G.O.T. to watch GAME OF THRONES

Shakespeare Would Have Watched "Game of Thrones" if he were alive today.

It's not often a scene from a television series sucks the air out of you.  Twice now "Game of Thrones" has done that to me.  That's just never happened before and it makes me glad to be living in the time this series is being made.  Gosh, if they'd waited thirty more years, I'd probably be dead.

I had long given up hope of good television.  In the seventies there were some exceptional series made by the BBC such as "The Six Wives of Henry the Eighth", "Jenny, Lady Randolph Churchill", "The Duchess of Duke Street" and others.  They were high quality and riveting series of six to eight episodes and all based on historic characters.  Then, suddenly, they disappeared over thirty years ago.  Just like that, Poof.  None of them come close, however, to the impact of "Game of Thrones".

There have been good shows and sitcoms amongst the dearth since those series in the seventies; jewels even.  However, I sensed the end of television as entertainment was nigh when 'reality' shows reared their vapid heads well over ten years ago.  At first these were touted as 'infomercials', a commercial turned documentary without the guts.

"Game of Thrones" has been made for television and may well be the saviour of the medium.  It comes from the US yet many of the actors are British.  This was a brilliant choice as there was, after all, no US in Medieval times in which the series is set, even if this is a fantasy one.  The effect is to give the series that added zing of class and realism, which comes with a series the BBC might produce.  Some of the actors are good looking, some are not, but all faces have been chosen to fit character.  Young, middle aged and aged characters all play and look their parts.

I first heard of "Game of Thrones" when reading the news magazine "The Monthly" for the very first time in 2013.  The journalist in the 'Film' section was raving about it and how the lead character, Edard Stark, played by Sean Bean, is beheaded.  She admitted to having a bit of a thing for Bean and she wasn't expecting him, as a main character, to be executed at the end of the first season.

Well I had to watch after that, didn't I?  I was hooked from the moment the program started  for a number of reasons.  I love period dramas and realistic costumes.  I am a Media graduate who never found work in the industry but I studied film for five years.  Not that I had to in order to appreciate the visual spectacle and sumptuousness of this production.

The introduction to each episode begins with incredible mechanical miniatures that grow to represent each of the seven kingdoms and their position on the map of a mythical continent called Westeros.  Whoever is responsible for these is a genius.  Who could not watch after such an introduction?

The series is set in a mythical Medieval past and the lighting is done so as to reproduce a time of dark interiors, candle and torch light.  The lighting for exterior scenes appears entirely natural and yet filters have been used to capture the cold and stark landscapes of the Northern Kingdoms.  In the sun drenched South there are lush gardens and Roman porticos.  The landscapes range from snow covered, frozen vistas to dark mountainous regions and moors to sunny Mediterranean climes.  The costumes are amazing and made of cloth suitable to the time.  The skins and furs look real and the sets are both lavish and realistic.

The story is multi-faceted and each episode deals with events in each kingdom so that we may jump from the cold North to the South or jump the sea to a land of sand and Byzantine palaces.  In each series there are a number of lead characters as well as numerous lesser ones.  These change as time goes on and characters are killed off.  In the beginning the head of Northfell is Ned Stark and his wife Catelyn and the Stark's adult and younger children.  The children remain integral to the series as it continues.

There is the King Robert Baratheon, his wife Cersei Lannister, her incestuous brother, Jaime, and her son Joffrey.  It is obvious to the viewers that the vile Joffrey is actually the son of the brother and sister.  The other characters are the blonde exiles Daenerys Targarin and her brother, Vyseris, who wish to win back their throne.  There are the men of 'the Wall' and to top it off the rarely seen Wildlings, a race of living dead.

As the series progresses more characters are introduced.  Some start as minor characters whose roles grow, making the complex tapestry of the plot even richer.  The incestuous Lannisters have a powerful father, Tywin Lannister, played by Charles Dance who makes my mouth water at the best of times.  His other child is the real centrepiece of the show, Tyrion Lannister, a dwarf of formidable brain, loathed by one and all but his mistress for his deformity.

Peter Dinklage, who plays him, is the actor who has left me reeling with his scenes.  I believe I am not alone.  He is brilliant.  No one wants his character to die and I have a feeling he won't as I believe a dream he speaks of suggests a premonition that he will one day be the King.  The dream is about beetles and an idiot cousin, but I can tell a good premonition when I see one.

Another character, Jon Snow, is the bastard son of Edard Stark.  He is sent to 'the Wall' but eventually becomes a leader.  His younger sister and brother in the meantime are having adventures of their own.  The younger brother early on, catches Cersei and her brother in flagrante delecto and is tossed from a tower with no memory of what happened and paralysed.  His sister, who wants to be a warrior, ends up alone after her father's death and abducted by reprobrate who plans to sell her off.  They begin to form a strange alliance on their journey and this is another sub plot.  The middle sister, Sansa, becomes a major character and is meant to be married to the horrid Joffrey but, when he chooses another bride, is instead later married to Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf, for whom she cares not at all.

She is rescued after Tyrion is accused of Joffrey's murder by Petyr Baelis, the Machiavellian character of the series.  He, no doubt, has plans to make her Queen of his own kingdom when he finds one.  He is an incredibly polished devious man who represents the higher public servants of the world everywhere.  He schemes and manipulates right down to telling whores how to do their job.

In fact there are many sub plots and major plots but they are beginning to come together.  Nonetheless they are often glued by grisly deaths.  Lesser characters in the series all have complexity and add considerable weight to an extraordinary plot.  Each scene is meticulously put together from the costumes, the fabulous sets and lighting to create mood and ambience.  Never in my mind has there been a more perfect show.  I doubt there ever will be again.

Did I mention there are dragons?  Daenerys is also known as Kaleeshi, 'the mother of dragons' and these, the wolves of Northfell and the Wildlings make up the only supernatural parts of the show.  None is overdone so the sense of realism prevails. 

Am I raving?  Those of you who watch it know I'm not.  Those who don't watch it have the pleasure of discovering that I'm not.

It is like a modern version of Shakespeare, but his Globe Theatre is the Media and the best artisans of their time are his producers and actors.  If he were alive today he would be glued to his television set and waiting for the next episode.  In this show I'm sure he would have felt he had found his peers.

I salute the author of the books on which the series is based, George R.R. Martin.  Perhaps his double, middle initials give a hint to the fact that he likes to make things complex.  Whatever the reason I am in awe of him.

I also salute two masters of film making in David Benioff and D.B. Weiss.  The latest issue of Vanity Fair calls this show the best television series ever made.  That is high praise from the highly respected News Journal.  However it is its fans all over the world that prove that quality still wins over crass.  In the sit-com "The Big Bang Theory", which I confess to liking immensely, even Sheldon has something to say about it.  "How good is "Game of Thrones"," he enthuses.  From this shows producers, through him, comes high praise.

It is almost sad to watch the best television you are ever likely to see.  At the same time it would be worse if it had not come about.  What it shows is that the media is still capable of reaching beyond it's last best to further better itself.  It is an analogy to the human race.  We are always capable of going one better and to grow.  It is heartening to know.

I had been beginning to feel that technology was marking the end of the evolution of the human race but perhaps I am wrong.  We are still  progressing.  There is not much new technology in "Game of Thrones" in respect to special effects.  It is simply the marriage of great talent with television.  In the game of life, it seems, the human mind is still capable of originality.  That gives me hope when I had begun to think humans were running out of initiative in the face of massive technological revolution.

Long may our minds reign supreme above technology.  In my 'game of thrones' I fear the day technology is incorporated in the human minds.  Technology is there for us to use and must be kept in its place.  The greatest power of all rests with us and our minds and of what they are capable.  They are our greatest kingdom.

END

MANNERS

The Absence of Manners

 

 'Manners' is a most misunderstood concept.  It is not the same as 'etiquette', which is culturally accepted modes of behaviour such as laying a knife to the right of a plate and a fork to the left.

In some cultures it is considered good etiquette to belch after a meal to show satisfaction.  Thank goodness it isn't in Western Society, not that it stops some people.  Blowing your nose at the table is also anathema to me.

'Manners' arise from a person's natural empathy to treat others the way they would wish to be treated in the same situation.  In other words it is consideration for others.  For instance when two people arrive at a door at the same time the well-mannered will hesitate and offer to let the other go first.  If both are well-mannered, as we have all witnessed at some stage, a negotiation must then take place:  "You first."  "No, after you." "Oh, thank you."

If one is not well-mannered he or she will have simply barged ahead and cause the other to feel aggrieved.  If both are not well-mannered there is bound to be a collision.  Some people feel it is a sign of weakness to show manners.  If, in fact, a person is always conceding the way to ill-mannered persons, they are likely to appear to be weak by the ill-mannered and will themselves feel used.

Good manners isn't about letting a woman proceed before a man.  I hesitate for a man or a woman and men hesitate for other men if they are being considerate.  One thing all the men in my life have in common is a tendency to walk ahead of me.  If I ask them to slow down and walk with me, they all tell me the same thing: they are paving the way.  I believe it is the male seeing himself as protector syndrome.  The hunter within him is checking ahead for danger.  The trouble is that doesn't wash now but they all still seem to do it.

Well barging ahead is not the worst thing in the world after all.  The only remedy is holding their hand or putting them on a leash.  I've had Labrador dogs in the past who, when you put them on a leash drag you behind them in their desire to rush ahead.  It is their natural exuberance.  I figure it's the same with men and, as exuberance is a great characteristic, why tie him down?

It can be a tough call in life to keep your manners in the presence of those who have none.  Quite often people from certain backgrounds are brought up not to consider others because it is felt that manners display eagerness to please and it will make them appear weak and will get them nowhere in life.  When they run across those who do show consideration they are likely to misjudge them as being weak.  They will often try to take advantage of such people only to discover they do actually possess a backbone.

I have often been at the receiving end of this kind of behaviour.  It has been interesting to note than when the person discovers they have misjudged me as a walkover, they seem really puzzled.  They then keep trying to abuse my good nature because they can't take it in that their judgement was off.  To be frank, it is very annoying.

It would be great if everybody had the same codes of behaviour.  By 'behaviour' I am including 'etiquette' along with 'manners' as they often work in harmony.  If two strangers meet and each have similar manners, it smooths the way for them to discover more about one another at a personal level, rather than to have to reach common ground first because they are each confused by the other's behaviour at their first meeting.  No wonder there are wars and we need diplomacy between countries with different social mores.  Behaviour varies from place to place.  To Westerners some Eastern and Middle Eastern countries seem to show less empathy than we do to things we consider absolutely sacred.

We would never eat a dog for instance or cage a bear.  Unfortunately there are those who think that animals have no feelings.  Yes, that is ignorance but if you are brought up from childhood to believe that and your nourishment depends on it, we can't judge them by our standards.  We eat other animals of course but, apparently, they are killed in a humane fashion, whatever that is.

I remember walking through a market in Hong Kong selling fresh fish and live frogs.  The frogs were flapping around the floor in pairs each with one leg tied to the other's leg.  I couldn't get out of there fast enough.  I also couldn't protest.  The sellers would simply have laughed and not understood my horror.   I considered this cruel but they obviously did not.

I still feel bad about eating meat.  Not only that, we eat herbivores that don't exactly hunt us to eat us.  In some countries animals have their throats cut in a ritual killing.  No matter how much I try to tolerate other cultures, I find it difficult to understand why those doing this never consider how it would feel.  It is simply gross.

I'm getting away from manners, but then again, manners are about tolerance and keeping the peace between groups and individuals.  If someone shows you lack of consideration, think how your blood boils.  Mine does.

It's interesting that a lack of manners on the road can lead to the extreme behaviour of road rage.  There is something anonymous about a steel capsule.  We vent rage upon the driver in a way we won't do face to face.  Of course driving is about life and death.  It's not like giving way at a door.  Not giving way on the road can cause death and so manners, or in this case, considerate road behaviour, become the most important type of manners of all.

Treat others as you would have them treat you and consider their right to life.  The whole principal of Christianity is this and that is basically what manners are.  They are to acknowledge another person's presence and to respect it.

END..

A BEACH TOO FAR

A Dumper

 

Water turns me on, not in a sexual sense but in a making me feel alive sense.  As soon as I see it my spirits lift in a way that a landscape can't affect me.  I don't know if it's because I grew up near Sydney's Northern beaches and, from my home, had a beautiful view of Pittwater, an inlet of the Hawkesbury River.  Whatever the reason, I am never quite complete without a water-scape to fill my senses.

The view of Pittwater from Church Point

Australia is surrounded by water, which makes it an island, but there is so much interior that living near the water, or with a view of it, is both sought after and expensive.  Of course a person could buy a cheaper property overlooking water on some barren southern cliff but, in general, the most sought after water views are near cities or coastal towns.

There are plenty of barren and inhospitable beaches on an island continent whose mainland circumference measures almost thirty thousand kilometres.  This measurement does not include Tasmania or the many islands that make up Australian territory.

One thing they all have in common are sharks.  Of course there are sharks in every ocean save, I believe, the Mediterranean, which has smaller, mostly harmless sharks. Nonetheless in Australia few people are taken per year and this is because most know where and where not to swim. When I say few, I mean at least ten to twelve, and to those poor souls the statistics are meaningless.

My parents taught me that swimming inside the breaker line meant that you were less likely to be taken by a shark.  Sadly I'm shortsighted and every large cluster of seaweed was mistaken for a Kim-eating shark.  To this day, though, I have all my limbs.  Waves disturbed me almost as much as sharks.  Australian children learn how to be 'dumped'.  How often did I emerge from the water with a crotch full of sand?  Plenty.

It's quite embarrassing having your swimsuit hanging between you thighs laden with wet sand.  You try to extricate it hiding your lower half under the water but its not easy.  Chances are another wave will come along and force you face first in the water.  It's all part of growing up at the beach but it doesn't seem to happen as much when you grow older.  In my case it's simply because I hate getting my hair wet and having to wash it afterwards.

My first experience of the surf was of being walked towards a breaker on the shoulders of my not very tall father as he jovially assured me he would let no harm come to me.  The approaching wave was taller than both of us put together and I quickly formulated that it would break over the top of us.  I freaked out and now can't remember the outcome

This lovely, fatherly attempt to help initiate me to surf has stayed with me all these years and had the opposite long term effect to giving me confidence.  Bless his heart though for trying.  Nonetheless I was soon confronting waves and have since done my share of diving under a curler to avoid a dumping.

There's nothing like the thrill and terror of seeing a dumper, a wave that curls from the top and begins to form a cylinder within.  There is but one thing to do and that is dive and hit the sand, lay flat and wait for it to thunder down, over and past you.  Often however, if big enough, it will pick you up from the bottom and take you with it, rolling you around like a dead fish so that you don't know which way is up when it starts to subside and you can try and surface for air.

Describing this scene is like reliving it all over again.  You never forget the experience but you will still return to the sea as if the primeval part of your brain draws you there to better, simpler times that are hidden deep inside your brain's inner cortex.

When I see an expanse of blue water it is as if my soul, which has gone into hibernation from the sheer repetition of the everyday, wakes up and thinks heaven is in sight to release it from its physical confines.  It really does feel like that.  Something deep within me stirs and feels the hope and possibilities I am missing these days.

While I love the beach, not all are equal.  In its vast circumference Australia has only a small percentage of really good swimming beaches.  Some of the reasons for this are the quality of the sand and water but for others, no matter how perfect the swimming possibilities, you only venture in at your peril.

Above the Tropic of Capricorn exist crocodiles and, in the summer, deadly Box jellyfish.  The stings of this creature are so painful they are likely to kill you before the venom.  Those few who have survived them have the scars to show for it.  The long, stinger covered tendrils leave dark, permanent welts all along the lines where they have touched the skin.

Scars left by the tentacles stingers of the Box jellyfish

Box Jellyfish

The islands of the Great Barrier Reef are where people swim, scuba and snorkel and are supposedly free of stingers.  This is because the jellyfish breed in river estuaries and remain close to shore.

Sea snakes don't seem to kill anyone even though they are capable of it.  They are a gentler variety than their land based cousins and don't attack.  Another danger in the ocean is the Manta Ray with its venomous tail spike but this is only a defense mechanism.  The only death I have ever heard of from one of these gentle giants is the tragic one of Steve Irwin.  The great environmentalist and exuberant, infectious character was killed by one.  It was almost a fitting end for the great man as a warrior for nature to be speared in the heart.  I almost see the hand of God in his ending.  There was no surer way to ensure his work would never be forgotten and its effects continue long afterwards.

But back to beaches.  I once lived in Melbourne on Port Phillip Bay in a bay side suburb.  The water was still and shallow and I needed shoes to wade into its tepid water.  In my mind it wasn't water at all.  My husband and I went to the coastal beaches near Portsea, the so-called back beaches.  These were not attractive like those in Sydney and look positively dangerous.  We never went back.

A Back Beach of the Mornington Pensinsula south of Melbourne, Australia

I now live in Brisbane which, to my horror, when I arrived, I discovered had no surf beaches.  I was so eager to get out of Perth I didn't care.  The surf beaches lie an hour to the north and to the south.  The southern Gold Coast boasts the most famous beaches in Australia.  I think they are inferior to Sydney's, but they are a tourist haven.  The beaches are long, unbroken by headlands and surrounded by skyscrapers.  People drown there every summer because foreign tourists simply can't read the sea.  It looks tranquil but there are rips, undertows and sandbanks.  The life savers do their absolute best or the numbers would be much higher.

The Gold Coast

Some people prefer the more natural beaches of Noosa and the ones on the sea side of Fraser Island.  Those around Noosa, apart from the one of Noosa town itself that is not a surf beach, are hard to get to without a four wheel drive.

There are also great beaches off Stradbroke Island that lies off Brisbane.  Unfortunately it is a forty minute ferry trip from the mainland and you may need to travel up to an hour to get to the ferry depending on where you live in Brisbane.

When we lived in Perth we were at first excited at the sight of the white sand beaches and surf.  Sitting upon one just before midday one Saturday we saw people begin to vacate the beach and looked at one another puzzled.  Then it happened.  A breeze picked up and became stronger.  The sea became choppy and sand began to pick up.  We left.  We had experienced the famous Fremantle Doctor, the breeze that comes in every afternoon and makes the beach impossible to enjoy.  Our earlier idea of an evening beach barbeque went out the door.

Myself, son Asher and Bruno on a bleak winter's day at City Beach, Perth, WA

In the afternoon the ocean becomes a glassy mirror as the sun begins its journey down to the horizon.  I was very glad not to have a view of this from our house, which was within a kilometer of the beach.  It explained why, up until then, the nineteen eighties, Perth had no really prestige houses with an ocean view north of Cottesloe.  Things changed while we were there, but I wouldn't have paid to look at that hot, silver strip.  The ocean is on the West and facing in that direction in Perth is hot.  The word humidity hasn't made its way to that city yet and never will.  Hot means very hot and dry.  It is also very cold in winter.

My parents moved to Perth against my advice, stayed two years and moved south to the beach holiday town of Dunsborough.  This is where the West's beaches come into their own.  Dunsborough is situated on Geographe Bay.  The bay faces North West and is protected from winds at its Southern tip by Cape Naturaliste.  The sand is white, the water blue and there are no waves.  The water is shallow then deepens gradually.  Sharks don't bother coming in to such warm water without enough depth.  It is absolutely ideal for families and those of us who have been terrorised by big waves.

The gorgeous beach at Dunsborough, WA on Geographe Bay

The only problem here are small and vicious little stingers that come when the water flows from certain directions at swimming times of the year.  They can vary in size annually as well and the sting can range from an irritation to painful as my son discovered one year when he was the first in the water and ran out covered in painful welts.

Further around from Dunsborough come the little cove beaches that are deeper and with some chop.  These are in secluded and protected headlands and grass and trees line the the area down to the sand.  Moving a little further south you come to Margaret River and Yellingup beaches.  These are famous surf spots.  Yellingup is surrounded by a steep hill on which perch the holiday homes of Perth's wealthy.  You can't call it a pretty place but the beach is great.  There is major surf area and a lovely protected lagoon on one side for swimmers.

Lagoon at Yellingup Beach, WA

I am fond of this southern part of Western Australia now that I don't have to live in there.  It's partly because my parent's remaining years together were spent there and partly because it has a lovely atmosphere.  I shall go back as I must to place my mother's ashes with my father's.  His lie in the memorial garden of the church he helped design and build - Our Lady of the Southern Cross.  That's another very good reason I have great fondness for the place.  It really is a little slice of heaven.   

END

BEST DRESSES IN HISTORY

Oh dear!

 

 

I'm beginning to think that there should be some uniformity to clothes even if bodies come in all shapes and sizes.

Walking through the city these days you see such a hodgepodge of fashion choices it can almost make you giddy.  Well it does me.  It has made me think about which dresses I consider to be the most attractive and wearable in the history of clothing.

I think that there is something in the brain that seeks a reference point with which to make judgements.  We know this is how the brain works in regard to facial recognition and it may do the same when we observe fashion.  Perhaps we're seeking a theme.  After all that is exactly what fashion designers work at creating when they bring out a new collection.

Of course they can't just come up with one of their own themes unless they are famous like Versace or Dior, so designers must come up with themes within the current year's accepted Parisian and Italian generated trends.

As I observe people en-masse, with women in particular in mind for this post, I can count the well dressed ones on one hand.  I must be specific about 'well dressed'; it is a combination of well chosen clothes, shoes, hair and, if there is make-up, that too.  It comes down to simplicity and elegance.  It can vary from a pair of jeans and a shirt to a suit, but it's how it's put together.  It can even be eclectic or outlandish but if its done right it can work.

It's also who is wearing it.  A woman needs good posture.  She can be slim or huge but she needs to carry her clothes well. 

Some fat girls and women in Brisbane actually wear shorts God bless their deluded sense of style.  Do they have a special 'thin' mirror at home?  Do their mothers tell them they look lovely wearing anything?  Have they ever looked at their rears in the mirror?  In fact this is a must if you check yourself before you go out.  Even the sleekest can get a shock when they take a good look at their rear.


OK let's get down to business starting chronologically.  These are my choices for the best dresses in history.

The Greco/Roman toga:

Well there are no actual photographs of course but the picture above gives you the idea.  It looks as if the man just got out of bed and took the sheets with him, quite reasonable when people rose with the sun and went to bed a couple of hours after it went down.  What a great way to save time.

If you read about the students of Aristotle you discover that his young students left home in the dark and walked with an oil torch to school so that they could learn in the daylight hours.  I took Latin at school for four years and I picked up this little historical titbit in the process.  Natural light dictated life in those times unlike the extended night life we have now.

In Roman times, women, being delegated to the home, no doubt took a little trouble with their appearance and fashioned the cloth to enhance their female forms.  Their only real asset in those days was their ability to attract a mate who would look after them.  It is interesting that throughout history clothes have become the currency of female attractiveness.

The woman's toga is simple and comfortable yet, although it is long, the fabric lies directly against her breasts and her legs are outlined as the folds fall loosely over them.  As she walked they would also be apparent.  Quite a sexy garment altogether.

In spite of women now being independent, they are still inclined to dress themselves to attract a mate.  It's no use bleating that this isn't true.  We compete with each other at this level and that remains a fact to this day.

The Cheong Sam

Take, for example the Cheong Sam pictured above.  It arose from a much looser garment that was redesigned by courtesans and high society women in Shanghai in the 1920's.  "Let's show off our assets" it said in so uncertain terms.  Our model looks as sweet as a honey pot but that's not the idea of the Cheong Sam.  Most of these dresses have a split up one side of the leg as well.  They can be either long or short but are designed to highlight a curvaceous figure and to attract a man.

Try putting an older Tai-Tai in one of these.  A Tai-Tai is an older Chinese woman, who is the matriarch of a family.  She will wear silk pants and a top that is a loose version of the Cheong Sam.  She has done her child bearing and no longer has to squeeze into the silk come-on dress.  She may also sport a couple of gold teeth.  'Tai' means 'big' in Cantonese.  Translated, therefore, the Tai-Tai is the 'big big' and the head of the household.

The Chinese respect the matriarch's position as opposed to Westerners who have not traditionally respected the housewife/mother.  The Tai-Tai rules the home while the father rules the business and money earning side of the family.

A dress can mean so much more than fashion.  It is tight in youth and comfortable in later years when she has had her family. The Chinese are a wise people.

That brings us to another culture as represented by India and the fabulous sari.

What a wondrous garment this is!  I bought one in Fiji when I was eighteen and spent days trying to wear it correctly.  It came with instructions.  It is one very long piece of material that is wrapped around the body, pleated and folded in a way that makes a Rubik cube look like child's play.  Surely, I thought, the Indian women must secure it with pins or clasps when they get it right so it doesn't come undone.  Somehow I doubt it.

How on earth someone managed to take a rather sumptuous bed sheet and manipulate it in this way is beyond comprehension.  Perhaps a guru on drugs came up with the idea.  Well that's one explanation but that isn't fair to women's ingenuity.  As someone who sews I can almost imagine how the sari came about.

A woman came across five metres of fabulously woven fabric and tried to decide how to make it into something she could wear.  The fabric was so beautiful, with borders and gilt embroidery, that she couldn't bear to cut it.  What could be done?  She spent hours, days, weeks, months, perhaps even years trying to wrap it in such a way that she could conserve all the material and also make a feminine gown that enhanced her figure.

She only had to make one concession and that was a top to cover her shoulders and breasts that she could wear beneath it.  The woman who came up with it deserves a Nobel Prize in design.  Of course some man probably took the credit.  I suspect the only credit a man deserves however, is figuring out how to unravel it to get a woman undressed.

We move on to my last great dress, the Flapper of the nineteen twenties, which arose in Western society.  Of course in previous eras in the West there were voluminous dresses with huge skirts, lace collars and tiny waists.  I suspect these were a tribute to the fineness of the manufacturing process that created such materials and the quantity of fabric that the wealthy could afford.  The wealthier the woman the larger the skirts to show that the cost of the fabric was of no concern to her.  They were encased by corsets made of whalebone, another expensive and rare item, and stiff lace collars made by hand. In those times wealth was displayed by the quality of clothing and not only reflected how advanced was the manufacturing process of woven goods but how effective was their trade with foreign lands.

The Flapper

A Modern Version of the Flapper

It's post WWI and a whole new world rose from from the ashes.  Massive progress has always been made in technology by governments spending huge amounts trying to win wars.  All kinds of remarkable innovations grow from what is a terrible and negative event.

The greatest casualty of war, however, is a way of life.  WWI saw the demise of old class systems but also the growth of women's emancipation.  Because I'm writing about fashion I won't go into why these things happened, but fashion reflects these changes.  Hemlines suddenly went up and morals went down, at least compared to the rigid Victorian times.

It was as if the twenties became one big post war party.  Naturally lives went on as usual and people got back on with the business of making homes and families.  Yet there were other repercussions from the huge carnage of WWI and these had the effect of making some people live as if there was no tomorrow.  Adding insult to injury was the great Influenza epidemic of 1919 that killed as many people as the war had.  Can you imagine the effect these events had on youth?

No wonder some of them started to party and from this arose the Flapper, one of the first signs of the newly independent woman.  Aside from the negative events that help precipitate fashion trends, the results can be uplifting.  The sight of women exposing more of themselves has to have a positive effect on the psyche of men no matter how serious the reason for the change and especially after so much suffering.

The Flapper dress is beaded and short but also loose and, at the same time, slimming.  Of all the dresses of history this one speaks of women's new found freedom of expression.  There is no corset, the bra hadn't been invented and legs finally came into view.  The lady probably had a cigarette holder and smoked as well.  Although smoking is frowned upon now, for a woman to smoke in public showed her equality with men. This woman had arrived and for the first time ever she cut and bobbed her hair.

If you look at nature you will see how all creatures use colour and shape to attract mates for the purpose of reproduction.  Humans with their evolved minds try new ways to do so instead of just leaving it to nature.

As our intellect grows so too does our creativity to compete for sex.  Fashion is our ever changing display.  We are really more fascinating than we realise but, while butterflies, for instance, never get it wrong because their method is tried and true and built into their DNA, humans can and perhaps that means that, if your display isn't good enough, you won't attract a mate.  Either that or you will attract one exactly suited to your type.  Maybe that works just as well.

Nature aims for the best.  Humans, it seems, with their blossoming intellects, may be evolving new standards that will either succeed or fail.  I guess that's the risk in evolution.  You get it right, you endure.  You get it wrong, you don't.  Dresses are a woman's display as we have no feathers or fur.  The beauty of fashion is that we can vary it to suit our moods.  What butterfly can do that?

My last tribute isn't to a dress but I couldn't resist it.  Who could forget Raquel Welch in a fur bikini in the film "One Million Years B.C."?

Raquel Welch in a fur bikini

Now if you wore this down the street, oh, and borrowed her figure as well, it wouldn't matter what any other woman within a kilometer was wearing.  No one would be looking.

These a just my choices.  I'd love to have my readers comment on their choice of History's Best Dresses.

END.

ANZAC DAY - LEST WE FORGET - The WWI diary of my grandfather.

Edwin Albert Greenwood came home from WWI less one arm but went on to start a family.

He was my mother's father and, in World War I, left Australia by ship to serve overseas.  It was four days after his twenty-second birthday when he set sail.  At least he came back.  I write this in memory of him and the men of my family who served in wars.

The journey by ship to Europe took some months.  Like many Australians he volunteered.  Australia felt bound to England as an ally and young Australian men from the age of sixteen became cannon fodder in a war that had nothing to do with them and who could not imagine the horrors that would confront them.

My grandfather seemed to take it all in his stride in spite of losing an arm.  From his diary he appeared to be stoic and to concentrate and enjoy what was good rather than dwell on what was bad.

I know he grew up on a farm in Hahndorf in South Australia.  There was no conscription and he and his brother, Bob, tossed a coin to see who would remain to tend the family farm with their father and mother and who would go to war.  My grandfather lost the toss but thankfully not his life.

I often consider how many people were not born as the result of wars.  Considering how close my grandfather came to death I may well not be here.  He told my mother that he was walking beside another young man on their way to the trenches.  When my grandfather went out of the trench into no man's land and was shot, that same young man took the brunt of the blast and was killed although this isn't mentioned in the diary.

Below I have included all there is of his diary.  I could have transcribed it but I felt the original, covering 1915 to 1917, was far better to display.  His writing is clear.  There is discrepancy in the dates where some pages contain periods that go between others on previous pages.  I have cut and pasted the pages in order to put them in the right order, but there may remain one or two discrepancies.

He spent one day at the front at Steenwerk in France. It is 56km South East of Dunkirk.  He went 'over the top' of the trenches, which he called the 'parapet', was shot and lay on the battlefield for eighteen hours before being brought in.  He does not mention in the diary that maggots helped the blood to clot in the wound and helped stem the blood flow.

His left arm was amputated at the elbow and luckily he came home.  His description of all of this is incredibly matter of fact but read it yourselves.  The diary begins in Melbourne where he boards the first of the ships that will take him to France.

Steenwerck, Les Monument aux Morts

Below is his diary.

Page 1

E.A. Greenwood front and centre on Hospital Ship

 

End of Diary

Reading this I find it amazing that his writing shows no despair at losing his arm.  Perhaps he was just glad to come out alive.  Yet there is so much emphasis on the positive. He enjoyed being paraded around Paris and shaking the hands of locals on his way to the trenches.

Later on he had fun on leave in Paris and at a dance in England when out of the hospital.  While in hospital they were visited by 'Zeps', Zeppelins that bombed near the hospital on four occasions.  He also 'swanked' it in a first class carriage on a train from Southall.  The loss of his arm was almost an aside.  Perhaps men didn't show their emotions then but I think he had a 'glass half full' mentality.

I know nothing of what happened immediately after this.  I also don't know what year Pop, as we called him, met my grandmother, Lillian Sutherland, in a boarding house in Victoria run by her mother.  They were married in 1920.  He set up a manchester business from scratch and it became so successful it was publicly listed under the name 'E.A. Greenwood'.

People who knew him in business called him the 'one armed bandit', a reference to his shrewdness in business and the poker machines of the time that had a lever (arm) to make them spin rather than buttons.

He was a tall, elegant man who always dressed impeccably.  Sadly in his last fifteen years, after my grandmother died, he had a stroke that left him without sight in one eye.  He gradually became weaker and was an invalid for the remaining eight years of his life.  He remained mentally competent to the end of his life and I loved him dearly even though he was a reticent man.

One moment in France in a senseless war left him disabled for life.  He didn't let it interfere with living however and I never once heard him complain.  He had a special knife cum fork made in England so that he could eat and drove an automatic car without a problem.

In searching for photos of Pop I also came across some of my father's father Henry Kenneth Prior who later became editor of The Bulletin.  His father had bought it from its founder J. F. Archibald.

Ken Prior, as he was known, once joked that he may have shot off Pop's arm as they were in France at much the same time.  Ken Prior came out of that war unscathed physically.

  

 My father's father Henry Kenneth Prior on a horse in WWI

  

Unfortunately the backs of the photos give few details as to his whereabouts in all the photos, however, those that follow were taken in Tel-el-Kebir, Egypt where Ken Prior spent some of the war.  Below are other photos and these must be of men in his unit with whom he served.  They are well worth including in this tribute even though I cannot name most of the men.  They are a visual history.  He also went to France but those photos are too faded to place here.

 

The photo below has details on the back.  The men are all from one family.  It was taken at Tel-el-Kebir, Egypt in March 1916.  Their ranks appear beneath each one.

Cpt. V.H. Gattiff,        Lieut. C.E. Gattiff,       Capt. F.E. Gattiff 

       49th Battery              4th L.H. Regiment      54th Battery

       Major D.S.O.            Captain 51st Battery

                                        

 Whoever these men were, they served their country almost one hundred years ago.  There was no fear in their faces, just camaraderie and perhaps that great Australian word, 'mateship'.

 WWII

My father served in WWII as a lieutenant.  He spent two years in Sydney and told his superiors that if he was not given a posting out of Australia he would go to London and join the Air Force.  He was posted to New Guinea and took command of an Anti-Aircraft Artillery Unit.  He spent four years there.  Happily he was never wounded.

Lt. William Norman Prior WWII 

At the end of the war while still enlisted he joined the War History Department.  As part of his duties he interviewed senior Japanese officers who were being held to go on trial for war crimes.

Edwin Greenwood's son Ron Greenwood, my uncle, joined the Air Force and served in Canada, the United Kingdom and South East Asia as a Flight Lieutenant.  He came out of the war unscathed but tragically died at the age of forty-six from a massive coronary leaving a widow, Margaret and two children, my cousins Malcolm and Debbie.

Ron Greenwood RAAF WWII

I was a young teenager in the sixties and watched the demonstrations against the Vietnam War and forced conscription.  Years later I advised my son to never fight in a war that he did not believe in.  I would rather he go to gaol and I'd visit him rather than have him conscripted and die in a war that is not Australia's concern.

WWII was our concern.  It was the whole worlds.  WWI should have remained a European affair but thousands of Australians' lives were sacrificed to it.  I am grateful none of the men in my family died in these wars but they served their country selflessly and that is still an extraordinary and honourable act.

I pray and hope our children when never have to fight in another war but here's to those who did.  They saw it as their duty and did it with gallantry.  Long may their memories live.

 END