Museum Tropics - institutions tend to change their name over the years, but only slightly; just enough to cause confusion) is a spot in Townsville where I went to visit what purports to offer 'a deep dive into the collections of Queensland's tropical paradise from pristine rainforests to the magnificence of the Great Barrier Reef and the ocean's bountiful treasures.'

The Great Gallery is dominated by a replica of the HMS Pandora, the ship sent by the British Admiralty in 1790 to capture the Bounty and her mutinous crew in Tahiti. Captain Edward Edwards (son of imaginiative parents) had one mission - to bring the 'pirate villains', as he called them, to justice. Armed to the teeth, and heavily laden with provisions, HMS Pandora set sail under Edwards' command in 1790. Expecting to capture the Bounty, Edwards took twice the crew to sail both Bounty and Pandora home.

After almost five months of travelling, Pandora arrived in Tahiti. Over several weeks, 14 mutineers who had returned to Tahiti surrendered or were caught. Another two were declared dead.

Edwards spent the next three months searching the South Pacific in a fruitless hunt for the remaining nine mutineers. Little did he know, Pandora had originally come within half a day's sail of these mutineers before ever reaching Tahiti. Fletcher Christian and eight other men found refuge at Pitcairn Island before burning and sinking Bounty. They lived there undetected until 1808.

By August, Edwards was running short of supplies, had lost 14 of his own men and still not found any more mutineers. Feeling the loss of his crew and fearing a mutiny of his own, Edwards headed home.

Fourteen mutineers were shackled to rows of leg irons in a cramped, dark box. It wasn't high enough to stand upright; the toilet was a bucket; movement and fresh air were lacking. Constant heat created sweat pools on the floor and continuous filth brought maggots and rats to live with them for three months.

This was the treatment of Edwards' 'pirate villains'. They were imprisoned on the ship's stern in a purpose-built jail they dryly called 'Pandora's Box'. According to the ship's surgeon, the prison was airy and healthy, 'the most desirable place on the ship'. Clearly the reality was far worse.

Tragically, on her return journey in 1791, Pandora hit the Great Barrier Reef and sank, taking 31 crew and four mutineers to their grave. As the ship went down, 13 prisoners escaped the box thanks to last minute efforts by the Boatswain's mate, Moulter. One mutineer, Henry Heildenbrandt, could not be freed as Pandora sank, condemning him to an eternity in Pandora's box.

The wreck of the Pandora

Reeling from the horrific death of their friends and the loss of Pandora, the 99 survivors - 89 crew and 10 mutineers - recovered at a sandy cay near the wreck site. Their trials weren't over yet. They still had to navigate 2,100km to Timor before finally making it back to England in mid-1792. Here, seven of the ten remaining mutineers were acquitted, while three were convicted and hanged.

Pandora remained undiscovered for 186 years and today, objects recovered from the wreck are part of the Pandora exhibition at the museum. Among these objects are nearly 200 essence of spruce pots.

For hundreds of years, scurvy was the most feared of all diseases at sea. It affected all people in all climates, without apparent cause. By the time of the Pandora's voyage, scurvy had been linked to a lack of fresh fruit and vegetables. However, it was not until the early 20th century that Vitamin C was identified as vital to preventing the disease. 

Captain Edwards made sure the Pandora was reprovisioned with fresh foods as often as possible. Anti-scorbutic foods such as sauerkraut (pickled cabbage), wort (a drink made of malted grain) and a thick cordial known as 'rob of lemons' were also carried. The Pandora's log records that '380 pots of essence of spruce' were loaded. Contemporary records suggest that the essence may have been combined with molasses, yeast and water, allowed to ferment for a few days and then drunk as a beer.

About 40,000 litres of beer, wine and spirits were stored in barrels and bottles. A sailor's daily allowance of beer was one gallon (4.55 litres). Drinking was a way of life on board and was tolerated, but if it caused a sailor to neglect his duties or disregard the ship's rules, he could expect a flogging as punishment. 

The calorie content of beer was a much-needed source of energy for sailors performing a hard day's work. Off-duty hours could be spent socialising or 'yarning'. If the beer ran out, hops, malt and water were available for brewing. Watered-down wine or rum (grog) was issued instead of beer. Officers drank as often as the sailors. They were known to reward deserving sailors under their command with a drink or a bottle from their private stores: usually port, gin or Dutch gin (jenever).

Admiral Edward Vernon by Thomas Hudson

The word 'grog' derives from a nickname given to Admiral Edward Vernon, who was called 'Old Grog' because he always wore a coat made out of grogram (grosgrain). He was very unpopular after his decision to curb drunkenness aboard navy ships by watering down the rum ration. The sailors promptly named this watered-down drink 'grog'.

The crew was divided into messes. These were groups of 4-12 men who usually worked together as a team. The core of each mess was a table, hinged at one end and suspended from the deck beams at the other. Meal times were not interrupted, unless in exceptional circumstances. It was a time of much needed rest and relaxation. A 'cook of the mess was appointed each week. He collected food from the gallery, cleaned the eating utensils, and kept the mess in order.

The term 'chewing the fat' originally described the crew talking and grumbling while sitting in their mess, eating their toughened salt meat. An ordinary seaman's diet typically consisted of cold oatmeal porridge at breakfast, salted beef or pork with ship's biscuit or bread at lunchtime, and a small piece of cheese, butter or oil with more biscuit in the evening. 'Portable soup', a hard meat extract, was added to the boiled meat. Additional foods such as vinegar, mustard, onions and sauerkraut were sometimes served. When available, fresh fruit and vegetables supplemented this diet. The beer ration amounted to over four litres a day and was a substitute for water. 

The sandstone dripstone was sometimes described as a 'water purifier' although it could not remove bacteria or salt from salt water. It was effective in removing large particles, such as algae and debris, from fresh water collected from rivers or streams, or from water stored in barrels. The dripstone was placed above a barrel. Water decanted from a cask would slowly filter through the porous sandstone into the barrel. This water was probably reserved for use by the captain or the officers. The large volume of water stored in the hold was used for cooking rather than drinking. Although seamen were able to drink water from a large barrel placed on deck, they preferred to drink beer, or water mixed with wine or sometimes with rum.

Many of the artefacts found on the wrecksite belonged to officers or petty officers who aspired to higher social status. Particular objects may have been acquired by officers to demonstrate their status as gentlemen.

Royal Navy officers in the 18th century usually joined as midshipmen or captain's servants. Most were sons of professional men or the gentry. After at least six years' service they sat their lieutenant's exam to become a commissioned officer. 

Officers were expected to behave like gentlemen. They had to follow an unwritten code of behaviour, master skills such as navigation, and possess leadership abilities. A gentleman owned objets de virtu, such as a gold and silver fob watch with an ornate chain or an étui (small case) with writing implements. When travelling, he would also have a portable writing desk, in which he kept his journal, papers, writing materials, and possibly a signet or name stamp. 

Preparations for a long voyage were expensive. An officer had to provide his own navigational instruments, bedding, cabin furnishings, crockery and glassware, uniforms, clothing, linen, toiletries and a private supply of provisions and beverages. 

Many Polynesian artefacts and natural specimens have been found buried in the shipwreck. They were acquired by the officers and crew as the Pandora sailed across the Pacific. These objects have now become one of the most important collections from traditional Polynesia. The importance of these finds is that none of them could have been in use in Polynesia any later than 1791. They come from a time before any lasting European influence on Pacific cultures.

Eighteenth century European voyages to the South Seas stimulated intense public interest back at home. Collectors were keen to obtain exotic objects (artificial curiosities) and animal and plant specimens ('natural curiosities') from the newly discovered lands. Dealers in 'curiosities' were often seen at the waterfront waiting for returning ships.

Sailors on Pacific voyages used objects such as metal tools, nails and glass beads as barter for 'curiosities' with local inhabitants. Surgeon Hamilton's voyage account records the Pandora's crew trading for 'curiosities' wherever they visited. The Polynesian items recovered from the Pandora are a unique record of 18th Century Polynesian technology and the natural environment.

The adzes on display were made from volcanic rock and originally attached or hafted to a wooden handle with plaited coconut fibre. The 25 basalt adzes excavated from HMS Pandora provide insight into the movement of objects in the 18th century. The captain's log links the stone tools to specific regions in the Pacific Islands where Pandora stopped on its journey, and the archaeological assemblage shows evidence of trade between the crew and the locals. 

By looking at the shape and form of the tools, mid 20th-century typological analysis has identified the certain types of adzes originated from different island groups. This tells us more about where the stone adzes from Pandora were collected and also suggests that the stone was sourced and the tool manufactured in the same place. Most adzes from Pandora have consequently been linked to the Society Islands, where the crew spent many weeks during the voyage. The remaining adzes are thought to be from Aitutaki and Palmerston Island. Notably, one style of adze appears to originate from Tubuai, an island visited by Bounty but not Pandora. 

These Polynesian shells were found inside the shipwreck. They were probably collected by some of the Pandora's crew to take back to England. Shells were popular with sailors. They were simple to collect from beach or reef top and were easy to store.

This cabinet shows fishhooks made of pearl shell (possibly collected in Tahiti), three-piece fish lures made from bone and pearl shell (possibly collected in Tonga),a limestone sinker and pieces of cowrie shell attached to a stick which were used to attract and capture octopus (possibly collected in Tonga or Samoa), and two-piece fish lures, lure shanks and trolling hook points, made from pearl, and all possibly collected in Tahiti.

I understand the adage of taking only photographs and leaving only footprints, but I also admire these collections and stoires which reveal to us some of the ocean's treasures, and the motivations of those who sailed upon them. 

Friday Five: Books Read in September

There are only four for this month so the Friday Five is missing one, but I'm sure it all evens out in the end.

1. Bel Canto by Ann Patchett (Harper Collins) - Set in an unnamed South American country, Bel Canto is inspired by the Japanese embassy hostage crisis of 1996-1997 in Lima, Peru. It begins at a birthday party thrown at the country's vice-presidential home in honour of visiting Japanese dignitary and opera enthusiast, Katsumi Hosokawa. In attempt to secure funding from the guest, the famous American soprano, Roxanne Cross is scheduled to perform as the highlight of the party. Near the end of the evening, a group of terrorists break in, hoping to take the president hostage, but when they realise he is not in attendance, they take the entire party hostage, only to subsequently release all except those for whom they think they might get a higher ransom. The isolation-aspect of the novel is fascinating as the characters develop in relation to each other, and alliances, friendships, and even romances form. As one might expect from a novel that won the Orange Prize and the PEN/ Faulkner Award for Fiction, it is beautifully written, following the score of an opera with great highs and lows and an explosive ending. Part love story; part hostage thriller; part musical appreciation, it contains many unrealistic and implausible plot developments, but leaves a lasting impression on the senses.
2. Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami (Vintage Books) - "From July of his sophomore year in college until the following January, all Tsukuru Tazaki could think about was dying." This is the opening line of the novel and if it has similarities with the beginnign of A Man Colled Ove, there are also strong echoes of Frank Kafka. Tsukuru is 36 and reflecting on his past, particularly why his friends suddenly stopped speaking to him and expected him to know why. Encouraged by a new lover, he sets out to discover the truth, meeting each of his former friends to question them individually, and also to understand himself better - why did he simply accept this fact? His old friendship group was a solid unit of two girls and three boys, whose names and nicknames all relate to colours (for example, Kei Akamatsu/ Aka; 'red pine'), except him; "“Tsukuru Tazaki was the only one in the group without anything special about him... Everything about him was middling, pallid, lacking in colour.” His sole interest is in train stations, and he is the only one who leaves the home town of Nagoya and goes to university in Tokyo to study engineering. He is practical and orderly, featuring in logically progressing sentences with limited adjectives - “He took a shower every morning, shampooed his hair well, and did the laundry twice a week.” Despite the clarity of language, the narrative is complex, containing stories within stories, exploring theories of freedom of thought, death and music, and causing Tsukuru and the reader to question, “People do change. And no matter how close we once were, and how much we opened up to each other, maybe neither of us knew anything substantial about the other.”
3. Unfinished Portrait by Mary Westmacott (Ulverscroft Limited) - When Agatha Christie writes as Mary Westmacott, she enjoys the psychology of her characters rather than the mystery of the plot. In this story within a story, the framework is set by the narrator, Larraby, meeting a young woman, Celia, whom she thinks is going to end her life because she has had enough. Sitting on a seat overlooking the sea, the narrator draws her into conversation and Celia tells the story of her life, which Larraby notes down and sends to 'My Dear Mary'. Because she is concerned with the effects of the events, she pays less attention to the specifics; “I’m not going into details – this isn’t a chronicle of such things. There’s no need to describe the quaint little Spanish town, or the meal we had together at her hotel." Celia was an imaginative child who became a sensitive woman, learning to live more frugally once her family's fortune and social standing mysteriously diminished on her father's death. The summary of the ‘coming out’ period of introductions to the marriage market is amusing, terrifying and deeply instructional, as men flock around the young innocent woman who knows no better and might provide them with an heir and domesticity. The ideas of marriage and maternity are both historic and current, highlighting the trauma and depression felt by women who didn't want these circumstances but were not encouraged in any other aspirations.
4. Master of Shadows by Neil Oliver (Orion Books) - having written half a dozen non-fiction, history and geography books, this is Neil Oliver's first work of fiction. Its backdrop is the fall of Constantinople, the skirmishes in Scotland, and another historical figure, Joan of Arc, thrown in for good measure. This makes for an interesting scope of different generations, geographical locations and time periods, but it also makes the narrative a little confusing. Central characters, John Grant and Badr, are mercenaries so have no affiliation with Christians, Turks, Ottomans or Muslims, and there are many violent and creatively cruel deptictions of fighting and torture. The structure is of a bird who soars above the city, diving in and drawing back, giving us a bird's eye view of specifics, and also allowing for generalisations, similar to the Greek gods looking down from Mt Olympus on the humans and using them as playthings - “High above, impassive and imperious, a lammergeier flew, riding columns of warm air and surveyed the movements of the tiny figures trapped upon the world below.” There are some nice turns of phrase - John Grant is a thin child who appears to his mother like a will-o'-the-wisp: “If he had been a pot of soup, she would have stirred in flour, to thicken him" - but there are also plenty of clichés. When John grant learns that the woman who raised him is not his biological mother, it sets up may alternate possiblities and complicated relationships. The novel seems incomplete, as though there are more planned to follow.

Art at Strathnairn

Out for a walk at Strathnairn, we wanted to explore the new trails, which we did, and we also admired some art. I promised I would post about it later, so here it is! The featured artists at the exhibition at the cafe are Shakir Rayman, Stephanie Boyle, Louise Spencer, Katie Volter and Belinda Gill.

This exhibition explores the relationship between public and private space through a series of works in acrylic, watercolour and pastel. It features contrasting views of outside lives to personal interiors exploring the quiet sanctity of a home.

Inside out - National Portrait Gallery, 2024 by Belinda Gill

Morning Walk, 2024 by Belinda Gill 

Silent Canberra, 2024 by Belinda Gill

Visitor for Morning Tea, 2024 by Belinda Gill

One of the things I really like about galleries is the way the artwork interacts with the natural light through doors and windows.

On the Way to Bateman's Bay by Shakir Rahman

The Creeping Forest, 2023 by Louise Spencer

Just Hanging, 2024 by Shakir Rahman

Reflections and Reflecting, 2024 by Stepahnie Boyle

Moors of Strathnairn, 2023 by Shakir Rahman

Autumn Hues, 2023 by Shakir Rahman

Through the Looking Glass, 2023 by Louise Spencer

There was another exhibition from the members at the Woolshed Gallery - all the work was available for sale and there were some great pieces of art. The Woolshed itself is visually pleasing with its different shapes and colours. 

Once again, I am drawn to the use of light and colour, from gathering storm clouds above a familiar Canberra landmark in Rod Usback's archival pigment print to the childlike blocks in the black and white landscape of Kathleen Brigdale's polar station. 

Storm Brewing at the Carillon, Rod Usback

Mawson's Antarctic, 2023 by Kathleen Brigdale

The wind turbines are picked out on the shores of the rainswept Lake George in Jenny Blake's moody acrylic piece, and this contrast of sunlight and shadow is also foregrounded in Emma McNeill's chilly pastoral scene. And I know I have banged on enough before about my love of liminal spaces, so I was intrigued by Roger Hancock's Mediterranean interpretation.

Rain on Lake George, 2023 by Jenny Blake

A Touch of Frost, 2023 by Emma McNeill

Espacio Liminal, 2024 by Roger Hancock

Besides the watercolours and acrylics, there are some really interesting mixed media, textile and cermaic pieces, which are rather glorious, such as the embroidery and natural dye on silk that comprises Indigo Moonrise, or the cocoon ends which run through the layers of cotton, silk, tyvek and lutradur in Robyn Diener's stitched collage of strata. 

Indigo Moonrise, 2023 by Pinal Maniar

Adrift in Geike Gorge, 2023 by Robyn Diener

The patterns and the expression on the ceramic dragon are simply delightful, and the artistry on Susan Curran's wood-fired earthenware made me smile. The footballers running round the vase echo the athletic feats of the Greek heroes, and cement the Matildas' place in local mythology.

Dragon Dragonfly, 2024 by Elena Bozhko Marshall

Matildas, 2024 by Susan Curran

At yet another part of the gallery (The Link) there was an opening of work by the Hall Artists - a group of artists who meet at Hall once a week to paint together. The mix of professional and amateur artists are at different stages of their career but they all say they learn from each other. After two years, they have inspired enough high-quality work to create their first exhibition. We didn't realise it was their opening day, but there were paitings to admire and bubbles to drink - so of course we did. And we bought a painting.

Lake Albina by Sue Marye Cox