The Pleasures Of Being Australian

This Month's New Reading

Conducted by

“This ’ere’s Doreen,” ’e sez. I sez “Good day.”

An’, blime, I ’ad nothing more ter say!

I couldn’t speak a word, or meet ’er eye.

Clean done me block! I never been so shy, Not since I was a tiny cub, An’ run the rabbit to the corner pub — Wot time the Summer days wus dry an’ ’ot — Fer me old pot.

ALTHOUGH C. J. Dennis wrote of the city—of Melbourne, of the pushes of Little Lon, and the pickle-joint in Little Bourke where Doreen’s “lurk was pastin’ labels” —his verses are as univers ally Australian as a million acres of gum-trees roasting in a hot summer sun. or the great Outback.

Most of the Dennis’ slang, which needed a glossary to explain it to the upper classes when the first edi tion of this collection was published in 1915, has now become part of the language to a degree that most Australians who can span the inter vening years will find amazing when the fact is brought home to them with the 1957 edition of The Sentimental Bloke.

Some of Dennis’ slanguage is now archaic, of course. Those were the days before the female of the species had become a “sheila.” To Ginger Mick and his “click” all girls were tarts. . . a purely Aus tralian derivation of an English expression, but casting no reflection on morals.

Many Australian long-haired young men, and short-haired young

women, have laboured since C.

Dennis to produce volumes of vei —“clever” or good, so-called mode but mostly indifferent—and hs failed to capture the essential At tralian-ness of the verses tH flowed so freely from the Lauren of the Larrikin in the mid-Wot War I years.

No expatriate, walking on foreign strand, is likely to bothered by the outpourings of o latter-day poets. But a few stam of Dennis will see the heart, if e the footsteps, of all true Austi lians, homeward-turned.

Dennis is to the Australian wB Burns is to the Scot—and for t very good reason that no one e can be expected to so deeply undi stand their respective Bards.

Two months after Doreen and t Kid are hitched, the Kid goes o on the tiles with the boys, ai laments: Ten minutes later I was hack or more, Kip in me ’and, on Steeny Isaa floor, Me luck was in an’ I wus ’eadi good.

Yes, back agen amongst the sa i . old crew!

An’ orl the time down in me ’et I knew I never should . . .

Nex’ thing I knows it’s after t o’clock — Two in the mornin’! And I’ve da me block!

“Wot odds!” I thinks. “I’m in it orright”

An’ so stops an’ gambles orl t night. . . .

This particular epic was call “Beef Tea”. When later the F sneaks into bed “an’ feels de crook”, Doreen succours him wr that concoction and treats him 11 a “hinvaleed. ... It ’urts me wok than maggin’ fer a week.”

This new 1957 edition of T Songs of a Sentimental Bloke reprinted in the same size and sty with the original Hal Gye drawin and dust-jacket, as the first 12 edition. With this printing tt number of copies total 175,000. (Published by Angus and Robertson, Australian price, 12/6.)

Murder with the

Light Touch

THE popularity of the Whodumj has had the inevitable res - ; of overstocking the market wi 1 poor and mediocre offerings. Thei fore, when the addict finds a nr author producing something reai good, the discoverey can be i

garded as of the first magnitude.

If, of course, you like your crinr of the shooting, sloshing and basH ing variety, with rogue cor abounding, then Murder at the FU' Club is not for you. But if you liK a sophisticated story, with goo writing, and characters who ms be eccentric but are still related 1 human, this is the dish—and yo may put Matthew Head on yoir list and look for his future offering (He has also written Cabinda Affai which has not come our way.) Perhaps not the least of tH story’s charm is that its backgroun is Paris —Paris of the tourist or tli emigre, if not the Parisien.

Then there was Audrey who ms have been 35 but was probably 41: who exuded a delicious scent in diiJ creet little whiffs . . . just enoug to suggest you lean forward an smell more. And the outsize femai missionary doctor from the Cong who embellished her costume wit a plump gold watch pinned over on hillock; and her 94-lb friend Emii who brightened her costume wit an unconvincing white cloth ga:, denia.

And Freddy, who was wealthy an spoke in italics and wanted to pis angel to other young men; Nico) the peasant turned night-ciu singer; Rene the Kept Man; am of course, Marie Louise who “wj an awfully pretty girl, but yo were likely to miss it because sH didn’t act like one.”

Some of the characters are, i the narrator Hoopy explain wacky—but at that they are creo ible, and at all times entertaining This particular brand of Writin With a Light Touch, indulged ; here by Matthew Head, is a gii peculiarly American. We have new 1 seen any other national get off wit it successfully. (Published b« Wm. Heinemann, Ltd. A / tralian price, 17/-.)

Something for the IGY

AS a gesture to the Internatiom Geophysical Year, which begs on July 1, the publishers ha T > brought out a second edition ( Charles F. Laseron’s South wit Mawson, first printed in 1947.

It is fitting that this should be sa as no less than 20 expeditions < many different nationalities will I at work in the Antarctic during tH 18 months of the “Year”.

The book itself describes Am tralia’s first expedition to the arr in 1911-1914, regarded as one the most successful, in the collectio of scientific data, to that date.

Laseron’s part in the expeditk was to collect specimens of biiJ and marine life of the area, and H was one of a large party of 18 wM lived in the base camp at Adel Land during the winter of 191 In addition to the main camp, small party had been left at Maj

[uarie Is., and another small party et up a camp west of Adelie Land.

The party had left Tasmania at he end of 1911 and the larger part f it was back there by March, 1913. lut due to a tragedy during a ledging expedition around Decem er, 1912, the leader of the expedi ion, Dr. Douglas Mawson—after wards knighted—and five com anions had to remain a second winter at the base at Adelie Land nd did not return to Australia ntil early 1914.

Over 40 years of scientific and schnological advancement will as ist the hundreds of scientists and pecialists who will in the next 18 lonths make the most intensive udy of the Antarctic of all time, lut the 20 different expeditions to lis region will still have to con uer Aroh Enemy Climate —which as not changed at all since 1912.

The second edition of this book as many new illustrations —some rom Frank Hurley who accom anied the expedition as photo rapher; and end papers show a lap of the complete Antartic area, ith all the stations to be manned uring the International Geo hysical Year clearly marked.

The story itself is an entertaining ccount of men and their accom lishments under the most extreme f weather conditions. (Published by Angus and Robertson. Aus alian price, 21/-).

Amongst the Grass, the

Blips and the Xmas Trees

WHEN the Luftwaffe started its mass-bombing attacks on Eng land in 1940, RAF night fighters were exhorted to eat carrots. Carrots, it was popularly supposed, contained the vitamin that prevented night blindness.

But in spite of the carrots, RAF victories were few; and Luftwaffe damage great. Then came the

Black Box; The Thing; operated by the Goons, who did not know one end of an aircraft from another— “trod on all the wrong places; and their P arachutes their Night-Fighter, currently the most sought-after war-book, is about the development of The Thing into radar-equipment for aircraft, and evolution of the Goon into a with lull air crew status, The story is a personal account by

5 F. Rawnsley, assisted by Robert Wright, in private life a professional writer, but during the war also a radar-navigator with 604 Squadron.

The hero of the story is Group Uaptain John Cunningham, most 'amous wartime night-fighter pilot, vho became even more famous after he war as Chief Test Pilot for de lavillands, responsible for testing md development work on the hornet.

Rawnsley’s and Cunningham’s asociation began in 1937 when they here crewed together in 604 Squadon in the peacetime Auxiliary Air i 'orce—Cunningham as a pilot of 0, and Rawnsley as his 33-year-old ir-gunner.

In 1939, 604 Squadron went onto wartime basis, and Cunningham nd Rawnsley went with it. Their ssociation lasted eight years, and Dgether, when the bugs had been roned out of The Thing, they acounted for 18 German aircraft.

The business of reducing radar quipment to the size that could e comfortably accommodated in an ircraft was one problem; but small i comparison the myriads of others ttendant upon getting The Thing and work.

The first operators—the Goons, or le magicians as they were sarcasically called—were frequently round-radar operators who had olunteered for work in the air.

However, they found radar aloft a much more unpredictable maiden than her more earthly cousin and when The Thing went wrong—as it most consistently did—their only remedy was to kick it It then either pei formed its normal or gave out with a great stink which was followed by billowing smoke if the set were not switched off imme diateiy.

The early operators spent most of their time in an attitude of prayer before their respective black-boxes, twiddling dials and muttering in coherently while their pilots cursed them soundly from the front end of the plane.

To interfere with the good recep tion 0 f tb e “blips”, there were Christmas Trees, which filled up the entire end of the cathode-ray tubes and were the reflections from the earth; and “grass”—a choppy fringe down the sides of the traces which was described as “like the back ground noise of a wireless set.”

Rawnsley tells how he, air-gunner turned radar navigator, made his first practice run with Cunningham —after several woeful failures else where. He was nervous but to his relief a “fine bonny blip” edged out of the Christmas tree and went swing ing down the traces. ... “I took a deep breath and announced as con fidently as possible: ‘Contact at three thousand feet. Dead ahead and 200 feet up.’

“ ‘Well, actually,’ said John, ‘lt’s a good 300 feet below us.’

“I looked at the tubes, but the picture had not altered. The in structor looked over my shoulder. ‘lt’s that squint again, sir,’ he said to John. He shrugged. ‘You’ll have to allow for it as you close in.’

“So the wretched thing was not

or ' ■ incertain, coy and hard to un devnand: it could be a lying jade as well.” hed by Collins. Australian price, 22/6.)

ugglers—and

All That

inveterate readers of jacket / 1 flaps, we don’t know how we got rapped by this one —Forbidden Cargo by Sydney and Muriel Box. ter having read right through it, ar and privately deciding that it would r ake good fare for teenagers, we found that this was the clientele intended.

Husband-and-wife British play thing team of Sydney and Muriel Box (Seventh Veil, etc.) are re sponsible between them for a British motion picture of the same name, and now, the book.

It is a story of the Customs and Excise Service, and a chase after drug smugglers from the South of England to the South of France, o of the most amusing characters he story are the bird-watching dy Flavia Queensway and her hoolboy nephew, who have a habit , turning up in unexpected places. (Published by Heinemann. Australian price,

Old Plot Re-Used

THERE is apparently some con spiracy abroad for established authors to experiment with old plots. Last year Cronin ( Crusader’s Tomb ) tried out one—the scion

of good family, cut off without shilling because he insisted on beir an artist and dying of TB in garret.

Now Daphne du Maurier has en ployed an even more ancient gin mick —the man (goodie) who b

)mes entangled with his double jaddie). The novel is called The mpegoat —a prophetic title, as le story turns out. If you can irallow the premise that any one dividual, not an identical twin, m be so like another, that even others and children cannot tell le from the other, then the rest the story has suspense, drama id entertainment value —although 3 think the indefatigable Daphne uld have made something better the end.

An Englishman, nameless roughout the piece, is nearing the id of a holiday in France which ; loves as much as his own untry. He is a lecturer in history it, driven by a sense of despon sncy and failure, seeks a few tys away from the world in a onastery near Le Mans. It is this point that he is confronted his double —the wicked Comte Gue. The Comte tricks him into king over his identity, and as a suit our fastidious Englishman ids himself ensconced in the som of the Comte’s family and e bed of the Comte’s wife, assum g the Comte’s troubles and obliga >ns—which are not few. de Gue has said that he was by ly of being a family man, and is proves to be a piece of un ench understatement.

There is the dowager Comtesse, a lious old matriarch who is, addi mally, a drug addict. There is other Paul, who suffers under a ise of frustration as the younger a. Paul’s wife, Renee, with whom e Comte varied his amorous ad ntures. The Comte’s wife, a erulous female given to mis rriages but of some prospective alth. The Comte’s-sister, Blanche, io lives the life of a nun and rses her hatred; the precocious ild, Marie-Noel; and finally, the mte’s mistress, Bela. [n addition to this kettle of fish, sre are the problems attendant on the broken-down establish ing and the family glass-works, [n the short time he has, our glishman makes some quite sur ging changes, but whether du lurier fans will approve of the y she works it all out, is another itter.

Published by Angus and Robertson, Sydney, tralian price, 18/9.)

iin in the Ileum

HERE are some who like medi cated novels. Some who do not.

Comat the Do Nots. if you differ, This Side Holman’s Hill (Frank Freedman) a pan-to-pan description of a in with a terrible pain in what calls his gut. rhe action takes place In a Vet ins’ Hospital, somewhere in nada, and the climax is the hero ving an ileostomy—which means

that he is left permanently with his bowel protruding through the wall of the abdomen, said bowel being fitted with a neat rubber pouch, for the obvious reason.

These are some of the facts of life, we know. However, not everyone finds the subject hilarious entertainment. (Published by Seeker & Warburg, Ltd. Australian price, 15/6.) . , ... .

Another Win tor

Perry

AFTER that, we can turn to Erie Stanley Gardner’s latest opus with something like relief.

Perry Mason is right on the ball again in The Case of the Fiery

Fingers. With the assistance of that super-efficient secretary, Della Street, and Private Eye, Paul Drake, he goes through the gamut of those incredible things that can be done only in America. He races around in high-powered cars; flits about the country in high-powered air liners; orders up suites at luxury hotels: manipulates half a dozen telephones at once; disdains normal hours of sleeping or eating; and fires on 12 super-charged cylinders for 24 hours of each day. As in all his other Cases, he is always in im minent danger of being arrested himself—why, it is far from clear.

Finally, he goes into court, and in the face of overwhelming odds, spikes the guns of the District Attorney and the whole of the local police force. (Over)

[n the United States, Crime is so lourful.

Published by Wm. Heinemann. Australian :e, 13/3.)

nongst the Rest . . .

iLh A NONSENSE (Mark Bence les). An extraordinary apt title a piece of fiction which hits on keys and fails to produce any ognisable tune. Designed ap ■ently to be sophisticated and ivocative, one suspects that the hor let his characters get so out hand that he has, in the end, te literally to leave them skir ling in the bushes at the bottom the garden. üblished by Peter Davies. Australian J, 17/-.)

Ife Is Worth Living—

rth book in the series by Bishop ton Sheen, presenting Cath ism with an American touch. As h the previous three books, this sists of the scripts of some of inspirational talks the Bishop vers over an American TV net k. üblished by Peter Davies. Australian '/ 18/9.) [Y BELOVED—the story of a melite Nun, told by Mother herine Thomas who has spent

25 years in that contemplative order in America. She discusses the daily routine of the women who enter the cloistered life; as well as her own experiences before and after she left the world of a normal girl for the discipline of mind and body that is required of these dedicated women. (Published by Worlds Work. Australian price, 22/6.)

John And Jennifer Go

SAILING: One of the “John and Jennifer” series of children’s books by Gee Denes, published by Heine mann for Children’s Book Week (second week in July).

This is the 11th of the series—all designed to teach youngsters some thing as well as to entertain them.

It is illustrated by colour and black and white photographs of real children learning to sail a boat.

The price of this book is only 8/3; unfortunately it is likely to in spire your offspring with the idea of owning a sailing dinghy—and that is going to cost quite a lot more. t An unusual type of “pay-back” was made at Goroka, New Guinea, recently. While playing, one Chimbu boy cut another’s finger off. The father of the injured boy quickly retaliated by cutting off the finger of the other boy.