Talk to Military History & Heritage Victoria
On 16 August I presented to a seminar at the Camberwell RSL in Melbourne, organised as part of the MHHV’s military history speaker program. The talk drew on my biography of Lieutenant Colonel Oswald Watt (The High Life of Oswald Watt, 2016) and dealt with Watt’s colourful status as a legend of the Australian Flying Corps in World War I.
The occasion was a useful and (I hope) entertaining opportunity to explain why it was important for Oswald Watt’s story to be told, and what drew my attention to him in the first place. This was background that would help my listeners (and readers) understand the approach that I took with a book, which—when I began the project—was conceived with a wider readership in mind than the military audience that I have usually addressed in past years, so much so that it was not even planned as a conventional military biography. An edited text of the talk has been posted on the MHHV website; it can be found at www.mhhv.org.au/?p=6025.
More recently I have heard from the Sydney publisher of The High Life of Oswald Watt (Big Sky Publishing) that the book has been picked up by one of Britain’s biggest specialist publishers of military history and militaria and will soon be republished for a larger and broader market.
New book on Charles Bean’s legacy as official historian
A month later, on 17 September, I was fortunate to find myself in Canberra and able to attend the launch of another book for which I was a contributing author. This was actually a collection of papers that were presented at a conference held at the Australian Defence Force Academy in July 2016, focused on the legacy left by C. E. W. Bean on Australian military history generally and official history in particular.
Fittingly, the launch was held at the old Tuggeranong Homestead in the south of Canberra, which just happened to be where Bean and his official history team worked on the first couple of volumes of the official history of Australia in the First World War during the years 1919-1925. The speaker for the launch was respected political journalist and editor Michelle Grattan, who appeared to know as much about Bean and his contribution to Australian journalism and history as anybody else present that day.
My contribution to the book is a chapter describing my experience as author of a volume of official history on Australia’s air involvement in the Vietnam War between 1962 and 1975. When invited to contribute to the conference, I was asked to tell the ‘back story’ of my role as an official historian: how I came to be appointed to the task, then cover a range of matters such as sources, resources, access and security clearance, before finally touching on the reception that my volume received from readers. In filling this brief I also took the opportunity to offer some reflections on the influence that Charles Bean could be said to have had on how I approached my author’s role.
The book, titled Charles Bean: Man, Myth, Legacy, was edited by Peter Stanley and published by NewSouth Publishing (the publishing arm of the University of New South Wales in Sydney).
Most of July was taken up with recovering from an arthroscopy operation in late June, aimed at cleaning up the aftermath of a torn knee cartilege suffered two years ago. This episode—as much as the poor weather usually experienced across Victoria during winter—set back shooting for the video documentary my brother and I have been working on, although with recent improvements on both fronts we now have about half the story wrapped up and completed. Another big development arose in late August, however, after I volunteered for a role in the owners corporation that manages the residential apartment complex where we live in Docklands. Quite unexpectedly, this initially turned into an unpaid full-time job for myself and everybody else elected to the various committees involved, although things are now gradually assuming a more reasonable level and I anticipate being able to resume work on my various history projects at a more normal pace.
Lasseter: the movie
Finding that I still have plenty to say on the subject of “Harry” Lasseter, earlier this year I explored the idea of writing another book that would present final conclusions about the existence of his fabled gold reef in Central Australia. It didn’t take long to realise the futility of such an enterprise, given the current state of the publishing business in Australia following the transformation wrought by the Internet and imminent government changes to copyright protection. It seems that these days the only people able to get historical work into print using mainstream publishing houses are ex-journalists able to call on their mates in the industry to help promote their offerings, and institution-based academics who can (and are expected to) virtually give away their titles without regard to getting fair return on the time and effort involved in writing them. Of course, independent scholars also have the option of self-publishing or turning to small presses using print-on-demand, joining a number of well-established writers who have opted to become “hybrid authors”, but for most there can’t be any expectation of making money—or even recovering costs.
These considerations prompted a decision to focus on putting together what I have to say on the Lasseter legend as a documentary home movie. Initially, at least. If that generates enough interest in the revellations to be made about Lasseter, then a book can surely follow. For the most part, the project already begun merely entails carrying around a video camera while I conduct the research phase by wearing out some shoe leather while retracing Lasseter’s steps. As it happens, Melbourne is actually a very convenient point from which to begin such an effort, because it is surprising how much of the Lasseter story played out in and around that city, rather than Sydney as is generally supposed. Since April, field trips have been made to places such as Meredith, Colac and Corner Inlet in Gippsland, and myriad places in between, as well as Sydney and Canberra. There are other trips planned, before the project can be wound up hopefully later this year. The DVD that results is not intended for commercial release, but if it achieves its purpose should hopefully lead to something more that will finally end the undeserved aura of mystery surrounding the Lasseter story.
Sweden rediscovers Grandfather Olof
In mid-June I was contacted by a lady from Markaryd in south-west Sweden, which is a town of about 4000 people not far from where my maternal grandfather Olof Johanson lies buried in the churchyard cemetery at Traryd. She was interested in my 2015 book on Olof’s life and wanted to include something about it in a volume she was helping to put together, comprising stories about life and people in Markaryd municipality in the early part of last century. This volume would be the latest in a local history series that have been produced annually since 1990. I was pleased to send her an article describing the nearly 30 years that my grandfather spent in Australia and explaining his connection with Markaryd municipality in the last years of his life—written in English, of course (since my Swedish is non-existent), and which my contact undertook to translate for publication.
Considering that Olof had no connection with Markaryd until he returned to Sweden from Australia in about 1948, and he spent the remaining seven or so years before he died as an invalid cared for by his sister, there is a high probability that no-one alive in the municipality today will have heard of him before. There is quite a nice buzz goes with the thought that the community in which Olof lived his final years will at last be discovering something of the fairly amazing story attached to his time in Australia, especially his connection with the Lasseter mystery.
Left: our only memory of the main street of Markaryd, 6 May 2014; right: the Municipal House (just visible in left rear of the previous image).
75th Anniversary of the Coral Sea battle
There were high expectations ahead of this year’s commemoration of the May 1942 battle of the Coral Sea, after the American-Australian Association planned a special event aboard the decommissioned World War II US aircraft carrier Intrepid which is moored in New York harbour as a floating museum. The attendance of Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull as a speaker at the gala dinner forming part of the celebrations was expected to provide the setting for the first face-to-face meeting between him and US President Donald Trump—an occasion itself not without significance after the frosty start to their personal relationship following a famous phonecall in January. In the event, the meeting did go as planned, although barely, after Trump delayed his departure from Washington for three hours (waiting for the Republican-dominated Congress to kill off a key piece of legislation initiated by Trump’s predecessor). Inevitably there was much less time available for the meeting of the two leaders than originally planned.
Investing past historical events with political significance and symbolism never envisaged or intended at the time they were happening is a practice with long precedence. Australia and New Zealand have been jointly extolling for many years the significance of the Anzac experience a century ago, as a metaphor for a relationship they might wish had existed even when it palpably didn’t. As I gently tried to point out in the comment piece I was asked to write for the Australian Financial Review (29-30 April 2017), the same applied to the Australian-American relationship in 1942. In the months leading up to May, there were occasions when force commanders of both nations demonstrated jealousy and distrust of each other, and even during the course of the Coral Sea and subsequent battles there were moments when the behaviour on display was not what might have been expected of two allies operating seamlessly together.
That said, there’s nothing inherently wrong with politicians glossing over or ignoring inconvenient aspects while focussing on broader or overarching themes. But as I also tried to point out during an interview on ABC radio on 1 May, when it comes to the Australian-American alliance we should expect our political leaders to keep their eye firmly fixed on our national interest in dealing with a leader in Washington as mercurial and unpredictable as Donald Trump. A shared perspective of the historical past provides no justification for blindly signing on to projects that seek to make America ‘great again’ but actually work against Australia’s national standing or long-term interests.
Memorial unveiling at Rushworth
On 20 March I attended a special commemorative event in the central Victorian town of Rushworth to honour the memory of two distinguished senior officers of the Royal Australian Air Force who served through the Second World War. The first was Air Vice-Marshal Frank McNamara, who had the distinction of being the only Australian airman of the First World War to win the Victoria Cross—appropriately enough on 20 March 1917. The other was Air Marshal Sir George Jones, who led the RAAF for a record of ten unbroken years as Chief of the Air Staff—from 1942 until 1952.
Both men were born and raised in Rushworth, in fact they attended the local school in the first decade after Federation. Not that this piece of common background counted for much during their later air force careers, when there was actually as much rivalry as comraderie on display. Jones later recounted with glee how he pipped McNamara in passing the entrance examination for RAF staff college in 1928, and shortly after the Second World War ended it was Jones who selected McNamara for premature retirement to make way for younger officers whose wartime records warranted early promotion in the postwar service.
The invitation to be present for the unveiling of bust statues of the two air marshals at the town’s war memorial was a great personal satisfaction to me. As was afterwards explained over lunch, Rushworth’s organisers of the event had initially experienced great difficulty in locating historical information and background about McNamara—until they discovered the existence of my book McNamara, VC: a hero’s dilemma, published by the air force in 1997 after it won the 1996 RAAF Heritage Award for Literature. It was especially gratifying that acknowledgement was made of the extent to which it was drawn upon in preparing the program for the event.
Sculptures of McNamara (left) and Jones (right) at the Rushworth War Memorial.
The Shadow Men
Publication is scheduled for sometime in April of the book The Shadow Men, edited by Craig Stockings and John Connor—two former colleagues in the School of Humanities and Social Sciences at the Australian Defence Force Academy, Canberra. The publisher’s blurb for the book reads as follows:
Australian military history is full of heroes – big names that loom large in the public memory of the nation’s wartime experiences, like Monash, Chauvel, Jacka and Blamey. There is no question that these famous figures of the Australian Army are important, but their story is not the story. There are also the individuals who shaped the history of the Australian Army in the 20th century, as intellectuals, strategists and administrators, but are largely invisible in popular memory. The Shadow Men brings together some of Australia’s best military historians to shed light on ten of these men and to bring their achievements and influence into the foreground.
My contribution is two chapters on Major-General Sir William Bridges and Major-General Gordon Legge, who both warrant inclusion for their pre-World War I roles in organising, training and administering the Commonwealth Military Forces. Their careers were sufficiently important in shaping the forces’ development that I had been prompted to undertake full biographies of these two generals, published in 1979 and 1988 respectively, so it was particularly pleasing to see images of both among the five portraits featured on the front cover of the new book.
Biography Footnotes is the occasional newsletter from the National Centre of Biography at the Australian National University which produces the Australian Dictionary of Biography. In August 2016 it published an item describing the process that is undertaken to determine the cause of death for all subjects of ADB entries aged under 75, and gave an interesting summary of the ‘large variety of ways in which people died’. While death certificates were ‘generally grim documents’, it was noted, occasionally there were ones that—whether intentionally or not—struck a note of humour, such as for one man who gorged himself to heart failure by over-eating at a café in Sydney.
This prompted me to write to the Footnotes editor with the following story:
Thanks for the interesting item in Issue 16 explaining the policy followed in respect of ‘Causes of death in NCB Websites’, and especially the humorous note on which the article ended. That brought to mind my reaction on first seeing a quirky 1999 Australian comedy film called “Siam Sunset”, which was directed by John Polson who has become better known in recent years for organising the annual Tropfest short film festival.
There is a moment about ten minutes from the end of the movie where the drug-dealer boyfriend of the fugitive heroine catches up with Grace and her new love in an Outback motel and suffers a harrowing demise when—in extremely rapid succession—he is bitten by a deadly snake, bashes headlong into a wall, ricochets into the rotating blade of a ceiling fan and slices his head open, falls backwards and impales his skull on the protruding prong of a coat or hat rack fixed to the wall, then collapses onto a bed (still impaled on the rack) whereupon his outflung arm breaks a bedside lamp and he is electrocuted. I realised I had been involved too long with the ADB when the question that instantly came to mind was: ‘What would have been the cause of death recorded in that case?’
Despite the grisly segment just described, the film was better than it sounds and deserved more success than it appears to have received. Perhaps the ADB could utilise it as a training aid for intending contributors?
My note drew a response from the editor that she would like to publish it in the next edition of Footnotes, but when that issue duly appeared in March this year that idea had evidently been overtaken by more worthy inclusions. For that reason I thought would share my story by the present means. If you want to view the segment from Siam Sunset itself, you can view it below. Just crank the time bar up to around 1.15.20.
Still more inquiries about “Sandy”
Amazingly, the story of Sandy (Major General William Bridges’ favourite charger – see my blog post from 13 Sep. 2016) is still alive and kicking. In October last year I was contacted by New Zealand author Maria Gill, who is writing a children’s illustrated book about animals of the first and second world wars. She was looking for some more information about Sandy, to amplify claims that he was the only horse sent from Australia to World War I that made it back home afterwards.
No sooner had I finished providing what information I thought might assist Maria than I discovered I had two other items of interest lying unnoticed in records brought from Canberra following last year’s move to Melbourne. One of these, a 1981 article written for the long defunct magazine Australasian POST, detailed correspondence that passed between the British War Office and the AIF’s Administrative Headquarters in Horseferry Road, London, during the early months of 1918.
There it was definitely stated that Sandy had sailed with the 1st Australian Division from Melbourne on the same ship as Bridges in October 1914. That at least cleared up uncertainty over whether Bridges and Sandy were acquainted before leaving Australia, or whether their association dated only from the AIF’s stay in Egypt before departing for Gallipoli.
The second relevant find was a CD containing copies of images included among records held by the Royal Military College of Canada, at Kingston, Ontario (which Bridges had attended as a cadet in 1877-79). At some stage a collection of Bridges’ personal photos had found their way into Kingston’s possession and when copies of these were provided to Australia’s RMC in 2006 a former archivist at Duntroon had consulted me about them – something I had entirely forgotten about for the past ten years.
What was particularly interesting was a notation scribbled on the back of one image that is already in the Australian War Memorial’s collection as P05290.001. The notation, which is identifiably in Bridges’ own handwriting, reads: ‘Sandy – Taken at Mena Egypt. Just alongside my tent. Jany 1915’. Not only do we have more information about when and where the photo was taken, but there is now clear evidence of Bridges’ personal connection to the horse.
An equally important find among the Kingston photos is an image listed as showing Bridges sitting atop a horse supposedly known as “Pasha”. Although the picture is undated, Bridges is dressed in civilian attire and the background is definitely more typically Australian than anything resembling a location in Egypt. Since other photos in the AWM’s collection (J02136 and J02154) record that Bridges had a second charger in Egypt, a black horse named “Pascha”, it can now be safely concluded that this animal, too, was in Bridges’ possession before he left Australia at the head of the 1st Division in 1914.
Perhaps Pascha was the big, spirited mount that – according to Charles Bean’s 1957 account in Two Men I Knew (pp. 23-24) – Bridges was riding through Mena camp early in 1915 when the horse tripped and fell. As the horse struggled to get up again, Bridges’ foot became stuck in the stirrup – placing the general at risk of being dragged if the animal panicked and bolted. The situation was saved by a quick-witted aide who leapt from his own mount and grabbed the bridle of the general’s horse to steady it until Bridges’ foot was disentangled. Perhaps it was this episode that accounts for the later description applied to Sandy, claiming that he was General Bridges’ ‘favourite’ charger.
Other Australian horses in Egypt
Overlapping with Maria’s queries was a separate enquiry from a Cairo-based correspondent for the New York Times named Diaa Hadid, who wanted to talk about ‘the horses of WW1’. He was working on a story about the miserable fortunes of the horses that Egyptians offer for tourist rides around the pyramids. As someone who was himself raised in Canberra, Diaa was particularly interested in a suggestion by an Australian animal-rights activist in Cairo who believes that many of the horses in the Giza area descend from Australian and British horses left behind after World War I.
The activist named Jill Barton runs a free clinic for the ‘battered’ pyramid horses, continuing the work begun by English woman Dorothy Brooke in the early 1930s, before she went on to establish a global charity to ease animal suffering. It was Brooke’s firm belief that some hundreds of horses were sold off to locals by the British Army in Egypt after World War I, including Australian walers that had been handed over to the British before the AIF left the Middle East to come home in 1919.
The long-held tradition that Australian lighthorsemen shot their mounts in preference to selling them into Egyptian ownership probably did not prevent Australian blood lines remaining in evidence among Cairo’s tourist horses. Jill Barton, for one, remains convinced that many horses in the Giza area still reflect features of both Waler and Clydesdale breeds. Diaa Hadid’s very moving story was published in the New York Times on 2 Nov. 2016 and can be found at
Harry Lasseter rides again
Debunking yet another well-entrenched tradition would have seemed in order when I was contacted last July by a producer for a British television travel program planning a story on the folklore fable of Lasseter’s Reef. Having heard that Olof’s Suitcase was the latest piece of the Lasseter puzzle to have emerged, the production team developing the show wanted to touch base with me before coming to Australia in September to record their planned episode.
The angle that the segment would be taking became pretty obvious when the producer let slip that they had been talking to two Sydney men who headed off into Central Australia in 2012 convinced that they had unlocked the mystery of the reef’s location using Google Earth!! Naturally once I made it clear that I personally had no faith that the reef ever existed except in the deluded mind of Harry Lasseter, I was under no illusion about how useful I would be to the program’s planners. So it was no surprise when September came and went without further contact from the show’s producers.
No doubt they found other “experts” who were more compliant with the goal of keeping the myth of Lasseter’s reef alive in popular memory. They need have gone no further than journalist Warren Brown’s 2015 offering Lasseter’s Gold, with its front page assertion that ‘It’ (the reef presumably) is ‘out there somewhere’. Hullooo folks, no it’s not, because it never existed! More likely it’s about time someone wrote a book providing the truth about “Harry” Lasseter – real name Lewis Hubert Lasseter. Only trouble is that no serious book serving such a purpose would ever get the same publicity as anything written by the many journalists posing as historians in this country.
Revising the Australian Intelligence Corps history
Since moving into our new home last August, I have been steadily working through the research notes that survived the cull associated with the transfer from Canberra to Melbourne at the start of the year. It was quite a surprise to discover how much material I had collected following publication in 1976 of my first book, The Citizen General Staff: the Australian Intelligence Corps 1907-1914. Clearly, the time had come for either doing something with it all, or throwing it out. Hence the last months of 2016 were spent in producing an updated version, to be published as an e-Book only. Keep an eye out for details that will appear elsewhere on the website shortly.
Bean Conference at ADFA
As mentioned in the previous newsletter, on 29-30 July I was involved with the conference convened by the Australian Centre for the Study of Armed Conflict and Society at the Australian Defence Force Academy, Canberra, focused on the legacy of Australia’s first official war histrorian, Charles Edwin Woodrow Bean (1879-1968). Early in the year I had been asked to prepare a short paper about my experience of working on a volume of official history, and at the time this seemed a very simple task.
In the event the timing proved to be unfortunate, as the conference ended up falling in the middle of a hugely tumultuous period—just days before we were due to move into our Melbourne apartment. Although it was a successful event, the conference was also overshadowed by the death of an esteemed colleague shortly before its start (see blog post for 17 August). All the papers from this conference are due to be published in 2017.
Launch of Oswald Watt biography
On 16 September my new book The High Life of Oswad Watt was launched at the Royal Military College in Canberra, which still awards a prize to graduating officers that is named in Oswald Watt’s honour. The Ambassador of France to Australia, H.E. Christophe Lecourtier, performed the launch by recalling the unique connection Oswald Watt forged between the two nations through his service with the French Army’s flying corps during the first two years of the First World War.
After the launch (from left): French Ambassador, author, Bob Watt
The evening was made even more special by the presence of Oswald Watt’s only living descendant, grandson Mr Robert Oswald (“Bob”) Watt, aged 78, who travelled from Darwin with his wife Alison to attend, and also members of a group known as The Friends of Wivenhoe, who are custodians of the historic house outside Camden which Oswald Watt owned during the period 1905-10. An unexpected connection was also noticed on the night, when it was realised that the publisher, Big Sky Publishing, has its offices at Newport on Sydney’s northern beaches—one beach around from where Oswald Watt drowned in 1921!
A surprise find, just in time
The week before the book launch I received a special request from Bob Watt. In a conversation some months previously we had established that Oswald Watt’s war medals were not in the Australian War Memorial as Bob had hitherto believed. Bob’s step-mother had always given him to understand that it was her intention to donate the medals there, and since we knew that a collection of OW’s letters and postcards from 1914-15 were definitely in the Memorial’s possession, but not the medals, Bob could not understand what could have happened to them.
It was only while phoning around the extended family circle to let everyone know about the book launch that Bob learnt that his step-brother living in Melbourne had the medals. Charlie Farquharson received them on his mother’s death in 2004 and had held onto them ever since with the intention of eventually handing them on to Bob, for him to decide where they should go. Having finally found where the medals were, Bob asked that I obtain the medals from Charlie and bring them to Canberra for the launch. Consequently Bob was able to display this unique group for the first time in decades.
Oswald Watt’s war medals: OBE (Military Division), French Legion d’honneur and Croix de Guerre (with two palms and two stars)
An American mystery
Meeting up with Charlie Farquharson also provided a golden opportunity to solve a riddle that had been puzzling me while researching The High Life of Oswald Watt. How was it that an album of OW’s wartime photographs dating from the years 1914-15 (when he was serving with the French Army’s flying corps) is in a library collection at the University of Tulsa, in Oklahoma in the United States?
According to the library’s records, the album had been purchased from Tavistock Books late in 2008. The obvious explanation I could think of was that the album had come up for sale when the person holding them had perhaps died or decided to realise an asset. One possibility I thought of was that the well-known aviation historian Wing Commander Keith Isaacs might have formerly had the album in his possession before his death in January 2005. References in his 1971 book Military Aircraft of Australia 1909-1918 left no doubt that Isaacs had sighted the Watt album at some stage, but there was nothing to suggest that he owned it when his collection was broken up and sold off after his death.
The only other possibility that occurred to me was that Margery Watt (formerly Farquharson) had kept the French album and the medals—even while donating OW’s letters and postcards to the War Memorial—and that it was the sons of her former marriage who had put the album up for sale. However, when I put the question to Charlie Farquharson he was as puzzled as I was. He knew nothing about an album. So the mystery remains unsolved…
The first six months of this year has been almost entirely taken up with relocating from Canberra to Melbourne. From the moment we got word last December that the move was happening, it became a full-on job to sort and pack by the start of March, then sell up in the city that has been my place of residence for the best part of 45 years and find a new place to live in what is my home state. We don’t expect the process will be fully finished until early August—probably beyond in some aspects.
A home for the Suitcase
Our apartment is located on the edge of the Melbourne CBD, so I am looking forward to making the State Library of Victoria my ‘second home’ when I need to conduct research, instead of the National Library. It is especially pleasing to report that the entrance area in our new place provides the ideal space to finally put Olof’s suitcase on permanent display.
Why you are reading this
Until the move anyone wanting to make professional contact with me was able to find my profile on the website of the Australian Defence Force Academy where I was a Visiting Fellow for more than a decade. Because there would be little opportunity to actively contribute to ADFA after moving to Melbourne, I felt obliged to relinquish my link to that institution back in February. But a number of enquiries have continued to be relayed from there since then—showing that there is still a need for me to maintain an online presence.
While no longer calling Canberra ‘home’, there has been no escaping the national capital entirely. I had to go back in April to attend interview for a position on the writing team being assembled at the Australian War Memorial for the next official history of Australian involvement in military operations in Afghanistan, Iraq and East Timor. Unfortunately my move to Melbourne proved an obstacle too difficult for the Memorial to overcome, so my attention is now back on the project that I have been scoping to become my next book. At least the brief time spent in Canberra made it possible to do an interview for Radio 2XXFM on Aboriginal service in the armed forces for Anzac Day.
Two more visits back to Canberra are already in the program for the rest of the year. First, there is a two-day ADFA conference on the legacy of Charles Bean (Australia’s first official war historian) at the end of July, at which I have been asked to speak. Then, in September, there will be a launch of my new book The high life of Oswald Watt. The precise date and venue of the launch have yet to be announced but the book is definitely scheduled for release and sale from the start of the month.
Talks in Foster
On 5 April I travelled to Foster in Gippsland to give two talks to local community groups. The first presentation was to book club members interested in hearing what Olof’s Suitcase was about, how the book came to be written, and why I wrote it in the form that I did. That evening there was a second talk to a packed meeting of the Foster & District Historical Society on the subject of Lewis Hubert Lasseter. The Lasseter name has a treasured association with the Gippsland region, but the talk I gave was intended to demonstrate that everything now known about Lasseter’s life, movements and activities prove that his claim early last century to have discovered a fabulously rich gold reef in Central Australia can only be pure fabrication.
It would be fair to say that not everyone present was persuaded, some preferring to cling to the view that Lasseter was a visionary and misunderstood genius. It is, of course, precisely because people choose to ignore the fact that the golden idol has feet of clay that the story of Lasseter’s Reef continues to have currency today and probably will into the future.