Journal articles on the topic 'New Zealand Railways'

The invitation to this symposium refers to "the baby boom, which "boosted the market for children's toys."" This paper explores the extent to which the toys of that era in New Zealand could be seen to have actively promoted and encouraged Modernist architecture. The particular focus will be on toy trains and model railways and how their manufacturers, both off-shore and local, produced model railway buildings that were decidedly Modern in form and quite unlike the largely nineteenth-century buildings seen by the majority of travellers on New Zealand Railways. This paper argues that 1950s New Zealand was an outpost of non-Modernism when it comes to railway buildings, both full size and toys. By tracing the history of model railways and how they engaged with Modern design it posits that the only OO scale model railway buildings that were mass produced in New Zealand were traditional in form, although made of plastic, the quintessentially modern material.

Makatote viaduct is a steel rail viaduct located on the North Island of New Zealand. It is the third-tallest railway viaduct in the country (79m high and 262m long), and holds significant heritage value due to its elegance and the technology used at the time of construction circa 1908. The viaduct had begun to suffer from deterioration of its 50-year-old coating, resulting in corrosion which subsequently led to section losses of steel elements. In addition to the refurbishment work required, New Zealand Railways (KiwiRail) wished to upgrade the viaduct to meet future load requirements. The viaduct was refurbished and strengthened under an 'early contractor involvement' procurement method. This paper describes the journey the design team took from onset to completion of the project in November 2016.

The decade opened with the departure of British imperial troops from our shores, in anticipation of the end of the New Zealand Wars. This coincided with Julius Vogel's bold plans for New Zealand public infrastructure supporting roads, railways and immigration, requiring overseas borrowing of £10 million. Part of Vogel's motivation included the idea that employment for Māori would create peace between Māori and Pākehā.

Twenty-two, 3 M W freight locomotives are being supplied to New Zealand Railways Corporation as part of the 25 kV electrification project of the North Island Main Trunk route. The mountainous terrain of this route favours a Bo-Bo-Bo configuration with its good curving performance. Separately excited d.c. traction motors fed from microprocessor-controlled thyristor bridges enable 1000 tonne trains to be started on a I in 50 gradient. The provision of a regenerative brake offers significant energy cost savings.

The first cases of weeds developing resistance to glyphosate within New Zealand have recently been reported and investigated Both perennial ryegrass (Lolium perenne) and Italian ryegrass (Lolium multiflorum) populations have become resistant to glyphosate in several Marlborough vineyards due to many years of weed control using mainly just glyphosate Glyphosate is currently being used in many situations throughout New Zealand that could easily lead to further resistance developing such as in other perennial fruit crops on roadsides railways amenity areas waste areas fence lines and headlands of crops Following wide consultation as part of a Sustainable Farming Fund project strategies for resistance management in three systems (vineyard and orchards amenity and waste areas and crops and pastures) are suggested Adoption of these strategies will allow glyphosate to continue as a useful herbicide in New Zealand

The coinings of ‘verbatim theatre’ and the ‘testimony play’ have added new factors to any consideration of documentary drama. It is a form that has been proliferating recently, whether in enacted judgements of public policy – privatization of the railways in David Hare's The Permanent Way, the invasion of Iraq in Called to Account at the Tricycle – or in exploring the ‘truth’ about more private issues. In the following article, Stuart Young questions whether the form is appropriate to the discovery of such ‘truth’, but finds that two recent works in the genre, Aalst and Taking Care of Baby, have effected a more complex and reflexive intervention by emphasizing the process of writing or reporting, thereby drawing attention to the methods of construction in documentary theatre and to the problematic issues inherent in those methods. Stuart Young is Associate Professor and Co-ordinator of the Theatre Studies programme at the University of Otago. He has published on Chekhov in performance abroad and rewritings of the plays, New Zealand drama, and gay and queer theatre, and also translates Russian and French drama. He is currently working on a documentary theatre project on family violence in New Zealand.

In 1973 the Danish State Railways (DSB) began regular push-pull train operations with diesel-electric locomotives on the east coast line between Copenhagen and Elsinore. The internal train control system was based on transmission via a two-wire transmission line extending through the train. The transmission of information through the train between a driving-trailer coach and one or two locomotives, was accomplished by a digital technique. The push-pull service was gradually extended and now comprises all lines on Zealand. In 1981 the new diesel-electric locomotives (class ME) with three-phase drive was put into push-pull service and 37 M E locomotives now perform the main part of the service (an average of 210000 km per locomotive per annum). The reasons for choosing three-phase locomotives, the experience gained with push-pull service, as well as the maintenance system and costs of maintaining three-phase drive locomotives in comparison with conventional diesel-electric locomotives are described. DSB is carrying out electrification (25 kV, 50 Hz) of all lines east of the Great Belt. The push-pull service with electric three-phase drive locomotives (class EA) commenced in March 1986. The advantages of choosing three-phase drive in connection with the introduction of electrification with a 25 kV, 50 Hz system are discussed. Class EA locomotives are equipped with a new generation of internal train control system based on a time multiplex system, which is able to transmit more information between locomotive and driving-trailer coach than the old system. Present experience regarding the push-pull service with class EA locomotives and the time multiplex control system is also described.

The Great War was indeed a world war. Imperial powers like Great Britain drew on their far-flung empires not only for resources but also for manpower. This essay examines one important (though still inadequately studied) aspect of British wartime exigency, the voluntary and coerced participation of the British Empire's coloured subjects and allies in military operations on the Western Front. With the exception of the Indian Army in the first year of the war, that participation did not include combat. Instead coloured troops, later joined by contract labourers, played major roles behind the lines. From 1916 onwards, well over a quarter million Chinese, Egyptians, Indians, South Africans, West Indians, New Zealand Maoris, Black Canadians, and Pacific Islanders worked the docks, built roads and railways, maintained equipment, produced munitions, dug trenches, and even buried the dead. Only in recent years has the magnitude of their contribution to Allied victory begun to be more fully acknowledged. Yet the greatest impact of British labour policies in France might lie elsewhere entirely. Chinese workers seem likely to have carried the virus that caused the Great Flu pandemic of 1918-19, which may have killed more people around the world than the war itself.

The demise of New Zealand's provinces in 1876 demands explanation. I argue that public works policy undermined the provinces and that railway development provided the impetus for abolition. The failure of the six original provinces to meet hinterland settler demands for public works led to the creation of new provinces in 1858, destabilising the system. Reckless investment in railways in the 1860s robbed the provinces of popular support and led to a prohibition on borrowing. This created a developmental vacuum until the central government acquired public works policy in 1870. The provinces thus lost their primary reason for existence. New Zealand's provinces are a valuable case study in how railways and other forms of transportation can shape political systems.

The years of the first decade of the twentieth-century in New Zealand saw the building and development of New Zealand's first reformatory prison in Invercargill. This paper explores the historical and legislative context of this building.

Harry Pasley Higginson, a railway engineer from Yorkshire, northeast England, is one of the people credited with the first discovery of mid-Holocene dodo ( Raphus cucullatus) bones at Mare aux Songes, Mauritius, in 1865. A question still hangs over who could rightfully claim to be the first discoverer of the bones. It could have been Higginson, George Clark (a local schoolteacher) or perhaps someone else. Higginson collected a number of bones and kindly sent three boxes of dodo remains to museums in York, Leeds and Liverpool. The bones he sent are still there. Higginson later set up residence in New Zealand, where he became established as a successful engineer. Two of his achievements, the Kawarau suspension bridge and a dodo, are commemorated in stained glass in the Wellington Cathedral of St Paul in the New Zealand capital.

SummaryThis paper investigates the history of the labour process in New Zealand's state-owned railway workshops and questions the idea that large-scale industry inevitably destroyed whatever agency skilled workers had enjoyed. It also shows that relations of production vary with the political and cultural contexts. Craft control of the labour process survived in New Zealand's state-owned railway workshops and the union played only a minor role. Jop control was more important in achieving bureaucratic instead of autocratic control over such matters as hiring and firing; the retention of apprentice-based crafts; the institutionalization of seniority; and in resisting both de-skilling and the “premium bonus”. The strength and vitality of shop culture, based on craft control of the labour process, also survived and modified the Government's vigorous attempt to introduce “scientific management”. In brief the article concludes that productive processes do not inevitably determine social relations of production, that capitalism has been neither homogeneous nor uniform, and that mechanization never inevitably results in de-skilling.

The critical examination of driver cognition and information processing is vital to ensuring an effective signal passed at danger (SPAD) prevention strategy. Although this need was identified in KiwiRail’s organisational strategy to reduce signal passed at danger risk, the why and how factors were not clearly described and robustly linked to deliver the necessary effects. With risk-triggered commentary driving programmes gaining recognition as valuable components and activities within the driver competency model, an opportunity to couple risk-triggered commentary driving with stabilised approach methodologies and procedures, adopted from aviation and modified for use on New Zealand’s railway network was subsequently identified. A driver subject matter expert group was formed, a literature review completed, guidance developed and new procedures trialled. This activity provided new opportunities to introduce error-tolerant system design, increase accuracy of driver signal action response and reduce signal passed at danger risk on New Zealand’s National Rail System by adopting and designing bespoke methodologies that support enhanced driver cognition and safe system design.

Lew Martin's poetic turn, writing that: "[t]he raging fury of Edwardian ornamentation and enrichment fairly flickers in the sun," is a rare moment in New Zealand's too frequently prosaic architectural historical lexicon, but there is perhaps something in the stylistic frenzy of the early 1900s that results in the pleasure of architectural description, and adjectives of transition and movement. In their description of "Gingerbread" George Troup's 1906 Dunedin Railway Station, Stacpoole and Beaven asserted that the rich, boldness of the architecture and its physical illusion of grandness "is a case where the motor car, as a means of approach, is a poor substitute for horse and carriage." As McLean muses: "Even today it still exudes Edwardian pride in the iron horse." The decade's progression in rail - with the completion of the North Island's main trunk line in 1908, and Richard Pearce patenting his design for a flying machine in 1906,4 additionally were harbingers of a century of new geospatial possibilities. The century's end amidst the euphoria of virtual reality which continues to excite (some) seems to have provided the evidence that this is a legitimate characterisation of its nascent decade.

Freight movement has always been, and always will be an essential activity. Freight transport is one of the most challenging sectors to transition to net-zero carbon. Traffic assignment, mode allocation, network planning, hub location, train scheduling and terminal design problem-solving have previously been used to address cost and operation efficiencies. In this study, the interdisciplinary transition innovation, management and engineering (InTIME) methodology was used for the conceptualization, redesign and redevelopment of the existing freight systems to achieve a downshift in fossil energy consumption. The fourth step of the InTIME methodology is the conceptualization of a long-term future intermodal transport system that can serve the current freight task. The novelty of our approach stands in considering the full range of freight supply chain factors as a whole, using an optimization-simulation approach as if we were designing the low-carbon system of 2121. For the optimization, ArcGIS software was used to set up a multimodal network model. Route and mode selection were delivered through the optimization of energy use within the network. Complementarily, Anylogic software was used to build a GIS-based discrete event simulation model and set up different experiments to enhance the solution offered by the network analysis. The results outline the resources needed (i.e., number of railway tracks, train speed, size of railyards, number of cranes and forklifts at terminals) to serve the freight task. The results can be backcast to reveal the most efficient investments in the near term. In the case of New Zealand’s North Island, the implementation of strategic terminals, with corresponding handling resources and railyards, could deliver 47% emissions reduction from the sector by 2030, ahead of longer lead-time upgrades like electrification of the railway infrastructure.

At 00:02 on 14th November 2016, a Mw 7.8 earthquake occurred in and offshore of the northeast of the South Island of New Zealand. Fault rupture, ground shaking, liquefaction, and co-seismic landslides caused severe damage to distributed infrastructure, and particularly transportation networks; large segments of the country’s main highway, State Highway 1 (SH1), and the Main North Line (MNL) railway line, were damaged between Picton and Christchurch. The damage caused direct local impacts, including isolation of communities, and wider regional impacts, including disruption of supply chains. Adaptive measures have ensured immediate continued regional transport of goods and people. Air and sea transport increased quickly, both for emergency response and to ensure routine transport of goods. Road diversions have also allowed critical connections to remain operable. This effective response to regional transport challenges allowed Civil Defence Emergency Management to quickly prioritise access to isolated settlements, all of which had road access 23 days after the earthquake. However, 100 days after the earthquake, critical segments of SH1 and the MNL remain closed and their ongoing repairs are a serious national strategic, as well as local, concern. This paper presents the impacts on South Island transport infrastructure, and subsequent management through the emergency response and early recovery phases, during the first 100 days following the initial earthquake, and highlights lessons for transportation system resilience.

Iron Cove catchment (~1500 ha) on the southern shores of Port Jackson (Sydney) has been highly urbanised (>90%) for a considerable time (1800s). A map of the area was divided into squares 200 by 200 m and a soil sample was taken randomly in each defined area from the dominant land use type in each square (n = 374). The objectives of the study were to determine the distribution and sources of heavy metals (Cu, Pb, Zn) in surface soils over the catchment and to assess soil quality in terms of guidelines and bioavailability of these metals.The concentrations of Cu, Pb, and Zn were determined for total soil and on a normalised basis. These metals are elevated across the whole catchment, with mean total concentrations for Cu, Pb, and Zn of 62, 410, and 343 mg/kg and 50 percentiles of 44, 203, and 224 mg/kg, respectively, whereas mean enrichment over background is 2, 5.5, and 4.6 times, respectively. Such a wide, regional metal enrichment is probably related to atmospheric deposition from industry inside and beyond the catchment. The highest concentrations of most metals were in soils from the north-east part of the catchment in an area where dwellings and buildings are oldest and where major roads and railway lines converge. Normalise data suggest sources of these metals are roads, railway lines, and older lead-painted houses. Independent studies in the catchment support roads as being an important source of metals in the area. Total soil chemistry indicates that 34, 33, and 56% of the samples were above the Australian and New Zealand Environment and Conservation Council (ANZECC) and National Health and Medical Research Council (NH&MRC) guidelines for Cu, Pb, and Zn, respectively, and selective extraction procedures (EDTA and HCl) indicate that 46–86% of these metals may be bioavailable.

Improving safety at railway level crossings remains a priority for the rail industry internationally, as they remain a significant hazard. A high proportion of collisions occur at passive level crossings, because of their high prevalence and their lower effectiveness at mitigating the risks that road users encounter at such crossings. The unreasonable cost required to upgrade them to incorporate active warnings implies that such crossings will remain on the road, and that alternative approaches are required. Drivers tend to make errors at such crossings, and this can be related to approaching such level crossings at speeds that are too high, exhibiting reduced scanning behaviors to look for trains, and not complying with stop signs at the crossing. An alternative approach is to upgrade the advanced signage with active flashing lights activated by road vehicles, aimed at reducing looked-but-failed-to-see errors and reinforcing the behavior expected from road users at such crossings. A field trial was conducted in New Zealand that evaluated how approach speeds and the visual scanning behavior of 27 drivers, recorded with an eye tracker, changed with such treatments. It was found that the presence of road vehicle-activated advanced signage provided a range of benefits for drivers unaware of the presence of a passive crossings, such as increasing drivers’ attention to road signs through drivers fixating on signage for longer durations and reduced (slower) approach speeds. Further research is needed to evaluate whether these benefits are sustained over time, and whether this can minimize complacency resulting from familiarity.

AbstractVictorian Bluestone is proposed as a Global Heritage Stone Province from Australia. Numerous heritage stones occur within this province and of these Malmsbury Bluestone is suggested as a Global Heritage Stone Resource. Bluestone, an iconic basalt dimension stone from Victoria, is used domestically and internationally with a recognized heritage value. Sources are located in urban and country areas of Victoria some of which are still utilized for dimension stone. In many instances bluestone has superior technical characteristics, including durability, that surpass high-quality commercial sandstones, despite an architectural preference for lighter-coloured stones. These characteristics are matched by the diversity of significant uses for domestic, commercial and infrastructure purposes especially in Victoria. Notable examples include the Spotswood Pumping Station, Malmsbury Viaduct, the Graving Dock (Williamstown), Malmsbury Reservoir, St Patrick's Cathedral (Melbourne), Kyneton Railway Station and Ararat Gaol. If the bluestone used in pavements and drains is also considered, Victorian Bluestone could be described as Australia's most prominent infrastructure heritage stone. Bluestone use in Melbourne dates from the 1840s, in the other states of Australia and in New Zealand from 1873, with international interest from Asia between 1860 and 1880. The stone continues to be utilized widely around Australia and is also exported.

Wellington region’s transport network has poor resilience to natural hazards, given the rugged terrain, high seismicity and wet climate. This exposes the land access to the region and the capital city to be potentially cut off from the rest of New Zealand for several months, and its cities to be isolated from each other. This paper reports on a pioneering integrated resilience study of the entire land transport system in the region provided by the state highways, principal and arterial local roads and the railway system. The study considered resilience risks from a range of natural hazards (earthquake, storm and tsunami) using the metrics of availability and outage. The resilience risks and the relative importance of the routes were used to assess the criticality of these risks for future investment in resilience enhancement. The criticality also considered risks to other lifeline utilities - power, water and telecommunications that share these transport corridors. The combined criticality was used to prioritise these resilience risks. The highest criticality resilience risks were classified into extreme, very high and high levels. The extreme criticality risks identified were the state highway between Ngauranga and Petone and the adjacent Ngauranga interchange between the two State Highways 1 and 2, which together provide access between Wellington, Hutt and Porirua cities. A range of very high risks were identified across the region which included both state highways and local roads. This novel resilience study provided the basis for a subsequent business case for future investment to enhance the resilience of the region’s transport network.

The 1890s was a decade of remarkable progress in Whanganui. The depression of the 1880s was over. The town became an important port and distribution centre with railway connections to Wellington and New Plymouth as well as wharves at Castlecliff and in town. Alexander Hatrick began his riverboat service on the river enabling tourists from all over the world to travel the "Rhine of New Zealand." The colonial town developed culturally. The Technical School of Design was established in 1892, the public museum opened a few years later and the library was extended. The local MP, John Ballance, was Premier until his death in 1893; his state funeral and that in 1898 of the Māori chief, Te Keepa Rangihiwinui, were defining moments in Whanganui's history. A 40-year building boom began, starting with the replacement of old town centre premises dating from the 1860s and earlier. In 1890 there were two architects in town, but only one with recognized qualifications: Alfred Atkins, FRIBA. Having been in practice with Frederick de Jersey Clere in the 1880s, Atkins' practice blossomed in the 1890s. He was architect to both the Education and Hospital Boards at a time of major commissions and advisor to the Borough Council. He designed the museum and a large warehouse and bond store for Sclanders of Nelson and organized the architectural competition for what is now known as The Royal Whanganui Opera House. This paper examines these and other buildings together with some "gentlemen's residences" as examples of the Victorian architecture which characterizes Whanganui today. During the 1890s the Borough Council continued to grapple with the problem of fires in town. The arguments raged over the merits of building in wood versus brick. This paper looks at the evolution of the Council's eventual designation in 1898 of a downtown "brick area" with bylaws requiring at least brick side walls on all new buildings. The era of building permits began and the erection of new brick walls heralded the end of the wooden shop. The brick buildings that followed changed the character of Whanganui's townscape.

Data about distribution of Сhrysaspis patens (Schreb.) Holub (Trifolium patens Schreb.) and Сh. patens × Сh. campestre (Schreb.) Holub (T. patens × T. campestre Schreb.) (Fabaceae Lindl.) in the Ukrainian flora are analyzed. For the first time, according to LE and KW Herbarium materials, in 1990 and 1996, the species, Сh. patens, was noted by Yu. Roskov from the territory of Transcarpathian Region (Zakarpats’ka Oblast’): in the vicinity of the village of Malyi Bereznyi of Velykyi Bereznyі District (1954), and village Lazy (1958) of Uzhgorod Distr., later – between villages Nevytske and Kamianytsa (1970, 1972) of these district of the Region. One specimens from the Malyi Bereznyi (LE) was determined by Yu. Roskov as hybrid: Сh. patens × Сh. campestre. Before 2019 in Checklist and regional flora’s these taxa was not mentioned. Traditionally, the species is considered as part of the sect. Сhrysaspis of genus Chrysaspis Desv. or sect. Chronosemium Seringe subgen. Chronosemium (Seringe) Hossain of the genus Trifolium L. Taxonomically, the species is close to Сh. campestris. The main distinguishing features between these species are: morphological characteristics of vegetative and generative organs, mainly size and form of leaves and parts of flower. Taxonomic citations, morphological characteristics, primary and secondary areas, ecological and coenotic peculiarities of Ch. patens are given. The general area of the species is including Middle Europe, Mediterraneum and Asia minor; at the last years species was noted from the territory of Azerbaijan, Finland and New Zealand. The species grows on meadow, among shrubs, in wet and rocky places, on pastures, along roadsides and railway tracks, etc. In the South European country Ch. patens is a characteristic species of cl. Molinio-Arrhenatheretea Tuxen 1957. The florogenetic status of the species is discussed, in particular in the Transcarpathia region, as well as in the neighboring Hungary and Slovakia Ch. patens is considered as element of native fraction of the flora. At the northern parts of species distribution range, e.g. in Poland, Germany, etc. the species is a kenophyte. A schematic map of the distribution of the species in the Transcarpathia region is given.

Tens of thousands of landslides were generated over 10,000 km2 of North Canterbury and Marlborough as a consequence of the 14 November 2016, Mw7.8 Kaikōura Earthquake. The most intense landslide damage was concentrated in 3500 km2 around the areas of fault rupture. Given the sparsely populated area affected by landslides, only a few homes were impacted and there were no recorded deaths due to landslides. Landslides caused major disruption with all road and rail links with Kaikōura being severed. The landslides affecting State Highway 1 (the main road link in the South Island of New Zealand) and the South Island main trunk railway extended from Ward in Marlborough all the way to the south of Oaro in North Canterbury. The majority of landslides occurred in two geological and geotechnically distinct materials reflective of the dominant rock types in the affected area. In the Neogene sedimentary rocks (sandstones, limestones and siltstones) of the Hurunui District, North Canterbury and around Cape Campbell in Marlborough, first-time and reactivated rock-slides and rock-block slides were the dominant landslide type. These rocks also tend to have rock material strength values in the range of 5-20 MPa. In the Torlesse ‘basement’ rocks (greywacke sandstones and argillite) of the Kaikōura Ranges, first-time rock and debris avalanches were the dominant landslide type. These rocks tend to have material strength values in the range of 20-50 MPa. A feature of this earthquake is the large number (more than 200) of valley blocking landslides it generated. This was partly due to the steep and confined slopes in the area and the widely distributed strong ground shaking. The largest landslide dam has an approximate volume of 12(±2) M m3 and the debris from this travelled about 2.7 km2 downslope where it formed a dam blocking the Hapuku River. The long-term stability of cracked slopes and landslide dams from future strong earthquakes and large rainstorms are an ongoing concern to central and local government agencies responsible for rebuilding homes and infrastructure. A particular concern is the potential for debris floods to affect downstream assets and infrastructure should some of the landslide dams breach catastrophically. At least twenty-one faults ruptured to the ground surface or sea floor, with these surface ruptures extending from the Emu Plain in North Canterbury to offshore of Cape Campbell in Marlborough. The mapped landslide distribution reflects the complexity of the earthquake rupture. Landslides are distributed across a broad area of intense ground shaking reflective of the elongate area affected by fault rupture, and are not clustered around the earthquake epicentre. The largest landslides triggered by the earthquake are located either on or adjacent to faults that ruptured to the ground surface. Surface faults may provide a plane of weakness or hydrological discontinuity and adversely oriented surface faults may be indicative of the location of future large landslides. Their location appears to have a strong structural geological control. Initial results from our landslide investigations suggest predictive models relying only on ground-shaking estimates underestimate the number and size of the largest landslides that occurred.

Railways have been a significant part of New Zealand life, yet their treatment in historiography often does not reflect this. I argue for a greater appreciation of railways, focusing upon their role in shaping the developing colony in the nineteenth-century. I introduce the existing literature to indicate contributions with which greater engagement is required and to identify directions requiring further research. The provincial ‘prehistory’ of railways preceding the Vogel boom of the 1870s requires particular emphasis; railways figured prominently in the settler imagination even though physical construction was minimal. I then show that the forces unleashed by Vogel were more than economic and offer tentative conclusions regarding the railway’s role within a range of fields. The railway was a site for contesting morality, it deepened the colonial project and identity, and it defined the contours of daily life.

James Cowan wrote promotional literature and guidebooks for the New Zealand Railways Department. In them he mixes historical and progressivist discourse, revealing tensions between contradictory ideas about New Zealand: its celebration as a modern and technologically advanced state, epitomized by the railway, and nostalgia for the culture and history that the railway aimed to erase.

Hokianga trader John Webster (1818-1912) lived a long and sometimes colourful life. It was enough to get him a page in Guy Scholefield’s 1940 Dictionary of New Zealand Biography, which concluded with praise for Webster’s “knowledge of Māori and sympathy for the race.”[i] James Cowan was similarly hagiographic in his 1930s series on famous New Zealanders in the New Zealand Railways Magazine. For Cowan, Webster was one of those “who sought their fortunes in the wildest parts of the earth, and distinguished themselves as pioneers of enterprise, self-reliance, and cool courage.”[ii] But our views of history have changed since then. The editors of the current Dictionary of New Zealand Biography thought there were far too many white male settler stories. They purged the cast, and Webster was one of the banished.[i] G. H. Scholefield (ed) “Webster, John”, A Dictionary of New Zealand Biography, Whitcomb & Tombs, Wellington 1940, volume II, p. 477.[ii] James Cowan “Famous New Zealanders – No. 43 – John Webster of Hokianga – The Adventures of a Pioneer”, New Zealand Railways Magazine, 1 October 1936, p. 17.

In 2005, Parliament passed new legislation to regulate railway safety in New Zealand. Applying international best practice, the Railways Act took a goal-based approach that utilised the Safety Case concept as the foundation for regulatory oversight. This article describes the Transport Agency’s experience in implementing this regulatory approach, particularly the Safety Case concept. The change required the Transport Agency to first recognise that fully harnessing the legislation required a transformational response and then, along with the wider industry, address the challenges faced in developing and implementing an appropriate regulatory operating model.

Abstract Important infrastructure such as highways or railways traverse unstable terrain in many mountainous and scenic parts of the world. Rockfalls and landslides result in frequent maintenance needs, system unreliability due to frequent closures and restrictions, and safety hazards. Seismic activity significantly amplifies these negative economic and community impacts by generating large rockfalls and landslides as well as weakening the terrain. This paper interrogates a rich database of repeat terrestrial lidar scans collected during the Canterbury New Zealand Earthquake Sequence to document geomorphic processes as well as quantify rockfall activity rates through time. Changes in the activity rate (spatial distribution) and failure depths (size) were observed based on the Rockfall Activity Index (RAI) morphological classification. Forecasting models can be developed from these relationships that can be utilized by transportation agencies to estimate increased maintenance needs for debris removal to minimize road closures from rockfalls after seismic events.

Now a day’s energy conservation is the most important thing in the world wide. The area of traction also take this into the consideration, so they take a step forward to use regenerative energy which is generated through the regenerative braking in the train. This regenerated energy most of the time get wasted in form of heat. Or most of the time it fed back to overhead equipment. Using regenerative braking energy battery energy storage system is charging used in many countries like japan, New Zealand, UK. This paper presents the implementation of a dc dc boost converter which used this regenerated energy in the traction system and boost the voltage of battery energy storage system. This paper presents the improved dc-dc boost converter which can be implemented in future in the Indian railways system. Arduino based PMW dc dc converter used in traction system to charge the battery energy storage system.

My favourite farmers’ market in Aotearoa is in Dunedin. Over the warmer months it has the best fresh produce in New Zealand: Central Otago apricots the size of peaches, oldschool gooseberries, greengage plums. But the Otago Farmers Market also offers a physical pun. It’s at Dunedin’s famous Railway Station, and there on the station platform you’ll also find many artisan products, like seaweed condiments, craft beer, and bread of every kind. A ‘platform’, according to Choudary and Parker, is ‘a business model that uses technology to connect people, organisations and resources in ecosystems to exchange goods, services and ideas’ (Choudary and Parker, 2016). Take a broad view of ‘technology’ and the Otago Farmers Market is a platform on a platform.

Abstract This account presents information on all aspects of the biology of Geranium pratense L. (Meadow Crane's‐Bill). The main topics are presented within the standard framework of the Biological Flora of Britain and Ireland : distribution, habitat, communities, responses to biotic factors, responses to environment, structure and physiology, phenology, floral and seed characters, herbivores and disease, history and conservation. Geranium pratense is a perennial gynodioecious forb of neutral grassland. In Britain and Ireland, it is particularly abundant on roadside verges, railway embankments, the margins of watercourses and woodland rides. It is generally intolerant of grazing and is absent or scarce in livestock‐grazed grassland. Geranium pratense is widespread in England, Wales and Scotland but is scarce in Ireland. It has an extensive native range in Europe and Asia, extending eastwards to Russia, north‐western China and Mongolia. It has been widely introduced to new sites within its native range and has been introduced to Canada, the USA and New Zealand. Geranium pratense usually occurs on free‐draining soils but also infrequently where drainage is impeded. The soils are often nutrient‐rich and weakly acidic to weakly alkaline. The underlying geology is usually non‐acidic sedimentary rocks or superficial deposits. Geranium pratense is protandrous and is pollinated by various insects of the orders Hymenoptera, Diptera and Lepidoptera, particularly bumblebees, solitary bees, hoverflies and butterflies. Eleven species of phytophagous insect have been recorded on G. pratense in Britain and Ireland. Geranium pratense has little or no capacity for vegetative spread. Primary seed dispersal is ballistic and seeds may be flung over distances of up to several metres. The species has a transient seed bank, that is germination typically takes place in the winter and spring after seed production, after the physically dormant seeds have become permeable. Seedling establishment is higher in vegetation‐free gaps than in undisturbed grassland vegetation. There has been no significant change in its distribution between the late 1950s and 2019, although since 2000, it has expanded its range, mainly via introductions, in northern and western Scotland, west Wales and in Ireland. Alien sites have increased markedly since the 1960s due to introductions from wildflower seed sowing and spread from gardens.

Despite an ever-growing body of scholarship on the shôjo (girl) in manga and anime, little has been written about representations of the ‘girl’ in Japanese picture books. Shôjo literature and culture have grown exponentially in Japan since about the 1980s, but there has been a tendency in popular media to overemphasise the 'cute', disempowering aspects of the ‘girl’. By using Takahara Eiri's (1999) concept of “girl consciousness” and Honda Masuko's (1992) envisioning of the girl’s imagined freedom through a hirahira (fluttering) aesthetic, notions of the powerless or mindlessly consuming shôjo can be dispelled. Such concepts help demonstrate that the girl ‘has her own creative, critical and cultural, if not social or political, power’ (Aoyama 2008: 286). This paper examines the shôjo tropes in contemporary illustrations that were produced to accompany two tales by the renowned author Miyazawa Kenji (1896-1933), Futago no Hoshi (Twin Stars) and Ginga Tetsudô no Yoru (Night of the Milky Way Railway). Although Kenji (as he is known) is not generally considered a shôjo author, some of his works incorporate gently transgressive shôjo themes reminiscent of, for example, Yoshiya Nobuko’s Hana Monogatari (Flower Tales) from the 1920s. I argue that the current artwork of two award-winning artists, Makino Suzuko and Azuma Itsuko, reflects and enhances Kenji’s ‘girlish’ verbal images, bringing them to the fore in their accompanying imagery for Futago and Ginga by drawing on shôjo art, manga and literature. The artists thus bring into play intertextual references that occur not only across different historical temporalities but also through relations between the author, the artist, the text(s), the protagonists and the reading/viewing audience. The analysis of their striking artwork shows how they bring Kenji’s 1920s’ works firmly into the arena of the contemporary ‘girl’, expanding the abstract consciousness of the shôjo to emerging audiences in Japan. + + + This essay won the 2013 Inoue Yasushi Award for the best article or book chapter on Japanese literature published in Australia or New Zealand.

Music from Another Time – One Perth Night in 2009The following extract is taken from fieldwork notes from research into the enduring Northern Soul dance scene in Perth, Western Australia.It’s 9.30 and I’m walking towards the Hyde Park Hotel on a warm May night. I stop to talk to Jenny, from London, who tells me about her 1970s trip to India and teenage visits to soul clubs in Soho. I enter a cavernous low-ceilinged hall, which used to be a jazz venue and will be a Dan Murphy’s bottle shop before the year ends. South West Soul organiser Tommy, wearing 34-inch baggy trousers, gives me a Northern Soul handshake, involving upturned thumbs. ‘Spread the Faith’, he says. Drinkers are lined up along the long bar to the right and I grab a glass of iced water. A few dancers are out on the wooden floor and a mirror ball rotates overhead. Pat Fisher, the main Perth scene organiser, is away working in Monaco, but the usual suspects are there: Carlisle Derek, Ivan from Cheltenham, Ron and Gracie from Derby. Danny is back from DJing in Tuscany, after a few days in Widnes with old friends. We chat briefly mouth to ear, as the swirling strings and echo-drenched vocals of the Seven Souls’ 45 record, ‘I still love you’ boom through the sound system. The drinkers at the bar hit the floor for Curtis Mayfield’s ‘Move on up’ and the crowd swells to about 80. When I move onto the floor, Barbara Acklin’s ‘Am I the Same Girl?’ plays, prompting reflection on being the same, older person dancing to a record from my teenage years. On the bridge of the piano and conga driven ‘’Cause you’re mine’, by the Vibrations, everybody claps in unison, some above their heads, some behind their backs, some with an expansive, open-armed gesture. The sound is like the crack of pistol. We are all living in the moment, lost in the music, moving forward and backward, gliding sideways, and some of us spinning, dervish-like, for a few seconds, if we can still maintain our balance.Having relocated their scene from England south to the Antipodes, most of the participants described on this night are now in their sixties. Part of the original scene myself, I was a participant observer, dancing and interviewing, and documenting and exploring scene practices over five years.The local Perth scene, which started in 1996, is still going strong, part of a wider Australian and New Zealand scene. The global scene goes back nearly 50 years to the late 1960s. Northern Soul has now also become southern. It has also become significantly present in the USA, its place of inspiration, and in such disparate places as Medellin, in Colombia, and Kobe, in Japan.The feeling of ‘living in the moment’ described is a common feature of dance-oriented subcultures. It enables escape from routines, stretches the present opportunity for leisure and postpones the return to other responsibilities. The music and familiar dance steps of a long-standing scene like Northern Soul also stimulate a nostalgic reverie, in which you can persuade yourself you are 18 again.Dance steps are forward, backward and sideways and on crowded dancefloors self-expression is necessarily attenuated. These movements are repeated and varied as each bar returns to the first beat and in subcultures like Northern Soul are sufficiently stylised as to show solidarity. This solidarity is enhanced by a unison handclap, triggered by cues in some records. Northern Soul is not line-dancing. Dancers develop their own moves.Place of Origin: Soul from the North?For those new to Northern Soul, the northern connection may seem a little puzzling. The North of England is often still imagined as a cold, rainy wasteland of desolate moors and smoky, industrial, mostly working-class cities, but such stereotyping obscures real understanding. Social histories have also tended to focus on such phenomena as the early twentieth century Salford gang members, the “Northern Scuttlers”, with “bell-bottomed trousers … and the thick iron-shod clogs” (Roberts 123).The 1977 Granada television documentary about the key Northern Soul club, Wigan Casino, This England, captured rare footage; but this was framed by hackneyed backdrops of mills and collieries. Yet, some elements of the northern stereotype are grounded in reality.Engels’s portrayal of the horrors of early nineteenth century Manchester in The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844 was an influential exploration of the birth pains of this first industrial city, and many northern towns and cities have experienced similar traumas. Levels of social disadvantage in contemporary Britain, whilst palpable everywhere, are still particularly significant in the North, as researched by Buchan, Kontopantelis, Sperrin, Chandola and Doran in North-South Disparities in English Mortality 1965–2015: Longitudinal Population Study.By the end of the 1960s, the relative affluence of Harold Wilson’s England began to recede and there was increased political and counter-cultural activity. Into this social climate emerged both skinheads, as described by Fowler in Skins Rule and the Northern Soul scene.Northern Soul scene essentially developed as an extension of the 1960s ‘mod’ lifestyle, built around soul music and fashion. A mostly working-class response to urban life and routine, it also evidenced the ability of the more socially mobile young to get out and stay up late.Although more London mods moved into psychedelia and underground music, many soul fans sought out obscure, but still prototypical Motown-like records, often from the northern American cities Detroit and Chicago. In Manchester, surplus American records were transported up the Ship Canal to Trafford Park, the port zone (Ritson and Russell 1) and became cult club hits, as described in Rylatt and Scott’s Central 1179: The Story of Manchester's Twisted Wheel.In the early 1970s, the rare soul fans found a name for their scene. “The Dave Godin Column” in the fanzine Blues and Soul, published in London, referred for the first time to ‘Northern Soul’ in 1971, really defining ‘Northern’ directionally, as a relative location anywhere ‘north of Watford’, not a specific place.The scene gradually developed specific sites, clothes, dances and cultural practices, and was also popular in southern England, and actually less visible in cities such as Liverpool and Newcastle. As Nowell (199) argues, the idea that Northern Soul was regionally based is unfounded, a wider movement emerging as a result of the increased mobility made possible by railways and motorways (Ritson and Russell 14).Clubs like the Blackpool Mecca and Wigan Casino were very close to motorway slip roads and accessible to visitors from further south. The initial scene was not self-consciously northern and many early clubs, like the ‘Golden Torch’, in Tunstall were based in the Midlands, as recounted by Wall (441).The Time and Space of the DancefloorThe Northern Soul scene’s growth was initially covered in fanzines like Blues and Soul, and then by Frith and Cummings (23-32). Following Cosgrove (38-41) and Chambers (142), a number of insider accounts (Soul Survivors: The Wigan Casino Story by Winstanley and Nowell; Too Darn Soulful: The Story of Northern Soul by Nowell; The In-Crowd: The Story of the Northern & Rare Soul Scene by Ritson & Russell) were followed by academic studies (Milestone 134-149; Hollows and Milestone 83-103; Wall 431-445). The scene was first explored by an American academic in Browne’s Identity Scene and Material Culture: The Place of African American Rare Soul Music on the British Northern Soul Scene.Many clubs in earlier days were alcohol-free, though many club-goers substituted amphetamines (Wilson 1-5) as a result, but across the modern scene, drug-taking is not significant. On Northern Soul nights, dancing is the main activity and drinking is incidental. However, dance has received less subtle attention than it deserves as a key nexus between the culture of the scene and black America.Pruter (187) referred to the earlier, pre-disco “myopia” of many music writers on the subject of dance, though its connection to leisure, pleasure, the body and “serious self-realization” (Chambers 7) has been noted. Clearly Northern Soul dancers find “evasive” pleasure (Fiske 127) and “jouissance” (Barthes v) in the merging of self into record.Wall (440) has been more nuanced in his perceptions of the particular “physical geography” of the Northern Soul dance floor, seeing it as both responsive to the music, and a vehicle for navigating social and individual space. Dancers respond to each other, give others room to move and are also connected to those who stand and watch. Although friends often dance close, they are careful not to exclude others and dancing between couples is rare. At the end of popular records, there is often applause. Some dance all night, with a few breaks; others ‘pace’ themselves (Mercieca et al. 78).The gymnastics of Northern Soul have attracted attention, but the forward dives, back drops and spins are now less common. Two less noticed markers of the Northern Soul dancing style, the glide and the soul clap, were highlighted by Wall (432). Cosgrove (38) also noted the sideways glide characteristic of long-time insiders and particularly well deployed by female dancers.Significantly, friction-reducing talcum powder is almost sacramentally sprinkled on the floor, assisting dancers to glide more effectively. This fluid feature of the dancing makes the scene more attractive to those whose forms of expression are less overtly masculine.Sprung wooden floors are preferred and drink on the floor is frowned upon, as spillage compromises gliding. The soul clap is a communal clap, usually executed at key points in a record. Sometimes very loud, this perfectly timed unison clap is a remarkable, though mostly unselfconscious, display of group co-ordination, solidarity and resonance.Billy from Manchester, one of the Perth regulars, and notable for his downward clapping motion, explained simply that the claps go “where the breaks are” (Mercieca et al. 71). The Northern Soul clap demonstrates key attributes of what Wunderlich (384) described as “place-temporality in urban space”, emerging from the flow of music and movement in a heightened form of synchronisation and marked by the “vivid sense of time” (385) produced by emotional and social involvement.Crucially, as Morris noted, A Sense of Space is needed to have a sense of time and dancers may spin and return via the beat of the music to the same spot. For Northern Soul dancers, the movements forwards, backwards, sideways through objective, “geometric space” are paralleled by a traversing of existential, “conceived space”. The steps in microcosm symbolise the relentless wider movements we make through life. For Lefebvre, in The Production of Space, these “trialectics” create “lived space”.A Sense of Place and Evolving IdentitySpaces are plastic environments, charged with emerging meanings. For Augé, they can also remain spaces or be manipulated into “Non-Places”. When the sense of space is heightened there is the potential for lived spaces to become places. The space/place distinction is a matter of contention, but, broadly, space is universal and non-relational, and place is particular and relational.For Augé, a space can be social, but if it lacks implicit, shared cultural understandings and requires explicit signs and rules, as with an airport or supermarket, it is a non-place. It is not relational. It lacks history. Time cannot be stretched or temporarily suspended. As non-places proliferate, urban people spend more time alone in crowds, ”always, and never, at home” (109), though this anonymity can still provide the possibility of changing identity and widening experience.Northern Soul as a culture in the abstract, is a space, but one with distinct practices which tend towards the creation of places and identities. Perth’s Hyde Park Hotel is a place with a function space at the back. This empty hall, on the night described in the opening, temporarily became a Northern Soul Club. The dance floor was empty as the night began, but gradually became not just a space, but a place. To step onto a mostly empty dance floor early in the night, is to cross liminal space, and to take a risk that you will be conspicuous or lonely for a while, or both.This negotiation of space is what Northern Soul, like many other club cultures has always offered, the promise and risk of excitement outside the home. Even when the floor is busy, it is still possible to feel alone in a crowd, but at some stage in the night, there is also the possibility, via some moment of resonance, that a feeling of connection with others will develop. This is a familiar teenage theme, a need to escape bonds and make new ones, to be both mobile and stable. Northern Soul is one of the many third spaces/places (Soja 137) which can create opportunities to navigate time, space and place, and to find a new sense of direction and identity. Nicky from Cornwall, who arrived in Perth in the early 1970s, felt like “a fish out of water”, until involvement in the Northern Soul scene helped him to achieve a successful migration (Mercieca et al. 34-38). Figure 1: A Perth Northern Soul night in 2007. Note the talcum powder on the DJ table, for sprinkling on the dancefloor. The record playing is ‘Helpless’, by Kim Weston.McRobbie has argued in Dance and Social Fantasy that Northern Soul provides places for women to define and express themselves, and it has appealed to more to female and LGBTQIA participants than the more masculine dominated rock, funk and hip-hop scenes. The shared appreciation of records and the possibilities for expression and sociality in dance unite participants and blur gender lines.While the more athletic dancers have tended to be male, dancing is essentially non-contact, as in many other post-1960s ‘discotheque’ styles, yet there is little overt sexual display or flirtation involved. Male and female styles, based on foot rather than arm movements, are similar, almost ungendered, and the Soul scene has differed from more mainstream nightlife cultures focussed on finding partners, as noted in Soul Survivors: The Wigan Casino Story by Winstanley and Nowell. Whilst males, who are also involved in record buying, predominated in the early scene, women now often dominate the dance floor (Wall 441).The Perth scene is little different, yet the changed gender balance has not produced more partner-seeking for either the older participants, who are mostly in long-term relationships and the newer, younger members, who enjoy the relative gender-blindness, and focus on communality and cultural affinity. Figure 2: A younger scene member, ‘Nash’, DJing in Perth in 2016. He has since headed north to Denmark and is now part of the Nordic Northern Soul scene.In Perth, for Stan from Derby, Northern Soul linked the experiences of “poor white working class kids” with young black Americans (Mercieca et al. 97). Hollows and Milestone (87-94) mapped a cultural geographic relationship between Northern Soul and the Northern cities of the USA where the music originated. However, Wall (442) suggested that Northern Soul is drawn from the more bi-racial soul of the mid-1960s than the funky, Afro-centric 1970s and essentially deploys the content of the music to create an alternative British identity, rather than to align more closely with the American movement for self-determination. Essentially, Northern Soul shows how “the meanings of one culture can be transformed in the cultural practices of another time and place” (Wall 444).Many contemporary Australian youth cultures are more socially and ethnically mixed than the Northern Soul scene. However, over the years, the greater participation of women, and of younger and newer members, has made its practices less exclusive, and the notion of an “in-crowd” more relaxed (Wall 439). The ‘Northern’ connection is less meaningful, as members have a more adaptable sense of cultural identity, linked to a global scene made possible by the internet and migration. In Australia, attachment seems stronger to locality rather than nation or region, to place of birth in Britain and place of residence in Perth, two places which represent ‘home’. Northern Soul appears to work well for all members because it provides both continuity and change. As Mercieca et al. suggested of the scene (71) “there is potential for new meanings to continue to emerge”.ConclusionThe elements of expression and directional manoeuvres of Northern Soul dancing, symbolise the individual and social negotiation of direction, place, space, identity and time. The sense of time and space travelled can create a feeling of being pushed forward without control. It can also produce an emotional pull backwards, like an elastic band being stretched. For those growing older and moving far from places of birth, these dynamics can be particularly challenging. Membership of global subcultures can clearly help to create successful migrations, providing third spaces/places (Soja 137) between home and host culture identities, as evidenced by the ‘Southern’ Northern Soul scene in Australia. For these once teenagers, now grandparents in Australia, connections to time and space have been both transformed and transcended. They remain grounded in their youth, but have reduced the gravitational force of home connections, projecting themselves forward into the future by balancing aspects of both stability and mobility. Physical places and places and their connections with culture have been replaced by multiple and overlapping mappings, but it is important not to romanticise notions of agency, hybridity, third spaces and “deterritorialization” (Deleuze and Guattari in Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia). In a globalised world, most people are still located geographically and labelled ideologically. The Northern Soul repurposing of the culture indicates a transilience (Richmond 328) “differentially available to those in different locations in the field of power” (Gupta and Ferguson 20). However, the way in which Northern Soul has moved south over the decade via migration, has arguably now provided a stronger possible sense of resonance with the lives of black Americans whose lives in places like Chicago and Detroit in the 1960s, and their wonderful music, are grounded in the experience of family migrations in the opposite direction from the South to the North (Mercieca et al. 11). In such a celebration of “memory, loss, and nostalgia” (Gupta and Ferguson 13), it may still be possible to move beyond the exclusion that characterises defensive identities.ReferencesAugé, Marc. Non-Places: An Introduction to Supermodernity. Trans. John Howe. London: Verso, 2008.Barthes, Roland. The Pleasure of the Text. Trans. Richard Miller. New York: Hill and Wang, 1975Browne, Kimasi L. "Identity Scene and Material Culture: The Place of African American Rare Soul Music on the British Northern Soul Scene." Proceedings of Manchester Music & Place Conference. Manchester: Manchester Metropolitan University. Vol. 8. 2006.Buchan, Iain E., Evangelos Kontopantelis, Matthew Sperrin, Tarani Chandola, and Tim Doran. "North-South Disparities in English Mortality 1965–2015: Longitudinal Population Study." Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health 71 (2017): 928-936.Chambers, Iain. Urban Rhythms: Pop Music and Popular Culture. London: Macmillan, 1985.Cosgrove, Stuart. "Long after Tonight Is All Over." Collusion 2 (1982): 38-41.Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, and Helen R. Lane. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1977.Engels, Friedrich. The Condition of the Working-Class in England in 1844. Trans. Florence Kelley Wischnewetzky. London: Swan Sonnenschein, 1892.Fiske, John. Understanding Popular Culture. London: Unwin Hyman, 1989.Fowler, Pete. "Skins Rule." The Beat Goes On: The Rock File Reader. Ed. Charlie Gillett. London: Pluto Press, 1972. 10-26.Frith, Simon, and Tony Cummings. “Playing Records.” Rock File 3. Eds. Charlie Gillett and Simon Frith. St Albans: Panther, 1975. 21–48.Godin, Dave. “The Dave Godin Column”. Blues and Soul 67 (1971).Gupta, Akhil, and James Ferguson. "Beyond 'Culture': Space, Identity, and the Politics of Difference." Cultural Anthropology 7.1 (1992): 6-23.Hollows, Joanne, and Katie Milestone. "Welcome to Dreamsville: A History and Geography of Northern Soul." The Place of Music. Eds. Andrew Leyshon, David Matless, and George Revill. New York: The Guilford Press, 1998. 83-103.Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell, 1991.McRobbie, Angela. "Dance and Social Fantasy." Gender and Generation. Eds. Angela McRobbie and Mica Nava. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1984. 130-161.Mercieca, Paul, Anne Chapman, and Marnie O'Neill. To the Ends of the Earth: Northern Soul and Southern Nights in Western Australia. Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2013.Milestone, Katie. "Love Factory: The Sites, Practices and Media Relationships of Northern Soul." The Clubcultures Reader. Eds. Steve Redhead, Derek Wynne, and Justin O’Connor. Oxford: Blackwell, 1997. 134-149.Morris, David. The Sense of Space. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2004.Nowell, David. Too Darn Soulful: The Story of Northern Soul. London: Robson, 1999.Pruter, Robert. Chicago Soul. Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1992.Richmond, Anthony H. "Sociology of Migration in Industrial and Post-Industrial Societies." Migration (1969): 238-281.Ritson, Mike, and Stuart Russell. The In Crowd: The Story of the Northern & Rare Soul Scene. London: Robson, 1999.Roberts, Robert. The Classic Slum. London: Penguin, 1971.Rylatt, Keith, and Phil Scott. Central 1179: The Story of Manchester's Twisted Wheel Club. London: Bee Cool, 2001.Soja, Edward W. "Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real and Imagined Places." Capital & Class 22.1 (1998): 137-139.This England. TV documentary. Manchester: Granada Television, 1977.Wall, Tim. "Out on the Floor: The Politics of Dancing on the Northern Soul Scene." Popular Music 25.3 (2006): 431-445.Wilson, Andrew. Northern Soul: Music, Drugs and Subcultural Identity. Cullompton: Willan, 2007.Winstanley, Russ, and David Nowell. Soul Survivors: The Wigan Casino Story. London: Robson, 1996.Wunderlich, Filipa Matos. "Place-Temporality and Urban Place-Rhythms in Urban Analysis and Design: An Aesthetic Akin to Music." Journal of Urban Design 18.3 (2013): 383-408.

This book on Disasters and Hazards is a well documented reference book on the subject of grave societal importance, giving in details the meaning, causative factors, mechanism, effect or damage and possible measures to reduce the risk due to natural and manmade hazards. The book starts giving definitions of various terms which is much useful to layman. Disaster is a sudden misfortune or catastrophe or ruinous happening that causes widespread debility and distress to the humans and the environment. Hazard is a situation that poses threat to life, health, property, livestock, wildlife and environment. Thus, disaster and hazards are situations which adversely affect the mankind by loss of property and life. The book elaborates basics of natural hazards like faults, earthquakes, volcanoes, by illustrating the scientific basis for these events, based on structure of earth's interior, plate tectonics in simple language. The mechanism and types of these natural events are described in simple way for benefit of common people. The causative factors for volcanism, types of volcanoes, eruptive mechanism, and effect of volcanism on natural environment as well as human population are explained well. Thus, the complex scientific topics are dealt with in simple way to generate public awareness with the help of relevant photographs and illustrations through drawings. The types of earthquakes, theory of earthquake generation, propagation of earthquake waves, classification methods, instruments for recording the earthquakes and measuring the intensity are well elaborated. The section on Indian Standards for Earthquake Study and risk reduction measures is interesting. Besides the mitigation measures on earthquake, the details given in construction of earthquake resistant structures, types of grillage, reinforcement methods and types of isolators used are useful for application in earthquake prone areas. The case study includes earthquake damage controls followed in New Zealand which can be guide for minimizing the destruction caused by earthquakes. Tsunami is a major disaster hazard near sea shore. The chapter on Tsunami gives comprehensive knowledge of causes of Tsunami generation, tectonic events responsible for Tsunami formation and propagation, science behind travel of Tsunami waves, possible damage caused by disastrous Tsunami waves. It also incorporates possibility of Tsunami warning and mitigation measures with suitable examples, as a complete guide on major hazard on sea shore. Landslides are major destructive factor in hilly terrain in India. The causative factors of landslide, geographical and hydrological conditions responsible to trigger a landslide, types of land slide and measures to be adopted to control landslides provide useful technical information. The section on exodynamic hazards is very interesting elaborating the hydrological and atmospheric water cycle, global atmospheric water movement, formation of cyclones, cyclonic hazards and various methods adopted by government for safety of people to reduce damage to property and life. A list of previous cyclones in India is very informative. Hydrometeorologi- cal hazard covers the water distribution, river bed configuration, types, and effects of flooding and various methods adopted for control and prevention of floods. The disastrous effect of floods in India is elaborated in case study giving detailed causative factors and damage caused by floods in Uttarakhand 2013, Kerala 2018, Jammu and Kashmir 2010 etc. Preventive measures for avoiding recurrence of such floods are also discussed. A very interesting section is on anthropological hazards mainly created by various activities of industrialization, and human development which covers wide areas like noise pollution, civil constructions, mishaps in tourist places, railway and highway disasters, disastrous air accidents, and mishaps of grave concern on oceanic transport e.g. fires on ships, ship collision and oil seepages in sea. A detailed description of epidemics and pandemics during last century adversely affecting the mankind socially and economically, including COVID-19 pandemic, is an eye opener for taking immediate rectification measures in our life style and activities to avoid such pandemics in future. Gene mutation and genetic engineering is one more important issue discussed throwing light on benefits and possible hazards of genetic modification of agricultural and the other products. The chapter on economic disasters elaborates the various factors responsible for economic development, factors responsible for failure of economic growth, due to various causes leading to financial depression in last century. The hazards in mining, wild forest fires, environmental degradation due to chemical waste, biological infections due to various bacteria / viruses sounds an alarm bell to society for adopting sound mitigation measures to prevent mass scale destruction. Environmental hazards, basic concepts in environmental management, preventing measures for overcoming challenging situation like drought by artificial recharge, water harvesting, and water management are very informative. The land degradation due to human activity, solid waste and e-waste problem and possible measures to control the menace of land waste due to ill planned activities emphasize the need for proper land use management. The various mitigation measures to avoid pollution and damage to ecology are mentioned in chapter on mitigation measures covering land management, water pollution control, management of industrial waste, water purification techniques, international water standards, air pollution types and desirable chemical content in air quality assessment. Acid rain, formation of ozone holes, effect of ozone depletion on human life and measures to control green house gases, are some important topics discussed in this book. The causes of global warming, various international acts enacted to control global warming, green house gas reduction, carbon foot print and carbon credits, detailed list of green house gases and air pollutants is very useful in practical purpose. The book completes with detailed discussion on measures for control of different types of hazards/ disasters and the procedures as per the disaster management act 2005. The book gives comprehensive information on causes, types and effects of various disasters and measures to control the recurrence of such events; damage control to minimize the loss of property and life, besides protecting the environment and ecology of the earth. It is a good book for collection and reference.

Many films of the Australian New Wave (or Australian film renaissance) of the 1970s and 1980s can be defined as gothic, especially following Jonathan Rayner’s suggestion that “Instead of a genre, Australian Gothic represents a mode, a stance and an atmosphere, after the fashion of American Film Noir, with the appellation suggesting the inclusion of horrific and fantastic materials comparable to those of Gothic literature” (25). The American comparison is revealing. The 400 or so film productions of the Australian New Wave emerged, not in a vacuum, but in an increasingly connected and inter-mixed international space (Godden). Putatively discrete national cinemas weave in and out of each other on many levels. One such level concerns the reception critics give to films. This article will drill down to the level of the reception of two examples of Australian gothic film-making by two well-known American critics. Rayner’s comparison of Australian gothic with American film noir is useful; however, it begs the question of how American critics such as Pauline Kael and Andrew Sarris influentially shaped the reception of Australian gothic in America and in other locations (such as Australia itself) where their reviews found an audience either at the time or afterwards. The significance of the present article rests on the fact that, as William McClain observes, following in Rick Altman’s footsteps, “critics form one of the key material institutions that support generic formations” (54). This article nurtures the suggestion that knowing how Australian gothic cinema was shaped, in its infancy, in the increasingly important American market (a market of both commerce and ideas) might usefully inform revisionist studies of Australian cinema as a national mode. A more nuanced, globally informed representation of the origins and development of Australian gothic cinema emerges at this juncture, particularly given that American film reviewing in the 1970s and 1980s more closely resembled what might today be called film criticism or even film theory. The length of individual reviews back then, the more specialized vocabulary used, and above all the tendency for critics to assume more knowledge of film history than could safely be assumed in 2014—all this shows up the contrast with today. As Christos Tsiolkas notes, “in our age… film reviewing has been reduced to a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down” (56)! The 1970s and 1980s is largely pre-Internet, and critical voices such as Kael and Sarris dominated in print. The American reviews of Australian gothic films demonstrate how a different consciousness suffuses Kael’s and Sarris’s engagements with “Antipodean” (broadly Australian and New Zealand) cinema. Rayner’s locally specific definition of Australian gothic is distorted in their interpretations of examples of the genre. It will be argued that this is symptomatic of a particular blindspot, related to the politics and art of place, in the American reception of Wake in Fright (initially called Outback in America), directed by the Canadian Ted Kotcheff (1971) and The Year of Living Dangerously, directed by Peter Weir (1982). Space and argument considerations force this article to focus on the reviews of these films, engaging less in analysis of the films themselves. Suffice to say that they all fit broadly within Rayner’s definition of Australian gothic cinema. As Rayner states, three thematic concerns which permeate all the films related to the Gothic sensibility provide links across the distinctions of era, environment and character. They are: a questioning of established authority; a disillusionment with the social reality that that authority maintains; and the protagonist’s search for a valid and tenable identity once the true nature of the human environment has been revealed. (25) “The true nature of the human environment….” Here is the element upon which the American reviews of the Australian gothic founder. Explicitly in many films of this mode, and implicitly in nearly all of them, is the “human environment” of the Australian landscape, which operates less as a backdrop and more as a participating element, even a character, in the drama, saturating the mise-en-scène. In “Out of Place: Reading (Post) Colonial Landscapes as Gothic Space in Jane Campion’s Films,” Eva Rueschmann quotes Ross Gibson’s thesis from South of the West: Postcolonialism and the Narrative Construction of Australia that By featuring the land so emphatically… [Australian] films stake out something more significant than decorative pictorialism. Knowingly or unknowingly, they are all engaging with the dominant mythology of white Australia. They are all partaking of the landscape tradition which, for two hundred years, has been used by white Australians to promote a sense of the significance of European society in the “Antipodes”. (Rueschmann) The “emphatic” nature of the land in films like Wake in Fright, Mad Max 2 and Picnic at Hanging Rock actively contributes to the “atmosphere” of Australian gothic cinema (Rayner 25). This atmosphere floats across Australian film and literature. Many of the films mentioned in this article are adaptations from books, and Rayner himself stresses the similarity between Australian gothic and gothic literature (25). Significantly, the atmosphere of Australian gothic also floats across the fuzzy boundary between the gothic and road movies or road literature. Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior is obviously a road movie as well as a gothic text; so is Wake in Fright in its way; even Picnic at Hanging Rock contains elements of the road movie in all that travelling to and from the rock. Roads, then, are significant for Australian gothic cinema, for the road traverses the Australian (gothic) landscape and, in the opportunity it provides for moving through it at speed, tantalizes with the (unfulfillable) promise of an escape from its gothic horror. Australian roads are familiar, part of White European culture referencing the geometric precision of Roman roads. The Australian outback, by contrast, is unfamiliar, uncanny. Veined with roads, the outback invites the taming by “the landscape tradition” that it simultaneously rejects (Rueschmann). In the opening 360° pan of Wake in Fright the land frightens with its immensity and intensity, even as the camera displays the land’s “conquering” agent: not a road, but the road’s surrogate—a railway line. Thus, the land introduces the uncanny into Australian gothic cinema. In Freudian terms, the uncanny is that unsettling combination of the familiar and the unfamiliar. R. Gray calls it “the class of frightening things that leads us back to what is known and familiar” (Gray). The “frightening” land is the very condition of the “comforting” road; no roads without a space for roads, and places for them to go. In her introduction to The Penguin Book of the Road, Delia Falconer similarly sutures the land to the uncanny, linking both of these with the first peoples of the Australian land: "Of course there is another 'poetry of the earth' whispering from the edges of our roads that gives so many of our road stories an extra charge, and that is the history of Aboriginal presence in this land. Thousands of years of paths and tribal boundaries also account for the uncanny sense of being haunted that dogs our travellers on their journeys (xvii). White Australia, as the local saying goes, has a black past, played out across the land. The film The Proposition instances this, with its gothic portrayal of the uncanny encroachments of the Australian “wilderness” into the domain of “civilization”. Furthermore, “our” overweening literal and metaphoric investment in the traditional quarter-acre block, not to mention in our roads, shows that “we” haven’t reconciled either with the land of Australia or with its original inhabitants: the Aboriginal peoples. Little wonder that Kael and Sarris couldn’t do so, as White Americans writing some forty years ago, and at such a huge geographic remove from Australia. As will be seen, the failure of these American film critics to comprehend the Australian landscape comes out—as both a “critical reaction” and a “reactive compensation”—in two, interwoven strands of their interpretations of Australian New Wave gothic cinema. A repulsion from, and an attraction to, the unrecognized uncanny is evidenced. The first strand is constituted in the markedly anthropological aspect to the film reviews: anthropological elements of the text itself are either disproportionately magnified or longed for. Here, “anthropological” includes the sociological and the historical. Secondly, Kael and Sarris use the films they review from Australian gothic cinema as sites upon which to trial answers to the old and persistent question of how the very categories of art and politics relate. Initially sucked out of the reviews (strand one), politics and art thus rush back in (strand two). In other words, the American failure to engage deeply with the land triggers an initial reading of films like Wake in Fright less as films per se and more as primary texts or one-to-one documentations of Australia. Australia presents for anthropological, even scientific atomization, rather than as a place in active, creative and complex relationship with its rendering in mise-en-scène. Simultaneously though, the absence of the land nags—eats away at the edges of critical thinking—and re-emerges (like a Freudian return of the repressed) in an attempt by the American critics to exploit their film subjects as an opportunity for working out how politics and art (here cinema) relate. The “un-seen” land creates a mis-reading amongst the American critics (strand one), only to force a compensatory, if somewhat blindsided, re-reading (strand two). For after all, in this critical “over-looking” of the land, and thus of the (ongoing) Aboriginal existence in and with the land, it is politics and art that is most at stake. How peoples (indigenous, settler or hybrid peoples) are connected to and through the land has perhaps always been Australia’s principal political and artistic question. How do the American reviews speak to this question? Sarris did not review Wake in Fright. Kael reviewed it, primarily, as a text at the intersection of fiction and documentary, ultimately privileging the latter. Throughout, her critical coordinates are American and, to a degree, literary. Noting the “stale whiff of Conrad” she also cites Outback’s “additional interest” in its similarity with “recent American movies [about] American racism and capitalist exploitation and the Vietnam war” (415). But her most pointed intervention comes in the assertion that there is “enough narrative to hold the social material together,” as if this were all narrative were good for: scaffolding for sociology (416). Art and culture are left out. Even as Kael mentions the “treatment of the Aborigines,” she misses the Aboriginal cultural moment of the opening shot of the land; this terrain, she writes, is “without a trace of culture” (416). Then, after critiquing what she sees as the unconvincing lesson of the schoolteacher’s moral demise, comes this: “But a more serious problem is that (despite the banal photography) the semi-documentary aspects of the film are so much more vivid and authentic and original than the factitious Conradian hero that we want to see more of that material—we want to learn more” (416-417). Further on, in this final paragraph, Kael notes that, while “there have been other Australian films, so it’s not all new” the director and scriptwriter “have seen the life in a more objective way, almost as if they were cultural anthropologists…. Maybe Kotcheff didn’t dare to expand this vision at the expense of the plot line, but he got onto something bigger than the plot” (417). Kael’s “error”, as it were, is to over-look how the land itself stretches the space of the film, beyond plot, to occupy the same space as her so-called “something bigger”, which itself is filled out by the uncanniness of the land as the intersections of both indigenous and settler (road-based) cultures and their representations in art (417). The “banal photography” might be better read as the film’s inhabitation of these artistic/cultural intersections (416). Kael’s Wake in Fright piece illustrates the first strand of the American reviews of Australian gothic cinema. Missing the land’s uncanniness effectively distributes throughout the review an elision of culture and art, and a reactive engagement with the broadly anthropological elements of Kotcheff’s film. Reviews of The Year of Living Dangerously by Kael and Sarris also illustrate the first strand of the American-Australian reviewing nexus, with the addition, also by each critic, of the second strand: the attempt to reconnect and revitalize the categories of politics and art. As with Wake in Fright, Kael introduces an anthropological gambit into Weir’s film, privileging its documentary elements over its qualities as fiction (strand one). “To a degree,” she writes, “Weir is the victim of his own skill at creating the illusion of authentic Third World misery, rioting, and chaos” (454). By comparison with “earlier, studio-set films” (like Casablanca [452]), where such “backgrounds (with their picturesque natives) were perfectly acceptable as backdrops…. Here… it’s a little obscene” (454). Kael continues: “Documentaries, TV coverage, print journalism, and modern history itself have changed audiences’ responses, and when fake dilemmas about ‘involvement’ are cooked up for the hero they’re an embarrassment” (454-455). Film is pushed to cater to anthropology besides art. Mirroring Kael’s strand-one response, Sarris puts a lot of pressure on Weir’s film to “perform” anthropologically—as well as, even instead of, artistically. The “movie”, he complains “could have been enjoyed thoroughly as a rousingly old-fashioned Hollywood big-star entertainment were it not for the disturbing vistas of somnolent poverty on view in the Philippines, the location in which Indonesian poverty in 1965 was simulated” (59). Indeed, the intrusive reality of poverty elicits from Sarris something very similar to Kael’s charge of the “obscenity of the backdrop” (454): We cannot go back to Manderley in our movie romances. That much is certain. We must go forward into the real world, but in the process, we should be careful not to dwarf our heroes and heroines with the cosmic futility of it all. They must be capable of acting on the stage of history, and by acting, make a difference in our moral perception of life on this planet. (59) Sarris places an extreme, even outrageous, strand-one demand on Weir’s film to re-purpose its fiction (what Kael calls “romantic melodrama” [454]) to elicit the categories of history and anthropology—that last phrase, “life on this planet”, sounds like David Attenborough speaking! More so, anthropological atomization is matched swiftly to a strand-two demand, for this passage also anticipates the rapprochement of politics and art, whereby art rises to the level of politics, requiring movie “heroes and heroines” to make a “moral difference” on a historical if not on a “cosmic” level (59). It is precisely in this, however, that Weir’s film falls down for Sarris. “The peculiar hollowness that the more perceptive reviewers have noted in The Year of Living Dangerously arises from the discrepancy between the thrilling charisma of the stars and the antiheroic irrelevance of the characters they play to the world around them” (59). Sarris’s spatialized phrase here (“peculiar hollowness”) recalls Kael’s observation that Wake in Fright contains “something bigger than the plot” (417). In each case, the description is doubling, dis-locating—uncanny. Echoing the title of Eva Rueschmann’s article, both films, like the Australian landscape itself, are “out of place” in their interpretation by these American critics. What, really, does Sarris’s “peculiar hollowness” originate in (59)? In what “discrepancy” (59)? There is a small but, in the context of this article, telling error in Sarris’s review of Weir’s film. Kael, correctly, notes that “the Indonesian settings had to be faked (in the Philippines and Australia)” (inserted emphasis) (452). Sarris mentions only the Philippines. From little things big things grow. Similar to how Kael overlooks the uncanny in Wake in Fright’s mise-en-scène, Sarris “sees” a “peculiar hollowness” where the land would otherwise be. Otherwise, that is, in the perspective of a cinema (Kotcheff’s, Weir’s) that comprehends “the true nature of the [Australian, gothic] human environment” (Rayner 25). Of course, it is not primarily a matter of how much footage Weir shot in Australia. It is the nature of the cinematography that matters most. For his part, Sarris damns it as “pretentiously picturesque” (59). Kael, meanwhile, gets closer perhaps to the ethics of the uncanny cinematography of The Year of Living Dangerously in her description of “intimations, fragments, hints and portents… on a very wide screen” (451). Even so, it will be remembered, she does call the “backgrounds… obscene” (454). Kael and Sarris see less than they “see”. Again like Sarris, Kael goes looking in Weir’s film for a strand-two rapprochement of politics and art, as evidenced by the line “The movie displays left-wing attitudes, but it shows no particular interest in politics” (453). It does though, only Kael is blind to it because she is blind to the land and, equally, to the political circumstances of the people of the land. Kael likely never realized the “discrepancy” in her critique of The Year of Living Dangerously’s Billy Kwan as “the same sort of in-on-the-mysteries-of-the-cosmos character that the aborigine actor Gulpilil played in Weir’s 1977 The Last Wave” (455). All this, she concludes, “might be boiled down to the mysticism of L.A.: ‘Go with the flow’” (455)! Grouping characters and places together like this, under the banner of L.A. mysticism, brutally erases the variations across different, uncanny, gothic, post-colonial landscapes. It is precisely here that politics and art do meet, in Weir’s film (and Kotcheff’s): in the artistic representation of the land as an index of the political relations of indigenous, settler and hybrid communities. (And not down the rabbit hole of the “specifics” of politics that Kael claims to want [453]). The American critics considered in this article are not in “bad faith” or a-political. Sarris produced a perceptive, left-leaning study entitled Politics and Cinema, and many of Kael’s reviews, along with essays like “Saddle Sore: El Dorado, The War Wagon, The Way West,” contain sophisticated, liberalist analyses of the political circumstances of Native Americans. The crucial point is that, as “critics form[ing] one of the key material institutions that support generic formations,” Sarris and Kael impacted majorly on the development of Australian gothic cinema, in the American context—impacted especially, one could say, on the (mis-)understanding of the land-based, uncanny politics of this mode in its Australian setting (McClain 54). Kael’s and Sarris’s reviews of My Brilliant Career, along with Judith Maslin’s review, contain traits similar to those considered in depth in the reviews studied above. Future research might usefully study this significant impact more closely, weaving in an awareness of the developing dynamics of global film productions and co-productions since the 1970s, and thereby focusing on Australian gothic as international cinema. Was, for example, the political impact of later films like The Proposition influenced, even marginally, by the (mis-)readings of Sarris and Kael? In conclusion here, it suffices to note that, even as the American reviewers reduced Australian cinema art to “blank” documentary or “neutral” anthropology, nevertheless they evidenced, in their strand-two responses, the power of the land (as presented in the cinematography and mise-en-scène) to call out—across an increasingly globalized domain of cinematic reception—for the fundamental importance of the connection between politics and art. Forging this connection, in which all lands and the peoples of all lands are implicated, should be, perhaps, the primary and ongoing concern of national and global cinemas of the uncanny, gothic mode, or perhaps even any mode. References Casablanca. Dir. Michael Curtiz. Warner Bros, 1942. Falconer, Delia. “Introduction.” The Penguin Book of the Road. Ed. Delia Falconer. Melbourne: Viking-Penguin Books, 2008. xi-xxvi. Gibson, Ross. South of the West: Postcolonialism and the Narrative Construction of Australia. Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1992. Godden, Matt. “An Essay on Australian New Wave Cinema.” 9 Jan. 2013. 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://www.golgotha.com.au/2013/01/09/an-essay-on-australian-new-wave-cinema/›. Gray, R. “Freud, ‘The Uncanny.’” 15 Nov. 2013. 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://courses.washington.edu/freudlit/Uncanny.Notes.html›. Kael, Pauline. “Australians.” Review of My Brilliant Career. 15 Sep. 1980. Taking It All In. London: Marion Boyars, 1986. 54-62. Kael, Pauline. “Literary Echoes—Muffled.” Review of Outback [Wake in Fright]. 4 March 1972. Deeper into Movies. Boston: Atlantic Monthly Press-Little, Brown and Company, 1973. 413-419. Kael, Pauline. “Saddle Sore: El Dorado, The War Wagon, The Way West.” Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. London: Arrow Books, 1987. 38-46. Kael, Pauline. “Torrid Zone.” Review of The Year of Living Dangerously. 21 Feb. 1983. Taking It All In. London: Marion Boyars, 1986. 451-456. Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior. Dir. George Miller. Warner Bros, 1981. Maslin, Janet. “Film: Australian ‘Brilliant Career’ by Gillian Armstrong.” Review of My Brilliant Career. New York Times (6 Oct. 1979.): np. McClain, William. “Western, Go Home! Sergio Leone and the ‘Death of the Western’ in American Film Criticism.” Journal of Film and Video 62.1-2 (Spring/Summer 2010): 52-66. My Brilliant Career. Dir. Gillian Armstrong. Peace Arch, 1979. Picnic at Hanging Rock. Dir. Peter Weir. Picnic Productions, 1975. Rayner, Jonathan. Contemporary Australian Cinema: An Introduction. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000. Rueschmann, Eva. “Out of Place: Reading (Post) Colonial Landscapes as Gothic Space in Jane Campion’s Films.” Post Script (22 Dec. 2005). 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://www.thefreelibrary.com/Out+of+place%3A+reading+%28post%29+colonial+landscapes+as+Gothic+space+in...-a0172169169›. Sarris, Andrew. “Films in Focus.” Review of My Brilliant Career. Village Voice (4 Feb. 1980): np. Sarris, Andrew. “Films in Focus: Journalistic Ethics in Java.” Review of The Year of Living Dangerously. Village Voice 28 (1 Feb. 1983): 59. Sarris, Andrew. “Liberation, Australian Style.” Review of My Brilliant Career. Village Voice (15 Oct. 1979): np. Sarris, Andrew. Politics and Cinema. New York: Columbia University Press, 1978. The Last Wave. Dir. Peter Weir. Ayer Productions, 1977. The Proposition. Dir. John Hillcoat. First Look Pictures, 2005. The Year of Living Dangerously. Dir. Peter Weir. MGM, 1982. Tsiolkas, Christos. “Citizen Kael.” Review of Pauline Kael: A Life in the Dark by Brian Kellow. The Monthly (Feb. 2012): 54-56. Wake in Fright. Dir. Ted Kotcheff. United Artists, 1971.