Ross McMullin
Auteur van The light on the hill : the Australian Labor Party, 1891-1991
Werken van Ross McMullin
Tagged
Algemene kennis
- Geslacht
- male
Leden
Besprekingen
Prijzen
Statistieken
- Werken
- 9
- Leden
- 129
- Populariteit
- #156,299
- Waardering
- 4.0
- Besprekingen
- 3
- ISBNs
- 26
Since Brian Pockley's death on the 11th September 1914, the Pockley family has had its own 9/11 subsumed into American cultural hegemony. Such is the power of hegemony that for many Australians WW1 is perceived to have begun with Gallipoli, or another holiday event where wreath-layers stand in silence at dawn around decaying monuments that can be found in the centre of any Australian city or town. The monuments and honour boards at the back of disused halls are usually inscribed with long, alphabetically ordered, lists of the names of the dead.
What is wonderful about Life so Full of Promise is that Ross McMullin quietly, but with the surety of thorough research, builds a sense of intimacy and connectivity as he delves into the lives of families from which the progress of young lives was interrupted. Here are real people suffering the pain of loss as they attempt (often unsuccessfully) to put their lives back together.
It's a peculiar feeling when your own family stories, received as passing remarks or oral fragments, are assembled into a coherent narrative set against nation-building forces. There were some parts I knew very well and others I didn't really know at all and, of course, much that was left out. Most of the time I felt as though Ross was being very careful not to upset anyone. Occasionally the tone of the story is almost plaque-like. That said, I was struck by the scale of interconnection with people and families that continues today - three generations later. The discovery that my own relationships with people whose grandparents knew each other makes me wonder about the extent to which we step through some kind of perpetual and repetitive dance.
While the theft of Brian Pockley's belongings is mentioned, as is his father's frustration when the body is exhumed without notification, no mention is made of the years spent trying to get his name spelt correctly (Brien sic). This and Jack Pockley's unknown grave weighed heavily on his father (my great grandfather) Frank Pockley. But this is nit picking. The reference to the proximity of Lancer wood to the place where Jack Pockley died is mildly disturbing. His descendants and family gathered at Hangard wood (to the west) during a commemorative gathering on the centenary of his death in March 2014. The wrong place?
Reading on, past the Pockleys to the archetypal, muddy death of Norman Callaway in a shell hole at Bullecourt, there are more interconnections despite the lapse into cricket adoration (I loathe sports). But I concede that some of the descriptions of batting and bowling are not just inspiring but poetic:
This is a sad but important book where Ross McMullin integrates intimate family dynamics with the wider forces of nation building that flowed over and through people who are so cleverly drawn that they become us all. And all of us have, in our particular ways, had our lives shredded by the relentless engines of war. Tears welled.
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