Study Tour

It has been a while since I last posted to this Blog.  However, over the coming month my updates will be more regular.  On Friday I head off to Sydney and then onto San Francisco for nine days–given that crossing the international dateline gives me an extra day on the flight out.  Four of these days I will be immersing myself in the history and culture of this vibrant city.  My previous visits here were a couple of decades ago, so I expect much has changed.

For the other five days of my stay I will be at the Berkeley Campus of the University of California as part of an advanced Oral History Summer Institute.  This intensive course will take the participants through twenty-six session of lectures, workshops, presentations plus networking and special events during the week.

My next stop-over will in Winnipeg, in Canada.  Here my time will be at the University, of Winnipeg the Canadian Oral History Association and with the German-Canadian Studies, also at the University of Winnipeg.  By then my brain will be swamped with information, ideas and even more plans.  So for a few days of relaxation I will enjoy a train-ride from Winnepeg to Toronto and on to Montréal.

My week in this French-Candian city will be spent with the Concordia University and immersing myself in the local culture and history.  A significant part of this tour will be meeting with the enthusiastic and keen historians at The Centre for Oral History and Digital Storytelling.

Hopefully my posts will be regular (wifi connections) and of interest, even if you are not an oral hiistorian.  Maybe after some thoughs and ideas you may look to your own interests and record an interesting history.

The PhD journey – life over 3,399 days

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On March 29th, 2017 I was awarded my Doctorate of Philosophy from the University of South

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Dr David Sweet with my ‘mate’ and special associate supervisor, Dr Nigel Starck.

Australia at the Graduating Ceremony.  The official conferral was in October 2016.  This higher degree research journey had numerous twists and turns, became frustrating, a joy (often in a few hours of each other), was challenging and above all I learnt so much.  I completed the PhD part-time, which prolonged the agony and the pleasure.  Probably the biggest learning curve has been accepting how little I know.  However, that understanding only opens up the options for further challenges in the realm of research.  Following are some of the (edited) highlights and challenges of my epic journey.

The journey

  • 3,399 days from start to completion
  • Started as a two volume Professional Doctorate
  • 83+ versions written
  • Wrote 230,000 words
  • Final version as a PhD is 109,728 words (inc footnotes and Reference List)
  • 52 people interviewed
  • 57 photographs used
  • 798 references
  • 230 other books devoured
  • Thesis examined by one Australian and one Canadian academic

Allied activities

  • 47 sessions with a PhD reading group
  • 6 papers accepted and published
  • 28 presentations delivered
  • 5 international conferences attended and papers presented
  • 182 books added to my own library
  • 2 bureaucratic challenges with the University
  • only spat the dummy a few times

Teaching

  • 11 undergraduate Courses/Subjects taught
  • 5 Post Grad subjects taught
  • 1 honours supervised student to completion
  • 1 honours student advised to reconsider
  • 7 years teaching off-shore
  • 11 teaching trips to Hong Kong and Singapore
  • Mentored 7 students (2 international)

The Family

  • 2 more grandchildren – 5 in total
  • 4 weddings (3 as the photographer)
  • 2 – 90th birthdays celebrated
  • 1 Golden wedding anniversary celebrated (not mine)
  • 4 deaths, my 2 sisters, 1 brother-in-law, 1 19 year-old nephew
  • 5 hospital admissions for me
  • 10 days in ICU at Modbury hospital
  • 2010 – 7.5 hours of micro-surgery for cancer on my face
  • many other highs and lows of life as well
  • Produced 5 photo-books
  • Completed 10.5 hours of oral history interviews in addition to my PhD interviews

There is life after a PhD

  • Traded a caravan, purchased a Motor Home
  • Reduced teaching to 2-3 subjects
  • Working on 5 research projects
  • Research-Study tour to Berkeley (California), Concordia and Western Universities (Canada) is set for August 2017.

115 years have passed

Today, November 1, 2016, is the first Tuesday in November and the nation (Australia) stops for a horse race – The Melbourne Cup.  I have absolutely no interest in horse racing, yet it has been with me all my life.  My attitude to this ‘sport’ is a fool and his/her money are soon parted.  More on that later.

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Harold Revenue Sweet, greengrocer. Taken before 1939, probably in the inner south-east suburbs of Adelaide

My father was born on November 5, 1901, in Broken Hill, NSW, Guy Fawkes Day and the first Tuesday in November.  It was Melbourne Cup Day.  His name; Harold Revenue Sweet.  The horse that won The Cup in 1901 was called, wait for it, Revenue.  Yes, my father was named after a horse.  So the first week in November was a celebration in our home.  Thankfully I was born in August and this family tradition didn’t continue, otherwise I would have some wierd and unpronounceable middle name.

Growing up as a kid in suburban Adelaide and having a father whose birthday was on Guy Fawkes, or cracker night was a treat.  There were family and friends visiting, tables of food and good times.  The couple of weeks before ‘the night’ the kids in the neighbourhood would collect old lumber, tyres, anything that would burn to build a bonfire.  Between us we would scavenge around to get old clothes, stuff them with straw, paper and grass to build a ‘guy’ to place on top of the pile of rubbish waiting to be burnt.  There was not one environmental thought amongst us.

I still have a nostalgic feeling this time of the year.  Fireworks can be dangerous – no they are dangerous – and how we were allowed to do what we did I am still surprised.  None of our mob ever got injured by the crackers, but may children did.  Then there were the fires.  Cracker night was the busiest night of the year for the (then) SA Fire Brigade.  Decades later, as a fire fighter, I came to appreciate the problems unsupervised fireworks can cause.  Yet we kids set-off ‘penny bangers’ and ‘thrippeny bombs’ under tin cans, in letter boxes and storm water drains – anywhere it would look and sound spectacular.  It was fun.

It was Dad’s birthday and Melbourne Cup Day in 1957 and I remember asking my father why we didn’t put money on the horses and win more back, like one of our neighbours did regularly for the Friday night ‘trots’ and Saturday ‘gallopers’.  Often one of my boyhood friends would be excited over a win of a couple of pounds from a bet, more so if his father gave him a few bob from the winnings to spend on lollies.  At that young age I hadn’t compared homes and lifestyles in the neighbourhood.  My father, who had come home from work early, took me for a walk.  He pointed out the horse gambling neighbour’s home and then we walked in to Fisher Street, Myrtle Bank and he showed me a home there.  I knew it quite well.  I would walk past it twice day going to and from the Glen Osmond Primary School.  The home was two-story, huge grounds, lawn tennis court, a swimming pool (unherad of in the ’50s) and they had numerous cars.  One was a Studibaker.  Dad asked me which I preferred, the horse betting neighbour’s poorly kept bungalow, or the mansion owned by the ‘bookie’.  I can still remember his words, ‘they only tell you about their wins, never how much they lose.’ Lesson learnt – I have never bet on a horse race.

I struggle to visualise my father’s life as a teenager 100 years ago.  At fifteen he was working full-time having only gone to Unley High School for one or two years.  The photograph above is the only one I have of Harold Revenue Sweet working, then as a home delivery greengrocer.  Recently I ‘discovered’ more than four-hundred family photographs that I knew existed, but thought had been lost.  What stories they generate – now to capture the narratives before they are lost forever.

Pearl Denton’s 21st

I visited my mother’s 21st birthday celebrations last night, or in the vernacular of the 1920s, ‘her coming of age party’. While researching something quite different I stumbled across two newspaper reports of Miss Pearl Denton’s – my mother’s maiden name – celebrations.

Such were the cultural formalities in Adelaide in 1925 that the celebration could not be held before her actual birthday and since her birthday (September 20th) fell on a Sunday that year, it was improper to celebrate on the day of worship. So the party was held on Monday September 21st at the Parkside Masonic Hall.

Over the years and some four decades later my mother would occasionally talk of her twenty-first birthday party. According to the short newspaper reports, in the Adelaide Register and the Mail, games were played amongst the guests. This confirms my mother’s stories of playing: pass the balloon, musical chairs, mystery package, and surprisingly (for me) indoor bowls, played on coconut matting. While the newspaper reports mentioned dancing, apparently this scandalous activity was condoned however there were strict guidelines on what was permitted between any non-married couples.

The Mail (newspaper) listed the names of sixty-one guests, the hosts, Mr and Mrs R. L. Pearce (my mother’s older sister and her husband) and my future father, H. R. Sweet was one of those present. Reading through the list of attendees, I can recognise a few names of aunties and uncles, and quite a number of family friends, or those whose names were part of the dinner-table conversations over the years.

The supper tables were laden with food and decorated with Iceland Poppies, according to the newspaper reports. Fifty-years after this event my mother was still growing poppies. I remember, as a child, our home being decorated with these flowers each spring. My mother would lightly burn the base of the stems and blanched them with boiling water so that the displays lasted longer.

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Undated, possibly 1926 and may have been at the Oakbank Easter Races.  My mother is at the front looking back at the camera.  Her elder sister, Myrtle and her husband, Bob Pearce, are seated at the rear left of the photograph.  Their daughter is on the right of her father.  It is also possible my father, Harold Sweet took the photograph.

Whether my parents were betrothed (engaged) for my mother’s 21st, I have no record of that. They were married eighteen months later in April 1927. Similarly, I have little in the way of stories from either of my parents about how they met, what they did for entertainment, or their ‘courting’ days. Both my elder sisters are also dead so I cannot chat with them as to what they may have been told either.  If there are any photographs of the 21st celebrations, or of my mother from that era,  I have yet to discover them.  The photograph (above) is one of the few showing my mother with her elder sister and brother-in-law, who were the hosts of her ‘coming of age party’.

This is a continuing regret, for me, and a gap in my history of the family.  Each of us should look too these narratives and photographs as an important legacy for future generations.  I found it serendipitous that this inadvertent discovery of two small newspaper articles published ninty-one years ago caused me to reflect and remember a little more of my mother.  Our way of life, our means of enjoying, our family celebrations and our entertainment are different now.  I have not written this to compare and claim one period of time is better than another.  They are unique.  Yet each should be celebrated, remembered and passed on as an important legacy of our family history.

If you haven’t used Trove, I highly recommend it, but be careful, it is addictive.

Research is interesting

For the past eighteen months I have been slowly plodding through the background to the death and final resting place of firefighter Albert GREENMAN.  Albert, as I have mentioned in two precious blogs, (The nostalgia of cemeteries and The nostalgia of cemeteries Part 2) was killed in the explosion that ripped through the ship, City of Singapore, in April 1924, at Port Adelaide.  The other two firefighters killed in that explosion have a memorial to their sacrifice at the Cheltenham cemetery.  There is no recognition, for Albert, on the plot at the West Terrace Cemetery (WTC).

Records at the WTC show that there is a third body buried in Albert’s grave and it is likely to have been his mother in law.  Caroline Barbara Lena MARHORANA who, prior to her death resided in Royal Park SA and died on July 2, 1956 (aged 85 years).  Caroline is probably the mother of Laura GREENMAN, Albert’s wife, so it is probable  that Laura’s maiden name was MARHORANA.  However, there are no persons listed with that surname in the White Pages, in South Australia or nationally.

Other spellings of MARHORANA indicate that this is a name with an Indian ancestry however, there is also a strong Italian connection as well.  Indian/Italian heritage could indicate some of the disquiet in the GREENMAN family almost 100 years ago.

So far I have not been able to track down when Laura GREENMAN died, where she was buried, or if there were any surviving children.  There may have been a daughter, an infant at the time of Albert’s death in 1924, but I have not found any details of that as yet.

Copyright cleared with Shayne Greenman 2016

Firefighter, Albert Greenman, C 1920s. Photo supplied by Shayne Greenman, Queensland, and used with permission.

Now the hiccup – nothing can be done with the site of Albert’s (et al) grave regarding its upkeep, or adding a memorial headstone without the written permission of the site licence owner.  All avenues need to be exhausted in attempting to ascertain who is the current holder of the ‘licence’ and either have their permission, or have the licence transferred into someone else’s name before any memorial can be considered.

Blackwell Funerals, according to the WTC records apparently handled the funerals of Albert (snr), Albert (infant) and Caroline MARHORANA.  As luck would have it, I am attending an information session regarding death, as part of my University Students’ course work next Tuesday at Blackwell Funerals.  So I will see what else I can discover whilst I am there.

Also I have discovered another publication on the history of Port Adelaide and it apparently has a significant section on the City of Singapore Fire in 1924 – Triumph, Tragedies and Port Adelaide (2005) by Ron Ritter.  I have that book on order through an Inter-library loan so I will see if it sheds any further information of value for this project.

The research is becoming more interesting.  What started out as a desire to have a memorial on the grave of a firefighter killed in his duty, is now interwoven with World War I history, family genealogy, family history, and the history of South Australia.

The Nostalgia of Cemeteries – part 2

In May 2015 I wrote about a visit to the West Terrace Cemetery.  As a part of that story I also commented on the unmarked grave of a firefighter, killed in the City of Singapore Ship fire at Port Adelaide.  Since then the challenges of research revealed that Albert Greenman was also a WW I – Western Front – returned soldier.  His unmarked grave gives no recognition to his service to Australia both in war and peace.

The Metropolitan Fire Service is supportive of providing some form of recognition on his grave.  However, all efforts to find any surviving family has, until today, drawn a blank.  As testament to the value and power of research and the internet, a nephew of Albert found my 2015 blog and has contacted me.

While it is still too early to predict what may eventuate from this online meeting, I am hopeful of a headstone being placed on Albert’s grave.  I’ll keep you posted on any progress via my blog.

Almost there

About thirty minutes ago I submitted my thesis for examination.  Given the challenge to get this tome submitted before Christmas, ‘blogging’ has been a somewhat  poor relation in the past couple of months.  Marking student assignments, writing, toss in two presentations as well as the thesis, there was little time, or desire left to blog.

I have discovered that submitting a thesis for examination is a challenge as well.  It is a process of bureaucracy, getting it approved firstly by my supervisor(s), soft bound copies printed, paper-work, always the paper-work, filled out and signed and then physically depositing the three copies for examination.  Then it disappears in to the mysterious world of the Graduate Research Centre.

Then sometime later my two examiners will each have a copy posted to them, hopefully early in the new year.  One is here in Adelaide and the other in Canada.  All I know about them is what I have read of their CVs and the recommendation from my associate supervisor.  The reading and grading process can take three months.  The thesis is 90,000 words, plus the reference list, so it is not a short novel to read at leisure.  After the examiners have submitted their grade I then have about six weeks to reply to their comments (and modify the thesis) before it goes the the university academic board for confirmation.  So if all goes well I will be awarded my PhD later in 2016.

As for an update on my other research projects, the blogs will follow shortly.

Kicked three goals – but I’m 30 meters out for the fourth and running hard

I have kicked three goals – three abstracts submitted and three acceptances. That is a turn up for me.

The first paper is: Nostalgia and Legacy of the family photographic collection, with the NZ Studies Association conference at the Vienna University in the first week of July. Then in September I will present a paper titled: Vida – a pastor’s wife (an oral history) at the national Oral History Conference in Perth (my former stamping ground). Paper number three, I have just been advised is at the inaugural IABA Conference in the South Pacific, here in Adelaide. That paper is titled: Three Generations – oral history through photographs on display.  

Photos on the Wall

As for goal number four, the thesis, I’m still at the 30 meter mark, but dead in front of the goal.  Keeping up with the Aussie Rules analogy, a good drop punt will sail it through the two big sticks (the two independent examiners).  So between now, plane flights to Austria, a return via the Philippines, and preparing for the Perth National Oral History conference I will have the thesis wrapped up in a nice little bow – soon.

The nostalgia of cemeteries

There are a number of self-guided interpretive walks around the cemetery.

There are a number of self-guided interpretive walks around the cemetery.

I’m making a big assumption here, but I suspect that most people do not visit a cemetery as a general, pleasurable activity.  When we do wander through the grounds it is often at times of sadness, there are the memories of bitter-sweet nostalgia, or to pay our respects to someone who is dead.  I recently visited the West Terrace Cemetery where more than 150,000 bodies are buried.  This was a walking tour and talk run by volunteers with the Adelaide Cemeteries Authority.

Besides the family vaults, grand obelisks and deteriorating head-stones there is a rich history to be discovered.  What is the history behind an urn on a grave, the myths of pointy tops to the monuments, the various renditions of a a marble scroll, or the Celtic cross?  At the West Terrace Cemetery four WW 1 AIF soldiers awarded the Victoria Crass are buried there.  As you wander the rows, names from our colonial past bruise our school-time memories of history lessons, F.H. Faulding, Carl Linger, composer of The Song of Australia, or the Menz family plot are just a few.  The AIF section is Australia’s first dedicated military cemetery.  Percy Aldridge Grainger (1882-1909) was an internationally renowned musician and composer.  He apparently rated himself the fifth best composer in the world.  He was also a tad eccentric as well.  He would make his own clothing – suits, and waist coats – from terry toweling, and in his will he stipulated that the flesh be stripped from his body and his skeleton be exhibited at the Grainger Museum in Melbourne.  The executors respectfully declined to carry out this wish.

City of Singapore – ship fire, heroes, destruction and death

The burial site of firefighter Albert Greenman at the West Terrace Cemetery.

The burial site of firefighter Albert Greenman at the West Terrace Cemetery. The burial site of firefighter Albert Greenman at the West Terrace Cemetery. Photo courtesy of Trevor Pert, volunteer, Adelaide Cemeteries Authority (2015).

Having been a firefighter for thirteen years, I have a strong interest in commemorating and remembering those who died in the line of duty.  There is a grave in the WTC where one of three firefighters who died fighting the City of Singapore ship fire at Port Adelaide, rests.  He was Albert Greenman.

According to Fire Brigade history, from the publication Muscle and Pluck Forever, by Page and Bryant, 1983,  the City of Singapore ship-fire was on the 26th April 1924.  Quoting from page 320 of the publication:

Another body had been taken to the Casualty Hospital: that of Albert Greenman.  But when Dr Percival Cherry examined Greenman he saw there was nothing to be done.  … [He wrote at the police station] ‘This is to certify that I made an inspection of the body of Albert Greenman on a stretcher at the Port Adelaide Hospital last night at approximately 11.20 pm.  The body was dead on admission.  The skull was extensively fractured, the right half of the vault being almost entirely absent.  The brain was also absent.  The death in my opinion was instantaneous.’

According to the State Library website at Fire Brigades Headquarters in Adelaide a bronze plaque was placed commemorating the bravery of the firemen who died: GJA Anderson, James Hickey and Albert Greenman. This plaque was subsequently relocated to the foyer of the new headquarters building of the South Australian Metropolitan Fire Service in Wakefield Street.

Two of those who died in this horrendous fire, George Anderson and Jim Hickey, are commemorated by a beautiful white marble statue of a firefighter at the Cheltenham cemetery.   Local fire fighters from Woodville, Rosewater and Port Adelaide fire stations in the late 1970s restored this site and is still kept neat and tidy.

Albert Greenman’s grave has no headstone or plaque.  It is only ‘known’ through the records at the cemetery.  Why this is so I have no idea, I can only speculate.  However, it is something I want to correct.  More will come in my blogs on this intriguing and interesting page from our State’s history.

Dawn Service – 2015

Poppies on display

Poppies on display

Eighteen months ago I presented a paper on my family’s 100 years of connection to war, 1913-2013.  This morning I commemorated the 100 year remembrance of the first landing at Gallipoli, by attending the Dawn Service at the Norwood Cenotaph.

When I was a child, I attended similar services with my father, here at Norwood and also in the city at the State War Memorial.  In the soft darkness before dawn it was quiet cold, but the atmosphere was quiet, respectful and there were more than 600 people there.  The youngest I saw was a babe in arms, but so many young children and teenagers attended, supporting those older men and women who had obviously served our country.  The hour-long service included some beautiful singing from students at the local Marryatville Primary School.

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Dr Leanne Glenny and David Sweet

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The Cenotaph at Norwood with memorial wreaths

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A display of poppies created by a local primary school

Afterwards we met up with colleague Dr Leanne Glenny and her husband Roger, who both served in the Australian (Leanne) and New Zealand (Roger) Defense Services. A typical Anzac Day breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, with coffee, afterwards, was most welcome.

Back home I watched the Tv coverage Anzac Day march through Adelaide and was pleased to see some ‘mates’ who served in Vietnam and other areas of conflict marching.  Then I was moved by the ceremony televised from Anzac Cove.  Politics aside, the speeches were appropriate, respectful and recognised all sides in this bloody conflict.

While today we remembered those who were, and remain, our Anzacs over the next three years similar centenary events will take place to honour those who were in France on the Western Front.

Lest we forget.