fig. 1
Jeff Carter

In 1957 a photo-essay by Jeff Carter in People magazine represented seasonal hop-picking in the Ovens Valley in north–eastern Victoria in pastoral terms (fig. 1). Contrasting urban and country life, Rostrevor Farm became an idyll of harmony, plenty and natural beauty, offering respite from the labour and rush of the city. In articulating this idealised existence, Carter’s vision drew upon a much older nostalgic impulse, conflating moral values with a disappearing rural way of life – a longing felt by each generation going all the way back to the Garden of Eden.

Relating Rostrevor Farm to this idyllic vision, Carter wrote:

 City dwellers, generally, the hop-pickers who come each year for the Rostrevor harvest are content to spend their non-working hours savouring what is to them life in a Garden of Eden. There is crisp, clean mountain air to breathe, warm sunshine, a wide river in which to fish or swim, blue alpine skies, scenic mountain ranges and everywhere the cool, yellow-green shade of elm trees or hop field. Even the work is so pleasant and easy that women and children can do it, and the management, like the local constabulary, is easy-going. You can work when you like.1 J. Carter, ‘The hop pickers’, People, 26 June 1957, p. 47.

 Yet as the cultural historian Raymond Williams points out, each generation imbues the idealised country it mourns with historically specific meanings, telling us of its own particular preoccupations. Here I will draw on photographs from the collection of the National Gallery of Victoria to examine a specific theme within images of Victoria’s temperate landscape. These photographs construct a rural arcadia – but an improved, human-fashioned, pioneer paradise rather than an untouched wilderness.

At different historical moments, very different visions of Victoria and its people have reanimated this ancient arcadian form, giving it meanings that reflect contemporary concerns. Photographer Fred Kruger’s remarkable 1870s images of the Indigenous residents of Coranderrk Aboriginal Station, outside Melbourne, showed them enjoying an idyllic existence in harmony with the land, masking their actual relationship to the place and to colonial society. By contrast, Jeff Carter’s 1950s documentary images celebrate an authentic, pioneering way of life, creating a peculiarly Australian vision that embraces cultural diversity and environmental conservation. Carter’s work has received renewed attention in recent years, appealing to a current sense of nostalgia for the certainties of the 1950s, the values represented by the Australian legend and a longing for a close and harmonious relationship with the land. In different ways these two photographers draw upon the key issues of their times in picturing the domestication of the Victorian landscape.

Antipodean arcadias

From the time of earliest settlement by Europeans, the colony of Victoria was considered a ‘fresh paradise’ ready to be transformed into ‘one of the most enviable homes of the human race’.2 W. Howitt, Land, Labour and Gold or, Two Years in Victoria with Visits to Sydney and Van Diemen’s Land, Sydney, 1972, pp. 17, 393. A colonial art tradition developed that was characterised by the contradictory appreciation of both wilderness and improvement as the landscape was shaped by the gentry into picturesque prospects or by labour into productive territory. As in Britain, where a new interest in improvement emerged from the early eighteenth century, these localised dreams delighted in organised production and consumption, showing the land yielding its plenty to a community bound by direct, coherent relations.3 R. Williams, The Country and the City, London, 1973, pp. 30–71. After the introduction of hop cultivation to Victoria in 1866, it became a particularly popular subject for the colony’s illustrated newspapers and tourist guides, representing an archetype of rural picturesqueness and evoking a sense of nostalgia for a pre-industrial, European way of life. One Melbourne writer mused in 1886:

 [T]he mere association of ideas recalls the charming fields of Kent and the pleasant scenes of harvest time … It is the season of rejoicing. Bustle and animation is discernible on every hand. Nature never looks so beautiful and benignant. She pours forth with unstinted hand her barn of plenty, and all the land smiles like a garden full of the choicest products.4 Illustrated Australian News, 31 March 1886.

 Victoria’s relatively cool, wet climate produced scenery that was reminiscent of Europe to homesick immigrant eyes. The settlers’ own experience of the colony’s rapid growth gave a particular local inflection and poignancy to a larger modernist consciousness of loss amid a fast-changing world. This nostalgic sensibility, often couched in older, pastoral, terms, was a defining characteristic of Western responses to the effects of industrial capitalism, as observers lamented the destruction of the natural environment and rustic order. British painters and writers of this period celebrated the rural landscape, especially scenes of harvest, and the popular English writers William and Mary Howitt were ardent proponents of this celebratory British genre, commanding a wide readership in the colonies as well as at home.5 See C. Wood, Paradise Lost: Paintings of English Country Life and Landscape 1850–1914, London, 1988; C. Payne, Toil and Plenty: Images of the Agricultural Landscape in England, 1780–1890, New Haven, 1993, pp. 27–8. Following a stint on the Victorian diggings, William Howitt in his book Land, Labour and Gold showed Victoria as an unspoilt garden, although threatened by the upheavals of the gold rushes. For Australian immigrants, Melbourne’s astonishing growth following the gold rushes invoked a sense of dizzying change, its burgeoning population threatening to overthrow the forces of order.6 D. Goodman, ‘Making an edgier history of gold’ in Gold: Forgotten Histories and Lost Objects of Australia, eds I. McCalman, A. Cook & A. Reeves, Cambridge, 2001, pp. 23–36; G. Davison, The Rise and Fall of Marvellous Melbourne, Melbourne, 1978. A vision of agrarian stability was advanced against the chaos of gold-seeking, praising the moral value of the small farmer embedded in a fixed social hierarchy.7 Goodman, Gold Seeking: Victoria and California in the 1850s, Sydney, 1994, pp. 105–48. The increasingly urban population especially enjoyed arcadian scenes of settlers leading productive lives of simplicity and contentment.

Aboriginal idylls

From around 1860 the Indigenous population of Victoria was confined to six reserves where they were expected to live settled, industrious lives in Christian farming villages. Appreciation of the harmonious, yeoman lifestyle of the reserves became a prominent theme in travellers’ accounts, combining the European agrarian ideal with traditional Aboriginal skills such as fishing. Such representations, involving above all a closeness to nature, assumed the form of an idyll, a charming scene of rural peace.8 For a detailed analysis of this visual discourse and Kruger’s work at Coranderrk, see J. Lydon, Eye Contact: Photographing Indigenous Australians, Durham, 2005. Many visitors to the Gippsland Lakes were delighted by the comfort and order of the Indigenous village and especially by its beautiful natural setting. Once hop-picking was introduced to the reserves in 1872, the Aboriginal workers were seen to add an extra note of pleasing exoticism to the scene.9 Illustrated Australian News, 8 August 1872, pp. 201–2.

An ambivalent acknowledgement of the Indigenous relationship to country emerges from these accounts, especially from Fred Kruger’s 1870s and 1880s series of photographs produced at Coranderrk Aboriginal Station, near Melbourne. Although these images served a range of very different purposes, many of Kruger’s earliest, picturesque views of Coranderrk such as Badger’s Creek, Aboriginal Station, Coranderrk, fishing scene, c.1866–67 (fig. 2), stressed productivity and peace, assuring viewers of the residents’ appropriation of a rural peasant ways and their successful management of the reserve. These images reveal Indigenous people enjoying harmonious relationship with each other and with the landscape, yet clearly not leading a traditional, pre-colonial way of life. Their closeness to nature was emphasised, but at the same time, their recreation encouraged the ‘sable labourers to persevere in habits of order and industry’, asserting the ‘civilisation’ they had attained. In this manner Kruger’s photographs of Coranderrk’s new hop industry, such as Group of Aborigines in hop gardens, Coranderrk, c.1866–6710 ibid., 18 April 1876, p. 52.   (figs 3 & 4) were also used to argue for the reserve’s successful management by the residents; as one journalist mused, they form a ‘panorama, full of diversified and suggestive objects, [which] glows with brightness, and is replete with signs of happiness and contentment’.11 ibid., ‘The hop picker’, 31 March 1886; see also J. S. James,’Converting half-castes into Aborigines’, Argus, 27 March 1886; ‘A peep at the “Blacks”’, reprinted in The Vagabond Papers, ed. M. Cannon, Melbourne,1988, pp.56–63. For a moment a vision of an Aboriginal arcadia flickered into existence, impelled perhaps by local humanitarians’ hopes for the future of the race but also underwritten by an older European aesthetic.

However, as critics of the rustic idyll have often pointed out, the apparent peace and plenty were a fantasy of the disenchanted modern viewer; the idealisation of the country depends upon the suppression of work and property relations.12 See G. Eliot, ‘The natural history of German life’, Westminster Review, 1856, reprinted in Essays of George Eliot, ed. T. Pinney, London, 1963, p. 269; Williams, Country.  In the same way, Kruger’s Aboriginal arcadias worked to disguise the dispossession of the Indigenous people, expressing the humanitarian vision of Coranderrk as a serene retreat, in which the residents would lead productive Christian lives as the colony’s rural peasantry. Restful scenes of hop-picking were misleading as evidence for the community’s stability; although initially a commercial success, the demands of the hop-field and the constant attempts of the board of management to hire European labour became a problem for the residents and their supporters, forcing them to work for profit rather than their own subsistence. When hop revenue was diverted from the board’s coffers, it determined to close down the station which had become a stronghold of Aboriginal resistance. A high-profile battle was waged in the colony’s newspapers and parliament, resulting in the implementation of an assimilation policy from the early 1880s that saw the so-called ‘half-caste’ residents expelled from the station.13 D. Barwick, Rebellion at Coranderrk, Canberra, 1998. By this time, popular ideas of biological difference made it easy for officials to argue that only ‘full bloods’ deserved government support as the last remnants of the supposedly dying race. These perceptions were grounded in their physical appearance and allegedly different racial capabilities. Kruger’s views denied their battle for autonomy by constructing a fantasy that located the Aboriginal subjects in what resembled a country retreat, secluded from conflict; such images appealed to a yearning for return to a lost world of peace and harmony with nature.

Photographer to the poor and unknown

More recently writer and photographer Jeff Carter has drawn on the pastoral form in expressing a multicultural vision of the Victorian landscape as idyll in a body of work that has received renewed attention in later years. In 1946, aged 18, Carter set out to travel around Australia with his portable typewriter and folding Kodak camera. He worked on cattle properties, fishing trawlers, a road gang, as a fruit picker and a side-show ‘urger’ for a travelling boxing troupe, selling stories and photographs based on his experiences to Australian and international newspapers and magazines. The people he lived and worked with became the subjects of his photographs for the rest of his career and, as he proudly declares, this is what is special about his work: his long association with his subjects, often coming back to visit them year after year means that he can ‘tell you everything about them’.14 See NGV collection notes; for biographical details, see M. Hetherington ‘New photographic acquisition: Works by Jeff Carter’, Gateways, no. 59, October 2002, p. 1; Christine Abrahams Gallery notes, J. Carter, personal communication; A. Stephen, “Largely a family affair: Photography in the 1950s’ in The Australian Dream: Design of the Fifties, ed. J. O’Callaghan, Haymarket, NSW, 1993, pp. 42–57.

Only in 1991 did Carter begin exhibiting from his collection and as his images, originally produced and circulated as populist photojournalism, entered into a fine-art milieu, they began to be recognised as a remarkable record of an era. They are now held in many public collections, including the NGV, alongside his contemporaries Max Dupain, David Moore and Olive Cotton. As Helen Ennis, curator of the 2004 photographic retrospective In New Light has noted, his photographs ‘just strike a chord’.15 Carter ‘chronicles Australian life’, 2004, television program, ABC Television, Sydney, December, transcript,; see also H. Ennis, Intersections: Photography, History and the National Library of Australia, Canberra, 2004. Carter’s letterhead declares him ‘photographer to the poor and unknown’ and, from the beginning, his work has been defined by his admiration for ‘ordinary Australians’ – the workers and battlers who ‘made their way against difficult circumstances’. They weren’t about to throw themselves onto welfare or whinge and whine. They were strong enough to take responsibility for their own lives’.16 F. Robson, ‘Magna Carter’, Good Weekend, 15 January 2000, pp. 14–17. His admiration for people leading a simple, often tough, outdoor life resonates with accounts of the Australian legend – the practical bushman, ready to ‘have a go’, independent, egalitarian, hospitable and loyal to his mates – a hero of the common folk.17 R. Ward, The Australian Legend, Melbourne, 1958, pp. 1–2; J. B. Hirst,’The pioneer legend’, Historical Studies, vol. 18, October 1978, pp. 316–7. The valorisation of the bush tradition by writers such as Russell Ward and John Hirst can be understood within a climate of post-war change when Australia lost its innocence as it rebuilt after the American model into a modern, industrial society through the national development of primary industry, vastly increased immigration, intensified domestic consumption and suburban growth.18 S. Lees & J. Senyard, The 1950s … How Australia Became a Modern Society and Everyone Got a House and Car, Melbourne, 1987, pp. 5–27, 48–9; see also The Australian Dream.. In the same way Carter celebrates an authentic, simple way of life, showing people making a living in the Australian landscape.

In much of his work from this period, Carter draws upon an ancient pastoral opposition, constructing rural life as more authentic and communal than the soulless city and especially showing human relations as peaceful and whole; creating a new vision of a multicultural Australia in which migrants and Aboriginal people are a key element. Many images, such as his 1956 Queen Victoria Markets series, or The Roso family at home, celebrate the transmission of old-world values to a new society. These concerns emerge particularly clearly in a series of photo-essays he produced for People magazine in 1957 and later incorporated into book form.19 J. Carter, ‘Flowers for your beer’, People, 12 June 1957, pp. 27–31; ‘The hop pickers’ People, 26 June 1957, pp. 45–8; Stout Hearts and Leathery Hands, Adelaide, 1968; see especially chap. 13; ‘The Garden of Eden’, pp. 125–35. His 1957 feature on hop-picking in the Ovens Valley, for example, uses the device of opening with a story of racial intolerance which is subverted by showing the important contribution made by migrants, as the Panlook family – descendants of nineteenth-century Chinese miners once attacked by their white counterparts – make a success of the hop farm. The two-part photo-essay is notable for its evocation of Rostrevor as a paradise with as city-dwellers escaping to this beautiful landscape for a working holiday; an important aspect of the experience is seeing how the other half live and ‘surprisingly, this conglomeration of humanity forms a close-knit, harmonious community’. Many of Rostrevor’s workers are immigrants such as Alfred Law from London, who used to go picking in Kent (fig. 5).20 See Stout Hearts, p. 48. Carter’s arcadian images show people very much at home in a tamed, productive landscape – such as pickers amidst the hop vines (fig. 1) – flanked by scenes of the temporary community’s life, including the weekly dances (fig. 6). Yet it is interesting to contrast Kruger’s emphasis upon a tranquil landscape peopled by integral but unexamined human figures with Carter’s attention to individuals: even Kruger’s generalising family of Aboriginal workers solemnly pose for the camera in orderly rows that echo the framing hop trellises. Instead, Carter documents his subjects’ experience in fine-grained particularity –  their clothes, skin, hands, sweat.

Carter points to the moral of these parables even more sharply in his book account about his retreat from Sydney’s ‘constant noise and bustle, over-crowding, and the all-pervading aimlessness of city living’21 ibid., p.14. to a rainforest in the Illawarra region and his family’s adoption of a simple, almost pre-industrial way of life. He provides a series of portraits, including Chinese hop-farmer William Panlook (based on his People photo-essay), a park ranger, a dry-stone wall-builder and a whaler. Chapters on Aboriginal craftsman Joe Timbry and the dispossession of Indigenous Australians (what Carter calls ‘the lost tribes’) mourn their fate. Perhaps his strongest message is concern for the destruction of the environment: the necessary obverse of his celebration of bush simplicity and beauty. Carter’s polemical body of writing frames his more fragmentary, disconnected visual imagery in a pastoral dream of mateship in which older bush values are blended with new ones to reap the bounty of a natural paradise.

This idealising vision gains power from its factual documentary expression. In part, Carter’s approach may be linked to contemporary developments in Australian photography and to the work of those such as Max Dupain, who argued in 1948, for example, that photography must ‘incite thought and, by its clear statements of actuality, cultivate a sympathetic understanding of men and women and the life they create and live’.22 Max Dupain quoted in I. Crombie & S. Van Wyk, 2nd Sight: Australian Photography in the National Gallery of Victoria (exh. cat.), National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, 2002, p. 65. Other post Second World War photographers such as Geoffrey Powell, Edward Cranstone, Laurence Le Guay and David Moore were also concerned to produce photography with a social conscience, (See A.-M. Willis, Picturing Australia – A History of Photography, Sydney, 1988, p. 193. Carter’s concern with truth, and his often political intent in recording the hardship and everyday heroism of Australian battlers, sometimes seems close to the work of the 1930s US Farm Security Administration documentary photographers such as Walker Evans, who recorded the poverty of rural America, but Carter vehemently denies any such influence. Rather, he was acutely aware of the hardship that preceded Australia’s post-war prosperity, recalling that ‘growing up in the Depression, you focused on the important things, like three meals a day and a roof over your head’.23 Robson, pp. 14–17. Carter played a combined role as journalist, social commentator and artist, an itinerant who recorded an unique local way of life, his photographs often seem ethnographic, even narrative in purpose. His Drover’s wife, c.1955, for example, prompts us to ask who these people are and where they are headed. He chooses to work in black and white and has maintained long-term relationships with his subjects – helping him get things ‘properly true’.24 ibid., p. 14.

But the documentary’s claim of telling the pure and transparent truth can never be accepted unquestioningly. Although often protected from interrogation, its seeming veracity is given meaning by its systematic intersection with our own historically specific values and perceptions.25 See A. Solomon-Godeau, Photography at the Dock: Essays on Photographic History, Institutions, and Practices, Minneapolis, 1991, p. 180; N. Natanson,The Black Image in the New Deal: The Politics of FSA Photography, Knoxville, Tennessee, 1992. Why is it that Carter’s images ‘just strike a chord’? One reason may be that his celebration of the bush taps into disillusionment with the globalising, urban life led by most Australians. Since the mid 1970s a steady counter-urbanisation movement to the coast and the bush has attracted the attention of sociologists and demographers.26 See I. Burnley & P. Murphy, Sea Change: Movement from Metropolitan to Arcadian Australia, Sydney, 2003; J. Mulcock & S. Toussaint, ‘Memories and idylls: urban reflections on lost places and inner landscapes’,Transformations, 2 March 2002, pp. 1–16. A perceived loss of connection with the natural world has prompted a range of strategies for reuniting with it, ensuring that the Australian idyll retains its currency. Another reason for Carter’s new-found popularity may be that his realist portrayal of a peculiarly Australian, predominantly bush life satisfies a nostalgia for the certainties of the Menzies era of the 1950s and 1960s – in turn resonating with aspects of our current political climate. Political historian Judith Brett argues that Prime Minister John Howard has successfully tapped into the prevailing social ethos by drawing upon the Australian legend to define core nationalistic and middle-class values through an idiom of ‘practical mateship’, ‘fair play’ and an ‘egalitarian classless society’.27 J. Brett, “John Howard and the Australian legend’, Arena, no. 65, June–July 2003, p. 20; see also Brett, Australian Liberals and the Moral Middle Class: From Alfred Deakin to John Howard, Cambridge, 2004. The national identity defined by Ward and Hirst, forged from the worker’s experience of the land, remains a powerful means of calling upon the loyalty of many. As critics of the Australian legend have pointed out, however, it conceals the heterogeneity of our society and especially its colonial foundation in Aboriginal dispossession. Although there is a crucial difference between Carter’s celebration of his culturally diverse subjects and their contribution and Howard’s marginalisation of non-white groups, both draw upon this enduring national imaginary.

Conclusion

Although Fred Kruger and Jeff Carter represent very different historical moments, both capture key aspects of Australian settlers’ domestication of the Victorian landscape. However sympathetic, Kruger’s Aboriginal idylls show a peasant class submitting to the colonial order, while Carter’s documentary portraits commemorate pioneer mastery of the land. While both photographers’ visions of Victoria displace the British colonist from centre stage, Kruger’s singular depiction of an Indigenous yeomanry in possession of their estate contrasts with Carter’s celebration of migrant achievement. Both draw upon a Western pastoral tradition in figuring cultivation as a fundamental aspect of the Australian idyll: turning nature into culture, they show people at home on the land, remaking it into an imagined paradise; through their particularised local visions they appeal to a more general desire for a harmonious way of life at peace with humanity and the environment. These idealising views work to mask the actualities of social conflict – the dispossession of Indigenous people and the inequalities and anxieties of settler society. As they demonstrate, our perpetual nostalgia for the simple rural life is always animated by a historically specific sense of loss as our changing circumstances generate new visions of peace and plenty.

Dr Jane Lydon, Post-Doctoral Fellow, Centre for Australian Indigenous Studies, Monash University, Clayton (in 2005).

Notes

1      J. Carter, ‘The hop pickers’, People, 26 June 1957, p. 47.

2      W. Howitt, Land, Labour and Gold or, Two Years in Victoria with Visits to

Sydney and Van Diemen’s Land, Sydney, 1972, pp. 17, 393.

3      R. Williams, The Country and the City, London, 1973, pp. 30–71.

4      Illustrated Australian News, 31 March 1886.

5      See C. Wood, Paradise Lost: Paintings of English Country Life and Landscape

1850–1914, London, 1988; C. Payne, Toil and Plenty: Images of the

Agricultural Landscape in England, 1780–1890, New Haven, 1993, pp. 27–8.

6 D. Goodman, ‘Making an edgier history of gold’ in Gold: Forgotten

Histories and Lost Objects of Australia, eds I. McCalman, A. Cook & A.

Reeves, Cambridge, 2001, pp. 23–36; G. Davison, The Rise and Fall of

Marvellous Melbourne, Melbourne, 1978.

7      Goodman, Gold Seeking: Victoria and California in the 1850s, Sydney, 1994,

pp. 105–48.

8      For a detailed analysis of this visual discourse and Kruger’s work at

Coranderrk, see J. Lydon, Eye Contact: Photographing Indigenous

Australians, Durham, 2005.

9      Illustrated Australian News, 8 August 1872, pp. 201–2.

10      ibid., 18 April 1876, p. 52.

11      ibid., ‘The hop picker’, 31 March 1886; see also J. S. James, ‘Converting

half-castes into Aborigines’, Argus, 27 March 1886; ‘A peep at the

“Blacks”’, reprinted in The Vagabond Papers, ed. M. Cannon, Melbourne,

1988, pp. 56–63.

12      See G. Eliot, ‘The natural history of German life’, Westminster Review,

1856, reprinted in Essays of George Eliot, ed. T. Pinney, London, 1963,

p. 269; Williams, Country.

13      D. Barwick, Rebellion at Coranderrk, Canberra, 1998.

14      See NGV collection notes; for biographical details, see M. Hetherington

‘New photographic acquisition: Works by Jeff Carter’, Gateways, no. 59,

October 2002, p. 1; Christine Abrahams Gallery notes, J. Carter, personal

communication; A. Stephen, “Largely a family affair: Photography in the

1950s’ in The Australian Dream: Design of the Fifties, ed. J. O’Callaghan,

Haymarket, NSW, 1993, pp. 42–57.

15      Carter ‘chronicles Australian life’, 2004, television program,

ABC Television, Sydney, December, transcript; see also H. Ennis,

Intersections: Photography, History and the National Library of

Australia, Canberra, 2004.

16      F. Robson, ‘Magna Carter’, Good Weekend, 15 January 2000, pp. 14–17.

17      R. Ward, The Australian Legend, Melbourne, 1958, pp. 1–2; J. B. Hirst,

‘The pioneer legend’, Historical Studies, vol. 18, October 1978, pp. 316–7.

18      S. Lees & J. Senyard, The 1950s … How Australia Became a Modern

Society and Everyone Got a House and Car, Melbourne, 1987, pp. 5–27,

48–9; see also The Australian Dream.

19      J. Carter, ‘Flowers for your beer’, People, 12 June 1957, pp. 27–31; ‘The hop

pickers People, 26 June 1957, pp. 45–8; Stout Hearts and Leathery Hands,

Adelaide, 1968; see especially chap. 13; ‘The Garden of Eden’, pp. 125–35.

20      See Stout Hearts, p. 48.

21      ibid., p.14.

22      Max Dupain quoted in I. Crombie & S. Van Wyk, 2nd Sight: Australian

Photography in the National Gallery of Victoria (exh. cat.), National Gallery

of Victoria, Melbourne, 2002, p. 65. Other post Second World War

photographers such as Geoffrey Powell, Edward Cranstone, Laurence

Le Guay and David Moore were also concerned to produce photography

with a social conscience, (See A.-M. Willis, Picturing Australia – A History

of Photography, Sydney, 1988, p. 193).

23      Robson, pp. 14–17.

24      ibid., p. 14.

25      See A. Solomon-Godeau, Photography at the Dock: Essays on Photographic

History, Institutions, and Practices, Minneapolis, 1991, p. 180; N. Natanson,

The Black Image in the New Deal: The Politics of FSA Photography,

Knoxville, Tennessee, 1992.

26      See I. Burnley & P. Murphy, Sea Change: Movement from Metropolitan to

Arcadian Australia, Sydney, 2003; J. Mulcock & S. Toussaint, ‘Memories

and idylls: urban reflections on lost places and inner landscapes’,

Transformations, 2 March 2002, pp. 1–16.

27      J. Brett, ‘John Howard and the Australian legend’, Arena, no. 65,

June–July 2003, p. 20; see also Brett, Australian Liberals and the Moral

Middle Class: From Alfred Deakin to John Howard, Cambridge, 2004.