Summer of the Seventeenth Doll

 

Ray Lawler's play is about growing up. It is about growing up and growing old and failing to grow up; and it throws into relief not only the hopes and failures of a dilapidated Melbourne household, but the character of a nation.

For "The Doll", as it came to be known, could only have been written in the 1950s which was something of a watershed of Australia's national consciousness: man pitting his strength against nature, mateship and freedom and alienation in the itinerant life this vast country offers, rugged individualism and the resilient humour that shrugs off despair.

The original play is set in the then shabby old Carlton whereas the film's Sydney settings - views of Bondi, lots of bridge, a romp through Luna Park - is quite alien to the spirit of Lawler's drama and its people. Unlike the play, the movie, shot in the heat of a Sydney Christmas in 1958, becomes no more than a rowdy, raw holiday fling by two couples in Sydney's pubs, Luna Park and ferries, together with their squabbles (and since when has Ernest Borgnine of "McHale's Navy" been an Australian?)

Still, I like it for the people and their accents, their dress code, and the scenery, all of which was still in evidence when I arrived here in 1965.

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To all bean counters past and present

 

Bookkeeping by double-entry is amongst the finest inventions of the human mind. More than five hundred years ago, in the very first book published on the subject, bookkeeping was outlined in a form which still prevails around the world.

The 'father' of double-entry bookkeeping was a Franciscan monk born near Florence in the 1440s which just goes to show that accounting can be habit-forming. His name was Luca Pacioli, just like this software.

In the highly unlikely event that you have an accountant amongst your friends, why not put a bit of excitement into his otherwise boring life by giving him a copy of Jane Gleeson-White's book "Double Entry"? It is a beautifully written history of accounting, one double-entry at a time.

As dedication in the front of the book, you may pen this little poem:

An Accountant's Life
He was a very cautious man, who never romped or played,
He never smoked, he never drank, nor even kissed a maid.
And when up and passed and away, insurance was denied.
For since he hadn't ever lived, they claimed he never died.

 

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P.S. No need to give me a copy: in true double-entry fashion, I already own two copies, one in paperback, the other as a beautiful hardcover.

 

The Death of Money

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In this New York Times bestseller and Wall Street Journal bestseller, James Rickards explores the future of the international monetary system which has collapsed three times in the past hundred years.

Each collapse was followed by a period of war, civil unrest, or damage to the stability of the global economy. Now James Rickards explains why another collapse is rapidly approaching.

The US dollar has been the global reserve currency since the end of the Second World War. If the dollar fails, the entire international monetary system will fail with it. But Washington is gridlocked, and America's biggest competitors - China, Russia, and the Middle East - are doing everything possible to end the US monetary hegemony.

This is a terrifically interesting and useful book by James Rickards who has written other cheerful titles such as "The Great New Depression", "The Road to Ruin", "Currency Wars", "The New Case for Gold", "The Big Drop", "Aftermath", and "Sold Out".

You can read "The Death of Money" online at www.archive.org.

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The Sense of an Ending

 

 

Julian Barnes' book "The Sense of an Ending" is so much more than the memories of a retired man named Tony Webster who recalls how he and his friends at school vowed to remain friends for life, and who now reflects on the paths he and his friends have taken.

It is a meditation on ageing, memory and regret, and hard to imagine to be made into a movie. I mean, how do you turn into a movie something as beautifully written as "Sometimes I think the purpose of life is to reconcile us to its eventual loss by wearing us down, by proving, however long it takes, that life isn't all it's cracked up to be"? [Page 105]

"We live in time - it holds us and moulds us - but I've never felt I understood it very well. And I'm not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly: tick-tock, click-clock. Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time's malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing - until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return."

And then "... you get towards the end of life - no, not life itself, but of something else: the end of any likelihood of change in that life. You are allowed a long moment of pause, time enough to ask the question: what else have I done wrong?"

"The Sense of an Ending" was also the favourite book of a friend who passed away three years ago this month, and whose slow decline over a couple of years I witnessed - click here. The Sense of an Ending indeed!

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You can take the boy out of the youth hostels, but you can't take the youth hostels out of the boy

Yours truly during his hostelling years in Australia in the mid '60s

 

I was a constant and keen 'Youth Hosteller' as a youngster with the "Fahrenden Gesellen" in Germany and joined up with the local Youth Hostel Association in Canberra as soon as I had arrived in Australia in 1965 when there were very few hostels at the time.

Canberra's first hostel was a modest farm worker's cottage along Naas Road just outside Tharwa which was followed by an old farm building near Angle Crossing. Then we raised money for the first purpose-built hostel at Black Mountain through a 'buy-a-brick' campaign. More here.

 

The hostel at Angle Crossing in July 1969, five months before I left for Papua New Guinea

 

I've just found these old membership cards which are like a time-capsule of my hostelling days during my first two years in Australia.

 

My then address in Canberra: BARTON HOUSE, Brisbane Avenue, Barton A.C.T.

 

Collecting stamps from the hostels one stayed in was part of the fun of hostelling. These stamps document my first holiday in Australia when I hitchhiked north to Cairns, and stopped at Tullebudgera on 27/8/1966, at the National Fitness Camp Magnetic Island from 31/8 to 5/9/1966, and at Tullebudgera again on the way back to Canberra on 11/9/1966.

 

The Seekers were all the rage back then, and that Athol Guy-looking guy was yours truly in 1966. And don't bother to comment on my "speed-signature" acquired during my daily signing of hundreds of cheques at the bank. In my old age, it has been restored to copperplate script.

 

I was a very active member of a Youth Hostel group in Port Moresby
before I went on to my next assignment in Burma at the end of 1974

 

As for the youth hostels, they were very different from what they are now. The idea of doing chores around the hostel during your stay was much the norm, so that hostellers helped out with reception duties, cleaning, cooking and general maintenance within the hostel for the welfare of everyone. That way, a great community spirit was fostered.

Today's youth hostels are as good as, and often better than, many hotels and while they still offer cheap dormitory-style accommodation, single, double and family rooms with private bathrooms are also available.

Well, you can take the boy out of the youth hostels, but you can't take the youth hostels out of the boy, and while I no longer stay at them as often as I did sixty years ago, I have remained a member ever since.

 

 

And so can you! Check it out here.

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