Статті в журналах з теми "Traffic engineering Victoria Melbourne"

Public transit is widely recognized to reduce urban traffic congestion, as it encourages automobile travelers off the road. However, streetcars have been criticized for causing traffic congestion because large trams must operate in mixed traffic on narrow, congested streets. At the same time, streetcars reduce congestion by encouraging automobile drivers to use trams. So what is the net effect of streetcars on congestion? This paper presents a new method for assessing the net traffic congestion effects associated with streetcar operations in Melbourne, Australia, which has the largest streetcar network in the world. Impacts were determined with the use of a traffic network model to compare congestion with trams and without trams. The positive impacts of trams were estimated by using mode shift from tram to automobile when tram services were removed. Negative impacts were explored by considering streetcar traffic operations, the impact of curbside tram stops, and the effect of exclusive priority tram lanes on traffic flow. Findings show that the streetcar network in inner Melbourne results in a net congestion benefit to traffic; a 3.4% decrease in vehicle time traveled and total delay on the road network was established. The streetcar network also contributes to reducing the number of moderately congested links by 16%. Areas for future research are suggested, such as exploring the spatial distribution of the mode shift to automobile and the long-term effect of trams on traffic.

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.

A Hook Turn (HT) traffic control scheme has been successfully implemented in urban Melbourne (Australia) ever since 1950s, for the regulation of right-turning vehicles at the intersections (in traffic system where driving is on the left). This paper addresses the optimal signal-timing of the HT scheme, which is still an open question in the literature. Under the HT scheme, right-turning vehicles should enter the intersection and stop at a waiting area. Hence, it is common to have a spillback from these vehicles if the right-turning volume is high. This paper provides an in-depth analysis of the spillback phenomenon on the traffic movements and the average delays, and proposes the models for the calculation of average delay in different cases. With the aim of minimizing the average delay of all the vehicles, a nonlinear integer-programming model is proposed for the optimal signal-timing problem of HT scheme. A Genetic Algorithm (GA) is used to solve this model, considering the complexity of its objective function. A realistic example developed based on one intersection with HT in urban Melbourne is adopted to assess the proposed methodology. Based on real survey data in morning peak and nonpeak hours, we compare the existing signal plan and optimal plan. The numerical test shows that compared with the existing plan, the optimal plan can reduce the average delay for 12.05% in peak hour and 19.96% in nonpeak hour. Sensitive analysis is also conducted to investigate the variation of right-turning ratio on the intersection operational performance.

This paper outlines the Trident Student Mentoring Program that runs in the College of Engineering at Victoria University, Melbourne, Australia. The program offers both embedded and stand-alone models of peer mentoring services to the same cohort of first-year students. It shows that by forming strong links between these two types of peer mentoring models, the inherent challenges of both, such as low attendance rates in stand-alone models and short periods of peer to peer time in embedded models, are mitigated.

International data and data from a major household travel survey undertaken in Melbourne, Victoria—the Victorian Activity Travel Survey (VATS)—are used to address the following questions: ( a) to what extent can older people meet their own transportation needs when they cannot drive, and ( b) what special safety concerns are raised now and in the future by the growing number of older drivers. VATS data show that Australian travel patterns parallel those observed in other developed countries: older people are increasingly more reliant on the car. The number of trips that will be lost when they must give up or reduce driving is substantial. Policy makers must start now to understand the dimension of the problem and the ways in which it can be addressed.

Abstract ContextBird–aircraft collisions impose an economic cost and safety risk, yet ecological studies that inform bird hazard management are few, and to date no study has formally compared species’ strike profiles across airports. In response to strike risks, airports have implemented customised management on an airport-by-airport basis, based on the assumption that strike risk stems from prevailing local circumstances. We tested this assumption by comparing a decade of wildlife–aircraft strikes at three airports situated in the same bioregion (likely to have similar fauna) of Victoria, Australia. AimTo compare the assemblage of wildlife struck by aircraft at three major airports in the same bioregion. MethodStandardised wildlife strike data were analysed from three airports (Avalon, Melbourne and Essendon Airports), in the Victorian Volcanic Plains bioregion, central Victoria, Australia. Ten discrete 1-year sampling periods from each airport were compared, spanning the period 2009–19. Bird data were comparable, and data on mammals were considered less reliable, so emphasis was placed on birds in the present study. ResultsIn total, 580 bird strikes were analysed, with the most commonly struck species being Australian magpie (Cracticus tibicen; 16.7%), Eurasian skylark (Alauda arvensis; 12.2%), Australian pipit (Anthus australis; 12.1%), masked lapwing (Vanellus miles; 5.9%), nankeen kestrel (Falco cenchroides; 5.0%), house sparrow (Passer domesticus; 4.8%), welcome swallow (Hirundo neoxena; 4.3%) and tree martin (Petrochelidon nigricans; 4.0%). The assemblage of birds struck by aircraft over the decade of study differed between airports. The most commonly struck species drove the assemblage differences between airports. Conclusions and implicationsIn the present study system, airports experienced discrete strike risk profiles, even though they are in the same bioregion. The airports examined differed in terms of air traffic movement rates, aircraft types, landscape context and bird hazard management effort. Given that strike risks profiles differ among airports, customised management at each airport, as is currently the case, is supported.

Urban drainage systems historically were developed on principles of hydraulic capacity for the transport of storm water to reduce the risk of flooding. However, with urbanization the percent of impervious surfaces increases dramatically resulting in increased flood volumes, peak discharge rates, velocities and duration, and a significant increase in pollutant loads. Storm water and urban runoff are the leading causes of the impairment of receiving waters and their beneficial uses in Australia and the United States today. Strict environmental and technology controls on wastewater treatment facilities and industry for more than three decades have ensured that these sources are less significant today as the cause of impairment of receiving waters. This paper compares the approach undertaken by the Environmental Protection Authority Victoria for the Melbourne metropolitan area with the approach implemented by the California Environmental Protection Agency for the Los Angeles area to control storm water pollution. Both these communities are largely similar in population size and the extent of urbanization. The authors present an analysis of the different approaches contrasting Australia with the USA, comment on their comparative success, and discuss the relevance of the two experiences for developed and developing nations in the context of environmental policy making to control storm water and urban runoff pollution.

This paper reports findings from a comparative study which investigated public attitudes to recycled water in two Australian locations both in the state of Victoria: the capital city, Melbourne, and Bendigo, an urban regional centre. Two commercial buildings were used as case studies, one at each location. These buildings will soon be using recycled water for non-potable uses. The study was facilitated by an on-line survey of future occupants of both buildings to gauge their attitudes to recycled water use. Specifically the paper reports on happiness/willingness to use recycled water for various uses and attitudinal factors which were found to influence this. The circumstances for potable water availability and recycled water use differ in Melbourne and Bendigo, making this study a significant contribution to understanding public acceptance of recycled water use in these different contexts. No significant difference in happiness to use recycled water was found between locations. However, prior experience (use) of recycled water was found to be a significant and positive factor in facilitating happiness/willingness to use recycled water, particularly for closer to personal contact uses such as showering and drinking. Various attitudinal and demographic variables were found to influence happiness to use recycled water. Results indicate it is not just the locational context of water availability that influences happiness to use recycled water, but a person's experience and particular perceptions that will facilitate greater willingness to use recycled water.

All established models in transportation engineering that estimate the numbers of trips between origins and destinations from vehicle counts use some form of a priori knowledge of the traffic. This paper, in contrast, presents a new origin–destination flow estimation model that uses only vehicle counts observed by traffic count sensors; it requires neither historical origin–destination trip data for the estimation nor any assumed distribution of flow. This approach utilises a method of statistical origin–destination flow estimation in computer networks, and transfers the principles to the domain of road traffic by applying transport-geographic constraints in order to keep traffic embedded in physical space. Being purely stochastic, our model overcomes the conceptual weaknesses of the existing models, and additionally estimates travel times of individual vehicles. The model has been implemented in a real-world road network in the city of Melbourne, Australia. The model was validated with simulated data and real-world observations from two different data sources. The validation results show that all the origin–destination flows were estimated with a good accuracy score using link count data only. Additionally, the estimated travel times by the model were close approximations to the observed travel times in the real world.

Litter is generated in shopping areas and is washed or blown into stormwater drainage systems. These convey the litter to open water bodies leading to the accumulation of non-biodegradable litter on the banks and beaches of urban waterways and bay foreshores. The increasing public awareness of the problem prompted the State Government of Victoria to provide funding to develop an innovative patented litter trap known as the In-line Litter Separator (ILLS). The ILLS is retrofitted to the drainage system downstream of shopping areas and removes litter and other pollutants from the passing stormwater. In a two-year development program, ten prototypes were installed and tested in the Melbourne and metropolitan area. The results were so successful that the ILLS is now manufactured in Australia and overseas under license from Swinburne University. This paper presents the performance criteria, the design concepts, the outcomes of laboratory and hydrologic modelling and the analyses of prototype test results that led to the commercial production of the ILLS.

To understand where driver training should focus to contribute to improving the safety of cyclists, this study compared bicycle-motor-vehicle (BMV) crashes involving novice drivers (under 25 years) with those involving experienced drivers in the Australian states of Victoria, Queensland, and South Australia. Novice drivers were involved in only a small proportion of BMV crashes and were not over-represented on a per-license basis. For both driver groups, most crashes happened on lower speed roads, at intersections, and during the day. In contrast to expectations, the distribution of types of BMV crashes differed little between experienced and novice drivers. The absence of major differences between experienced and novice drivers may result from learning opportunities being too infrequent in low-volume cycling countries, but this hypothesis needs further testing. A comparison between Queensland and Victoria showed three situations with a higher proportion of young driver crashes: in the evening in both states, Right through-opposing directions (Victoria only), and From footway-maneuvering (Queensland only). These patterns are likely to be indicative of young driver experiences. When their time on the road increases, so does their exposure to risk and to challenging driving conditions (e.g., driving in darkness). On the other hand, these patterns may also point to effects of legislation on young driver crashes, for instance cycling on the sidewalk in Queensland. The results suggest that training for novice drivers needs to supplement a wider strategy to improve cyclist safety (including infrastructure and traffic management improvements) and that training needs to be tailored to state-specific conditions.

Abstract This study models the impact of the shift from a monocentric private-car-oriented city to polycentric public-transport-oriented city. Metropolitan areas have suffered traffic problems—in particular increase in travel time and travel distance. Urban expansion, population growth and road network development have led to urban sprawl in monocentric cities. In many monocentric cities, travel time and distance has steadily increased and is only expected to increase in the future. Excessive travel leads to several problems such as air pollution, noise, congestion, reduction in productive time, greenhouse emissions, and increased stress and accident rates. This study examines the interaction of land use and travel. A model was developed and calibrated to Melbourne and Riyadh conditions and used for scenario analysis. This model included two parts: a spatial model and a transport model. The scenario analysis included variations of residential and activity distribution, as well as conditions of public transport service.

AbstractThis paper presents a novel method to estimate queue length at signalised intersections using connected vehicle (CV) data. The proposed queue length estimation method does not depend on any conventional information such as arrival flow rate and parameters pertaining to traffic signal controllers. The model is applicable for real-time applications when there are sufficient training data available to train the estimation model. To this end, we propose the idea of “k-leader CVs” to be able to predict the queue which is propagated after the communication range of dedicated short-range communication (the communication platform used in CV system). The idea of k-leader CVs could reduce the risk of communication failure which is a serious concern in CV ecosystems. Furthermore, a linear regression model is applied to weigh the importance of input variables to be used in a neural network model. Vissim traffic simulator is employed to train and evaluate the effectiveness and robustness of the model under different travel demand conditions, a varying number of CVs (i.e. CVs’ market penetration rate) as well as various traffic signal control scenarios. As it is expected, when the market penetration rate increases, the accuracy of the model enhances consequently. In a congested traffic condition (saturated flow), the proposed model is more accurate compared to the undersaturated condition with the same market penetration rates. Although the proposed method does not depend on information of the arrival pattern and traffic signal control parameters, the results of the queue length estimation are still comparable with the results of the methods that highly depend on such information. The proposed algorithm is also tested using large size data from a CV test bed (i.e. Australian Integrated Multimodal Ecosystem) currently underway in Melbourne, Australia. The simulation results show that the model can perform well irrespective of the intersection layouts, traffic signal plans and arrival patterns of vehicles. Based on the numerical results, 20% penetration rate of CVs is a critical threshold. For penetration rates below 20%, prediction algorithms fail to produce reliable outcomes.

Walking, cycling, and feeder bus/tram for first- and last-mile (FLM) train access are often considered to have better health benefits, lower cost, and less environmental impacts than driving. However, little is known about the road safety impacts of these FLM access modes, particularly at a network level. This paper aims to investigate the impacts of train commuters’ access modes on road safety in Victoria, Australia. Macroscopic analyses of crash outcomes in each zone (i.e., Statistical Area Level 1) were performed using negative binomial (NB) and spatially lagged X negative binomial (SLXNB), accounting for potential indirect effects of mode shares in adjacent zones. This macroscopic analysis approach enabled the consideration of the safety effects across the network. The results showed that the SLXNB models outperformed the NB models. Commuting by train, either with walking or car as FLM access mode, was negatively associated with both total and severe crashes. In addition, commuting by train with feeder bus/tram access mode was negatively associated with severe crashes. Interestingly, commuting by train with cycling access mode was negatively associated with total crashes, with a larger effect when compared to walking and car access modes. Overall, the results suggested promoting active transport as FLM train access mode would lead to an improvement in road safety.

The carbon emission of fuel vehicles is a major consideration that affects the dual carbon goal in urban traffic. The problem of “difficult parking and disorderly parking” in static traffic can easily lead to traffic congestion, an increase in vehicle exhaust emissions, and air pollution. In particulate, when vehicles make an invalid detour and wait for parking with long hours, it often causes extra energy consumption and carbon emission. In this paper, adding a weather influence feature, a short-term parking occupancy rate prediction algorithm based on the long short-term model (LSTM) is proposed. The data used in this model is from Melbourne public data sets, and parking occupancy rates are predicted through historical parking data, weather information, and location information. At the same time, three commonly prediction models, i.e., simple LSTM model, multiple linear regression model (MLR), and support vector regression (SVR), are also used as comparison models. Taking MAE and RMSE as evaluation indexes, the parking occupancy rate during 10 min, 20 min, and 30 min are predicted. The experimental results show that the improved LSTM method achieves better accuracy and stability in the prediction of parking lots. The average MAE and RMSE of the proposed LSTM prediction during intervals of 10 min, 20 min, and 30 min with the weather influence feature algorithm is lower than that of simple LSTM, MLR and that of SVR.

A smart city is an environment that uses innovative technologies to make networks and services more flexible, effective, and sustainable with the use of information, digital, and telecommunication technologies, improving the city’s operations for the benefit of its citizens. Most cities incorporate data acquisition elements from their own systems or those managed by subcontracted companies that can be used to optimise their resources: energy consumption, smart meters, lighting, irrigation water consumption, traffic data, camera images, waste collection, security systems, pollution meters, climate data, etc. The city-as-a-platform concept is becoming popular and it is increasingly evident that cities must have efficient management systems capable of deploying, for instance, IoT platforms, open data, etc., and of using artificial intelligence intensively. For many cities, data collection is not a problem, but managing and analysing data with the aim of optimising resources and improving the lives of citizens is. This article presents deepint.net, a platform for capturing, integrating, analysing, and creating dashboards, alert systems, optimisation models, etc. This article shows how deepint.net has been used to estimate pedestrian traffic on the streets of Melbourne (Australia) using the XGBoost algorithm. Given the current situation, it is advisable not to transit urban roads when overcrowded, thus, the model proposed in this paper (and implemented with deepint.net) facilitates the identification of areas with less pedestrian traffic. This use case is an example of an efficient crowd management system, implemented and operated via a platform that offers many possibilities for the management of the data collected in smart territories and cities.

The Mt Buller Alpine Resort is located approximately 200 km north of Melbourne, in Victoria, Australia. A wastewater treatment plant services the resort and currently treats to advanced nutrient removal standards. The treated effluent is presently discharged into the Howqua River. Most Australian ski resorts are not blessed with abundant snow cover on a regular basis. Artificial snow allows most of the popular ski runs to operate for the whole of the season. At the Mt Buller resort, snow-making is presently limited by lack of water supply in the catchment. The conditions at Mt Buller resort present a unique opportunity to utilise reclaimed wastewater to allow increased snow-making capacity. It is one of the unique opportunities where the wastewater is valued as a resource rather than merely viewed as a waste problem. Wastewater reclamation for snow-making will require additional treatment for pathogen removal. It is proposed that following advanced nutrient removal, the effluent will require further treatment, including membrane ultrafiltration, so as to ensure a minimum of four barriers for pathogen removal. Pilot plant operation of a membrane ultrafiltration system commenced in June 2000 and will continue until the end of 2001, to primarily demonstrate the extent of pathogen removal.

Calibration is a critical aspect of model development that has long been recognized by researchers as a challenging issue. In particular, difficulties arise when the observed data used for calibration do not match the model output, which is the case in the majority of transport planning models. In the traditional calibration process, the origin–destination (OD) matrices are the key interface between demand and supply models, which could lead to issues when observed traffic link counts are used to update the OD matrix, causing a loss of key demand characteristics in the process. Developing a unified structure for modeling both demand and supply requires a calibration process that meets the requirements of both types of models, a serious issue which has received less attention in the literature. In this paper, the existing processes of developing and integrating demand and supply models are discussed and then examined using a case study in the Melbourne area. The numerical results show that the standard OD calibration procedure causes unrealistic changes in the OD matrix. Finally, some possible solutions to address the current limitations in development of a unified structure are discussed.

Road traffic injuries are a leading cause of morbidity and mortality globally. Understanding circumstances leading to road traffic injury is crucial to improve road safety, and implement countermeasures to reduce the incidence and severity of road trauma. We aimed to characterise crash characteristics of road traffic collisions in Victoria, Australia, and to examine the relationship between crash characteristics and fault attribution. Data were extracted from the Victorian State Trauma Registry for motor vehicle drivers, motorcyclists, pedal cyclists and pedestrians with a no-fault compensation claim, aged > = 16 years and injured 2010–2016. People with intentional injury, serious head injury, no compensation claim/missing injury event description or who died < = 12-months post-injury were excluded, resulting in a sample of 2,486. Text mining of the injury event using QDA Miner and Wordstat was used to classify crash circumstances for each road user group. Crashes in which no other was at fault included circumstances involving lost control or avoiding a hazard, mechanical failure or medical conditions. Collisions in which another was predominantly at fault occurred at intersections with another vehicle entering from an adjacent direction, and head-on collisions. Crashes with higher prevalence of unknown fault included multi-vehicle collisions, pedal cyclists injured in rear-end collisions, and pedestrians hit while crossing the road or navigating slow traffic areas. We discuss several methods to promote road safety and to reduce the incidence and severity of road traffic injuries. Our recommendations take into consideration the incidence and impact of road trauma for different types of road users, and include engineering and infrastructure controls through to interventions targeting or accommodating human behaviour.

The uplink (UL) throughput prediction is indispensable for a sustainable and reliable cellular network due to the enormous amounts of mobile data used by interconnecting devices, cloud services, and social media. Therefore, network service providers implement highly complex mobile network systems with a large number of parameters and feature add-ons. In addition to the increased complexity, old-fashioned methods have become insufficient for network management, requiring an autonomous calibration to minimize utilization of the system parameter and the processing time. Many machine learning algorithms utilize the Long-Term Evolution (LTE) parameters for channel throughput prediction, mainly in favor of downlink (DL). However, these algorithms have not achieved the desired results because UL traffic prediction has become more critical due to the channel asymmetry in favor of DL throughput closing rapidly. The environment (urban, suburban, rural areas) affect should also be taken into account to improve the accuracy of the machine learning algorithm. Thus, in this research, we propose a machine learning-based UL data rate prediction solution by comparing several machine learning algorithms for three locations (Houston, Texas, Melbourne, Florida, and Batman, Turkey) and determine the best accuracy among all. We first performed an extensive LTE data collection in proposed locations and determined the LTE lower layer parameters correlated with UL throughput. The selected LTE parameters, which are highly correlated with UL throughput (RSRP, RSRQ, and SNR), are trained in five different learning algorithms for estimating UL data rates. The results show that decision tree and k-nearest neighbor algorithms outperform the other algorithms at throughput estimation. The prediction accuracy with the R2 determination coefficient of 92%, 85%, and 69% is obtained from Melbourne, Florida, Batman, Turkey, and Houston, Texas, respectively.

High-density polyethylene (HDPE) is commonly the material of choice for covered anaerobic lagoons (CAL) at wastewater treatment plants. The membrane floats on the wastewater, and hence is called a “floating cover”, and is used for odour control and to harvest the methane-rich biogas as a renewable resource to generate electricity. The floating cover is an expensive and high-value asset that demands an efficient methodology for the determination of a set of engineering quantities for structural integrity assessment. Given the dynamics of the anaerobic activities under the floating cover, the state of deformation of the floating cover is an engineering measurand that is useful for its structural health assessment. A non-contact measurement strategy is preferred as it offers practical and safety-related benefits over other methods. In collaboration with Melbourne Water Corporation (MWC), an unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) assisted photogrammetry approach was developed to address this need. Following the definition of the appropriate flight parameters required to quantify the state of deformation of the cover, a series of periodic flights were operated over the very large floating covers at MWC’s Western Treatment Plant (WTP) at Werribee, Victoria, Australia. This paper aims to demonstrate the effectiveness and practicality of this inspection technique to determine the state of deformation of the floating covers measured over a ten-month period.

Purpose The leadership style and communication practices of supervisors in the Australian construction industry were measured. The purpose of this paper is to investigate the effect of leadership style and communication practices of Australian construction supervisors on workgroup health and safety (H&S) climate and behaviour. Design/methodology/approach A questionnaire was administered to members of 20 workgroups engaged in rail construction work on the Level Crossing Removal Project and the Melbourne Metro Tunnel Project in Victoria, Australia. The survey measured components of supervisors’ transformational and transactional leadership, communication practices, the group H&S climate and workers’ self-reported H&S compliance and participation. Findings Supervisors’ transformational and transactional leadership, as well as communication practices, were all positively and significantly correlated with group H&S climate and workers’ self-reported H&S behaviours. The transformational leadership component of providing an appropriate model was the strongest predictor of H&S participation, while H&S compliance was predicted by the transactional leadership component of providing contingent reward, as well as supervisors’ communication practices. H&S climate fully mediated the relationship between supervisory leadership and workers’ self-reported H&S behaviour. Originality/value The research demonstrates that both transformational and transactional supervisory leadership are important in the construction context. Effective communication between supervisors and workers is also important for H&S. The findings suggest that supervisory leadership development programmes may be an effective way to improve H&S performance in predominantly subcontracted construction workgroups.

The hook turn, which is rarely seen outside of Melbourne, Australia, reduces congestion in narrow road spaces shared with trams. Australia allows people from 44 nations to convert their home country driver’s license to an Australian driver’s license without a driving test. Visitors who have never heard of the hook-turn experience difficulty driving following the new traffic rule. From this aspect, investigating how inexperienced drivers encounter the hook-turn intersection is valuable for safety reasons. A driving simulator including virtual reality technology is developed to evaluate the level of safety of human driving behavior. The simulator in this research was developed by integrating Vissim and Unity3D embedded head-mounted display and driving devices to ensure a better driving experience. This research presented the development of a robust virtual reality driving simulator. It investigated how nonexperienced drivers respond to a completely new road condition. The results were compared with microsimulation outcomes (here, Vissim). The results showed that a human-driven car had a higher collision risk than a computer-driven car. The trajectories of the driver type were statistically different (t = 6.03, p 0.01, in the case of time-to collision ≤1.5 between experienced and computerized drivers). Participant responses to a postexperiment survey found that the simulator was realistic (4.31 out of 5.00), which could help beginner drivers (4.00 out of 5.00). Therefore, the simulator can be utilized for safety-related research as well as drivers’ training.

Automatic detection of corrosion and associated damages to civil infrastructures such as bridges, buildings, and roads, from aerial images captured by an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV), helps one to overcome the challenges and shortcomings (objectivity and reliability) associated with the manual inspection methods. Deep learning methods have been widely reported in the literature for civil infrastructure corrosion detection. Among them, convolutional neural networks (CNNs) display promising applicability for the automatic detection of image features less affected by image noises. Therefore, in the current study, we propose a modified version of deep hierarchical CNN architecture, based on 16 convolution layers and cycle generative adversarial network (CycleGAN), to predict pixel-wise segmentation in an end-to-end manner using the images of Bolte Bridge and sky rail areas in Victoria (Melbourne). The convolutedly designed model network proposed in the study is based on learning and aggregation of multi-scale and multilevel features while moving from the low convolutional layers to the high-level layers, thus reducing the consistency loss in images due to the inclusion of CycleGAN. The standard approaches only use the last convolutional layer, but our proposed architecture differs from these approaches and uses multiple layers. Moreover, we have used guided filtering and Conditional Random Fields (CRFs) methods to refine the prediction results. Additionally, the effectiveness of the proposed architecture was assessed using benchmarking data of 600 images of civil infrastructure. Overall, the results show that the deep hierarchical CNN architecture based on 16 convolution layers produced advanced performances when evaluated for different methods, including the baseline, PSPNet, DeepLab, and SegNet. Overall, the extended method displayed the Global Accuracy (GA); Class Average Accuracy (CAC); mean Intersection Of the Union (IOU); Precision (P); Recall (R); and F-score values of 0.989, 0.931, 0.878, 0.849, 0.818 and 0.833, respectively.

Background Digital technology and social media use are common among young people in Australia and worldwide. Research suggests that young people have both positive and negative experiences online, but we know little about the experiences of Muslim communities. Objective This study aims to explore the positive and negative experiences of digital technology and social media use among young people and parents from Muslim backgrounds in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. Methods This study involved a partnership between researchers and a not-for-profit organization that work with culturally and linguistically diverse communities. We adopted a participatory and qualitative approach and designed the research in consultation with young people from Muslim backgrounds. Data were collected through in-person and online focus groups with 33 young people aged 16-22 years and 15 parents aged 40-57 years. Data were thematically analyzed. Results We generated 3 themes: (1) maintaining local and global connections, (2) a paradoxical space: identity, belonging and discrimination, and (3) the digital divide between young Muslims and parents. Results highlighted that social media was an important extension of social and cultural connections, particularly during COVID-19, when people were unable to connect through school or places of worship. Young participants perceived social media as a space where they could establish their identity and feel a sense of belonging. However, participants were also at risk of being exposed to discrimination and unrealistic standards of beauty and success. Although parents and young people shared some similar concerns, there was a large digital divide in online experiences. Both groups implemented strategies to reduce social media use, with young people believing that having short technology-free breaks during prayer and quality family time was beneficial for their mental well-being. Conclusions Programs that address technology-related harms must acknowledge the benefits of social media for young Muslims across identity, belonging, representation, and social connection. Further research is required to understand how parents and young people can create environments that foster technology-free breaks to support mental well-being.

IntroductionOver 310 000 women gave birth in Australia in 2016, with approximately 80 000 births in the state of Victoria. While most of these births occur in metropolitan Melbourne and other large regional centres, a significant proportion of Victorian women birth in local rural health services. The Victorian state government recently mandated the provision of a maternal and neonatal emergency training programme, called Maternal and Newborn Emergencies (MANE), to rural and regional maternity service providers across the state. MANE aims to educate maternity and newborn care clinicians about recognising and responding to clinical deterioration in an effort to improve clinical outcomes. This paper describes the protocol for an evaluation of the MANE programme.Methods and analysisThis study will evaluate the effectiveness of MANE in relation to: clinician confidence, skills and knowledge; changes in teamwork and collaboration; and consumer experience and satisfaction, and will explore and describe any governance changes within the organisations after MANE implementation. The Kirkpatrick Evaluation Model will provide a framework for the evaluation. The participants of MANE, 27 rural and regional Victorian health services ranging in size from approximately 20 to 1000 births per year, will be invited to participate. Baseline data will be collected from maternity service staff and consumers at each health service before MANE delivery, and at four time-points post-MANE delivery. There will be four components to data collection: a survey of maternity services staff; follow-up interviews with Maternity Managers at health services 4 months after MANE delivery; consumer feedback from all health services collected through the Victorian Healthcare Experience Survey; case studies with five regional or rural health service providers.Ethics and disseminationThis evaluation has been approved by the La Trobe University Science, Health and Engineering College Human Ethics Sub-Committee. Findings will be presented to project stakeholders in a deidentified report, and disseminated through peer-reviewed publications and conference presentations.

This paper presents the construction details, field testing, and analytical results of six innovative concrete bridges reinforced with fibre-reinforced-polymer (FRP) bars recently constructed in North America, namely Wotton, Magog, Cookshire-Eaton, Val-Alain, and Melbourne bridges in Quebec, Canada, and Morristown bridge in Vermont, USA. All six bridges are girder type, with main girders made of either steel or prestressed concrete. The main girders are supported over spans ranging from 26.2 to 50.0 m. The deck is a 200–230 mm thick concrete slab continuous over spans of 2.30–3.15 m. Different types of glass- and carbon-FRP reinforcing bars and conventional steel were used as reinforcement for the concrete deck slab. The six bridges are located on different highway categories, which means different traffic volume and environmental conditions. The bridges are well instrumented at critical locations for internal temperature and strain data collection using fibre optic sensors. These sensors are used to monitor the deck behaviour from the time of construction to several years after the completion of construction. The bridges were tested for service performance using calibrated truckloads. In parallel, a finite element analysis (FEA) was conducted and verified against the results of the field load tests. The FEA was then used to run parametric studies to investigate the effect of several important parameters such as FRP reinforcement type and ratio on the service and ultimate behaviour of these bridge decks. The analytical and field results under real service conditions, in terms of deflections, cracking, and strains in reinforcement and concrete, were comparable to those of concrete bridge deck slabs reinforced with steel.Key words: bridges deck slabs, fibre-reinforced-polymer (FRP) bars, field testing, finite element analysis.

This paper presents the results of full-scale tests performed at the Colquitz River Bridge near Victoria, British Columbia (B.C.), Canada, during September 1992 to determine the dynamic characteristics of the structure. The five-span bridge was completed in 1954 and is part of the Trans-Canada Highway. It is 82.68 m long and 11.89 m wide, and has six continuous steel girders supporting a 175 mm thick concrete deck. This particular bridge was chosen for testing because of its typical nature of many B.C. bridges, its location in an area of high seismic risk, and its excellent site accessibility. The tests included extensive measurements of ambient vibrations induced by traffic and other sources to determine the dynamic characteristics of the bridge. The most significant vertical and lateral mode shapes and associated periods of vibration were determined from vibration measurements at more than 50 different locations of the deck, piers, and abutments. Although a large amount of data were collected, they were quickly processed and analyzed with an innovative system developed at The University of British Columbia. One of the important features of this system is that it permits the identification of the principal modes of vibration immediately after the data have been collected. In addition to the ambient vibration tests, quick release pullback tests were conducted to verify modal frequencies determined from the ambient vibration tests and to determine the damping of the fundamental modes. These tests consisted of loading the bridge at a selected location with a force of about 90 kN and then releasing this load very quickly to induce free vibrations. The information obtained from the field tests was used to refine a computer finite element model of the bridge, which, in turn, was used to gain insight into the dynamic behaviour of specific components of the bridge. Further, this information was used later by the bridge owner to evaluate the bridge's expected response during an earthquake. Key words: steel bridges, dynamic response, full-scale tests.

AbstractThe Australian excavations at Pella in Jordan under the guidance of Professor Basil Hennessy (Sydney University, Australia) have over the past 13 years demonstrated the current range of methodologies used in pottery studies in the Levant. One feature of the Australian field team has been the continuing inclusion of this writer from the Archaeology Research Unit, Victoria College, Melbourne (ARU) as a ceramic technologist/potter.The ARU at Victoria College, which operates together with a practical pottery workshop and an Advanced Ceramic Mlaterials Development Unit, uses a multidisciplinary team approach to look at excavated ancient pottery not primarily as archaeological artefacts but as pottery.Within the ARU Dr Ralph Segnit handles the mineralogy, Dr John Hamilton the geology, while Robert Hughan, to whom I am indebted for the testing reported here, handles the ceramic chemistry and fracture mechanics aspects. My role as both a ceramic technologist involved in field archaeology and as a trained potter, is to participate in generating the questions which will form the focus of the team's investigations.

AbstractA fully separated bicycle network from vehicular traffic is not realistic even for the most bicycle-friendly cities. Thus, all around the world urban cycling entails switching between streets of different safety, convenience, and comfort levels. As a consequence, the quality of bicycle networks should be evaluated not based on one but multiple factors and by considering the different user preferences regarding these factors. More comprehensive methodologies to assess urban bicycle networks are essential to the operation and planning of modern city transportation. This work proposes a multi-objective methodology to assess—what we refer to as—bikeability between origin–destination locations and over the entire network, useful for evaluation and planning of bicycle networks. We do so by introducing the concept of bikeability curves which allows us to assess the quality of cycling in a city network with respect to the heterogeneity of user preferences. The application of the proposed methodology is demonstrated on two cities with different bike cultures: Amsterdam and Melbourne. Our results suggest the effectiveness of bikeability curves in describing the characteristic features and differences in the two networks.

Gaseous elemental mercury observations were conducted at Churchill, Victoria, in Australia from April to July, 2013, using a Tekran 2537 analyzer. A strong diurnal variation with daytime average values of 1.2–1.3 ng m–3 and nighttime average values of 1.6–1.8 ng m–3 was observed. These values are significantly higher than the Southern Hemisphere average of 0.85–1.05 ng m–3. Churchill is in the Latrobe Valley, approximately 150 km East of Melbourne, where approximately 80% of Victoria’s electricity is generated from low-rank brown coal from four major power stations: Loy Yang A, Loy Yang B, Hazelwood, and Yallourn. These aging generators do not have any sulfur, nitrogen oxide, or mercury air pollution controls. Mercury emitted in the 2015–2016 year in the Latrobe Valley is estimated to have had an externalized health cost of $AUD88 million. Air pollution mercury simulations were conducted using the Weather Research and Forecast model with Chemistry at 3 × 3 km resolution. Electrical power generation emissions were added using mercury emissions created from the National Energy Market’s 5-min energy distribution data. The strong diurnal cycle in the observed mercury was well simulated (R2 = .49 and P value = 0.00) when soil mercury emissions arising from several years of wet and dry deposition in a radius around the power generators was included in the model, as has been observed around aging lignite coal power generators elsewhere. These results indicate that long-term air and soil sampling in power generation regions, even after the closure of coal fired power stations, will have important implications to understanding the airborne mercury emissions sources.

Recreational fishing is a popular pastime and multibillion dollar industry in Australia, playing a key economic role, especially in regional areas. In the State of Victoria, Port Phillip Bay (PPB), bordered by Melbourne and its suburbs, is the largest of the State’s marine recreational fisheries. At present, little is known about the spatial and temporal dimensions of angler travel from origins to destinations, and the applicability of such spatial knowledge in fisheries management. To address this lack of information we assessed spatiotemporal dynamics and patterns in fishing trips, based upon travel distances on land and water, to acquire insight into the spatial ranges over which anglers residing in various locations travel to fishing destinations in the environs of PPB. Data for each angler per fishing trip, from 6,035 boat-based creel surveys, collected at 20 boat ramps in PPB during a 10-year period from 2010 to 2019, were analyzed by applying geospatial modeling. Differences were observed in both land and water travel distance by region and popular target species, with anglers who launched from Bellarine region traveling further on land, and those who targeted snapper traveling further on water. It was also evident that most anglers resided within close proximity of PPB, often less than 50 km, although some anglers traveled long distances across the State to access fishing locations, particularly when targeting snapper. This work further highlights the importance of spatially explicit approaches to inform fisheries management by identifying users across different landscape and seascape scales, and out-of-region or State fishing trips, which may especially impact coastal communities and benefit local businesses.

Sticky, messy and nauseatingly saccharine, the sensory properties of jam may be a long way from the stylized corporate polish of Australia’s multi-billion dollar film exhibition industry, yet the history of Australian cinema space will be forever indebted to the Victoria Preserving Company; one-time producer of the humblest of sweet treats. Through an analysis of Melbourne’s Jam Factory cinema complex, this article explores the unusual intersection of jam, sensory gratification and contemporary Australian cinema-going at the dawn of the 21st century. Encompassing the historic architecture of the former Victoria Preserving Company, South Yarra’s Jam Factory complex provides a gentrified gloss to an inner suburban precinct historically renowned for the manufacturing of jam and preserves. Nestled in the heart of Chapel Street, less than two blocks down from Toorak road and a stone’s throw from the nightclub precinct of Commercial road, the Jam Factory occupies an important part of Melbourne’s cultural heritage; functioning as a quintessential signifier of the city’s traversal from wholesale manufacturing during the early 1900s into the service vectors of digital media technologies and mixed-use retail entertainment destinations at the start of the new millennium. Established in 1876, the Victoria Preserving Company, AKA the ‘Jam Factory’, hosts an array of diverse retail and leisure outlets. Included amongst its tenants are Borders Books, Villa & Hut, TGI Fridays, The Pancake Parlour, a Virgin Music Mega-store, an elaborate Village Cinema megaplex, and a range of ancillary restaurants, fashion stores and cafes. According to the venue’s promotional material, “The Jam Factory of today is, in short, ‘jam packed’ with entertainment” (Chapel St Precinct, n.pag.). With the original building’s façade and cooling store still intact, the architectural remnants of the Victoria Preserving Factory provide a culturally significant backdrop for what is ostensibly Australia’s most noteworthy cinema venture; Village Roadshow’s megaplex cinema flagship. Replete with fifteen large format screens, including two Gold Class cinemas, a Cinema Europa enclave and an interactive games alcove, The Village Jam Factory signifies Australia’s first foray into cinema-based retail entertainment destinations. In commenting on the opening of the Jam Factory megaplex in 1998, Village Roadshow’s general manager Mr. David Herman said, “The objective was to create Australia’s first non-gambling cinema and lifestyle complex” (Catalano 6). More than any other cinema venue, the Village Jam Factory played a key role in pushing Australian film exhibition standards into the new millennium. In an era marked by competing home theatre technologies and diversified sites of media consumption, the Jam Factory’s shift from suburban cinema to lifestyle complex dramatically altered both the business and social practice of movie-going in Australia. Central to this shift was a tripartite marketing strategy which sought to capitalize on: protracted movie-going experiences; sensory stimulation; and, venue promotion. Experiential Jam The promotion of a protracted movie-going experience has been essential to the continued success of the Village Jam Factory. As I have argued elsewhere, the Australian cinema industry of the mid 1990s faced a number of significant incentives for extending the movie going experience beyond the auditorium; not the least being the steady decline of box office takings that occurred during the late 1980s (Downing). In the face of new media technologies such as the internet, DVD and Pay TV, many cinema operators were forced to look beyond the box office as a primary source of profits. To this end Village Roadshow effectively used the Jam Factory as a testing ground for the generation of ancillary leisure and retail income streams. During the mid 1990s Village actively promoted the Jam Factory as a space in which audiences could not only see a film, but also engage in a series of expanded retail activities such as shopping, dining and video-game playing. Discussing the development of multi-use cinema venues during the 1990s, Charles Acland has commented that such spaces “…do not situate conditions of spectatorship alone; they also construct relations between public and cinematic practices” (Acland 119). Sensory Jam Far from being a traditional site of film consumption, the Jam Factory set an industry precedent by becoming the nation’s first cinema venue in which audiences were encouraged to engage in an entertainment experience that was, above all, aimed at stimulating the senses. In keeping with the ‘lifestyle destination’ mantra, the Village Jam Factory provided a new generation of Australians with a multi-sensory entertainment experience that could not be emulated by home theatre technologies. Wide sweeping foyers and elaborate ticket and merchandising counters greet the eye; ‘luxury’ stadium seating with wide aisles and broad armrests offer the ‘ultimate’ in tactile comfort; digital surround sound facilities pleasure the ears and a plethora of food and beverage novelties work to gratify the senses of taste and smell. More than any other Village cinema outlet, the Jam Factory venue smacks of sugar-coated commerce. With a revenue contribution of over 18%, the Village Roadshow candy bar is the undisputed cash-cow of the enterprise (Australian Film Commission 143). Colloquially known as ‘Lollywood’, the Village confectionary counter is an over-priced explosion of colour and candy that sustains industry revenue through a deliberate appeal to the audience’s sense of taste. This sugar dependency synchronistically mirrors the former success of Henry Jones, the entrepreneur behind Australia’s IXL jam brand, who operated his famous preserving company on the site between 1895 and 1926 (Chapel St Precinct, n.pag.). Venue Jam Village Roadshow’s promotion of the Jam Factory venue over the actual films being screened is indicative of Australia’s primary shift towards retail entertainment based cinema complexes. Unlike the homogenous multiplex venues of the 1970s and 1980s, the Village Jam Factory Complex has been aggressively marketed as a Melbourne icon, capable of offering a unique entertainment experience. This agenda is clearly documented in the 1999 Village Roadshow annual report which, pointing towards a perceived threat of home theatre technologies, proclaimed: [In] broadening the cinema going experience … [Village] aims to create an environment of quality entertainment theming and ancillary lifestyle retailing, thus providing a consistently high level of incentive for people to leave their homes for cinema anchored destinations. (Village Roadshow 19) To this end, the Jam Factory became the physical embodiment of Village Cinemas’ corporate tagline “Where Movies Live” (Village Cinemas, n.pag.). Throughout the late 1990s, a number of similar sites proliferated across Europe, the United States and Canada. Two noteworthy examples of this trend are the Manchester Times building in the UK (initially managed by a short lived Village-Warner synergy) and the Sony Centre at Potsdamer Platz, Berlin; previous home to the Third Reich and later, the Berlin Wall. In both of these examples a similar venue-promotion agenda is clearly at work. In reflecting the cultural specificities of their host cities, each of these venues pays a semiotic homage to the previous occupants of their space. The Manchester Times building, for example, retains much of its former architecture and reflects the nocturnal vibrancy of 19th century printing plant. Similarly, the Sony Centre offers an architectural reflection on the complexities of Berlin history and German cinema. In Melbourne, the Jam Factory’s history of jam and jam making are equally preserved. Drawing heavily on postmodern architectural styles, the Jam Factory’s interior uses South Yarra’s local history as a backdrop for a schizophrenic collage of seemingly incommensurate time/place references. From the distinctive red-brick cooling tower (located in the centre of the building) one encounters a hybrid fusion of Mediterranean pasta courts, European coffee lounges, Romanesque artwork and columns (complete with weathered-look paint and ‘crumbling’ tops), statues of Hollywood stars, as well as a dazzling gaming alcove and a series of subdued ‘luxury’ (Gold Class) cinemas. Such eclectic displays of visual hyperbole have been prefigured by Umberto Eco, whose discussion on hyperreality addresses an imagination which “… demands the real thing, and in order to attain it, must fabricate the absolute fake” (Eco 8). As a relatively recent contributor to Australian cinema history, the Village Jam Factory has achieved little sustained academic attention, yet its significance must not be undervalued. As Australia’s first cinema-oriented retail entertainment destination, the Village Jam Factory has been crucial in placing Australia into the global film exhibition arena. While the pungent aromas of ripened fruit, vinegar and boiling sugar have long since been replaced by the scent of popcorn and recycled air, the legacy and architecture of jam-making has played a key role in propelling Australian film exhibition into the new millennium. References Acland, Charles. Screen Traffic: Movies, Multiplexes and Global Culture. Durham: Duke UP, 2003. Australian Film Commission. Get the Picture. Sydney: Australian Film Commission, 2001. Catalano, Anthony. “Village to Extend Jam Factory to 14 Cinemas.” The Age 5 Aug. 1998. Chapel St Precinct. General History of Chapel Street & Surrounds. 2006. 30 Dec. 2006 http://www.chapelstreet.com.au/default.asp?mode=history>. Downing, Leanne. “More than Meets the Eye: The Suburban Cinema Megaplex as Sensory Heterotopia.” Refractory: Journal of Media and Culture 8 (2005). http://www.refractory.unimelb.edu.au/journalissues/vol8/downing.html>. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyper Reality. Orlando Florida: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1986. Village Cinemas. 2006. 30 Dec. 2006. http://www.villagecinemas.com.au/>. Village Roadshow. Annual Report. Melbourne: Village Roadshow, 1999. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Downing, Leanne. "Sensory Jam: How the Victoria Preserving Company Pushed Australian Cinema Space into the New Millennium." M/C Journal 9.6 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0612/05-downing.php>. APA Style Downing, L. (Dec. 2006) "Sensory Jam: How the Victoria Preserving Company Pushed Australian Cinema Space into the New Millennium," M/C Journal, 9(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0612/05-downing.php>.

The term “coffee palace” was primarily used in Australia to describe the temperance hotels that were built in the last decades of the 19th century, although there are references to the term also being used to a lesser extent in the United Kingdom (Denby 174). Built in response to the worldwide temperance movement, which reached its pinnacle in the 1880s in Australia, coffee palaces were hotels that did not serve alcohol. This was a unique time in Australia’s architectural development as the economic boom fuelled by the gold rush in the 1850s, and the demand for ostentatious display that gathered momentum during the following years, afforded the use of richly ornamental High Victorian architecture and resulted in very majestic structures; hence the term “palace” (Freeland 121). The often multi-storied coffee palaces were found in every capital city as well as regional areas such as Geelong and Broken Hill, and locales as remote as Maria Island on the east coast of Tasmania. Presented as upholding family values and discouraging drunkenness, the coffee palaces were most popular in seaside resorts such as Barwon Heads in Victoria, where they catered to families. Coffee palaces were also constructed on a grand scale to provide accommodation for international and interstate visitors attending the international exhibitions held in Sydney (1879) and Melbourne (1880 and 1888). While the temperance movement lasted well over 100 years, the life of coffee palaces was relatively short-lived. Nevertheless, coffee palaces were very much part of Australia’s cultural landscape. In this article, I examine the rise and demise of coffee palaces associated with the temperance movement and argue that coffee palaces established in the name of abstinence were modelled on the coffee houses that spread throughout Europe and North America in the 17th and 18th centuries during the Enlightenment—a time when the human mind could be said to have been liberated from inebriation and the dogmatic state of ignorance. The Temperance Movement At a time when newspapers are full of lurid stories about binge-drinking and the alleged ill-effects of the liberalisation of licensing laws, as well as concerns over the growing trend of marketing easy-to-drink products (such as the so-called “alcopops”) to teenagers, it is difficult to think of a period when the total suppression of the alcohol trade was seriously debated in Australia. The cause of temperance has almost completely vanished from view, yet for well over a century—from 1830 to the outbreak of the Second World War—the control or even total abolition of the liquor trade was a major political issue—one that split the country, brought thousands onto the streets in demonstrations, and influenced the outcome of elections. Between 1911 and 1925 referenda to either limit or prohibit the sale of alcohol were held in most States. While moves to bring about abolition failed, Fitzgerald notes that almost one in three Australian voters expressed their support for prohibition of alcohol in their State (145). Today, the temperance movement’s platform has largely been forgotten, killed off by the practical example of the United States, where prohibition of the legal sale of alcohol served only to hand control of the liquor traffic to organised crime. Coffee Houses and the Enlightenment Although tea has long been considered the beverage of sobriety, it was coffee that came to be regarded as the very antithesis of alcohol. When the first coffee house opened in London in the early 1650s, customers were bewildered by this strange new drink from the Middle East—hot, bitter, and black as soot. But those who tried coffee were, reports Ellis, soon won over, and coffee houses were opened across London, Oxford, and Cambridge and, in the following decades, Europe and North America. Tea, equally exotic, entered the English market slightly later than coffee (in 1664), but was more expensive and remained a rarity long after coffee had become ubiquitous in London (Ellis 123-24). The impact of the introduction of coffee into Europe during the seventeenth century was particularly noticeable since the most common beverages of the time, even at breakfast, were weak “small beer” and wine. Both were safer to drink than water, which was liable to be contaminated. Coffee, like beer, was made using boiled water and, therefore, provided a new and safe alternative to alcoholic drinks. There was also the added benefit that those who drank coffee instead of alcohol began the day alert rather than mildly inebriated (Standage 135). It was also thought that coffee had a stimulating effect upon the “nervous system,” so much so that the French called coffee une boisson intellectuelle (an intellectual beverage), because of its stimulating effect on the brain (Muskett 71). In Oxford, the British called their coffee houses “penny universities,” a penny then being the price of a cup of coffee (Standage 158). Coffee houses were, moreover, more than places that sold coffee. Unlike other institutions of the period, rank and birth had no place (Ellis 59). The coffee house became the centre of urban life, creating a distinctive social culture by treating all customers as equals. Egalitarianism, however, did not extend to women—at least not in London. Around its egalitarian (but male) tables, merchants discussed and conducted business, writers and poets held discussions, scientists demonstrated experiments, and philosophers deliberated ideas and reforms. For the price of a cup (or “dish” as it was then known) of coffee, a man could read the latest pamphlets and newsletters, chat with other patrons, strike business deals, keep up with the latest political gossip, find out what other people thought of a new book, or take part in literary or philosophical discussions. Like today’s Internet, Twitter, and Facebook, Europe’s coffee houses functioned as an information network where ideas circulated and spread from coffee house to coffee house. In this way, drinking coffee in the coffee house became a metaphor for people getting together to share ideas in a sober environment, a concept that remains today. According to Standage, this information network fuelled the Enlightenment (133), prompting an explosion of creativity. Coffee houses provided an entirely new environment for political, financial, scientific, and literary change, as people gathered, discussed, and debated issues within their walls. Entrepreneurs and scientists teamed up to form companies to exploit new inventions and discoveries in manufacturing and mining, paving the way for the Industrial Revolution (Standage 163). The stock market and insurance companies also had their birth in the coffee house. As a result, coffee was seen to be the epitome of modernity and progress and, as such, was the ideal beverage for the Age of Reason. By the 19th century, however, the era of coffee houses had passed. Most of them had evolved into exclusive men’s clubs, each geared towards a certain segment of society. Tea was now more affordable and fashionable, and teahouses, which drew clientele from both sexes, began to grow in popularity. Tea, however, had always been Australia’s most popular non-alcoholic drink. Tea (and coffee) along with other alien plants had been part of the cargo unloaded onto Australian shores with the First Fleet in 1788. Coffee, mainly from Brazil and Jamaica, remained a constant import but was taxed more heavily than tea and was, therefore, more expensive. Furthermore, tea was much easier to make than coffee. To brew tea, all that is needed is to add boiling water, coffee, in contrast, required roasting, grinding and brewing. According to Symons, until the 1930s, Australians were the largest consumers of tea in the world (19). In spite of this, and as coffee, since its introduction into Europe, was regarded as the antidote to alcohol, the temperance movement established coffee palaces. In the early 1870s in Britain, the temperance movement had revived the coffee house to provide an alternative to the gin taverns that were so attractive to the working classes of the Industrial Age (Clarke 5). Unlike the earlier coffee house, this revived incarnation provided accommodation and was open to men, women and children. “Cheap and wholesome food,” was available as well as reading rooms supplied with newspapers and periodicals, and games and smoking rooms (Clarke 20). In Australia, coffee palaces did not seek the working classes, as clientele: at least in the cities they were largely for the nouveau riche. Coffee Palaces The discovery of gold in 1851 changed the direction of the Australian economy. An investment boom followed, with an influx of foreign funds and English banks lending freely to colonial speculators. By the 1880s, the manufacturing and construction sectors of the economy boomed and land prices were highly inflated. Governments shared in the wealth and ploughed money into urban infrastructure, particularly railways. Spurred on by these positive economic conditions and the newly extended inter-colonial rail network, international exhibitions were held in both Sydney and Melbourne. To celebrate modern technology and design in an industrial age, international exhibitions were phenomena that had spread throughout Europe and much of the world from the mid-19th century. According to Davison, exhibitions were “integral to the culture of nineteenth century industrialising societies” (158). In particular, these exhibitions provided the colonies with an opportunity to demonstrate to the world their economic power and achievements in the sciences, the arts and education, as well as to promote their commerce and industry. Massive purpose-built buildings were constructed to house the exhibition halls. In Sydney, the Garden Palace was erected in the Botanic Gardens for the 1879 Exhibition (it burnt down in 1882). In Melbourne, the Royal Exhibition Building, now a World Heritage site, was built in the Carlton Gardens for the 1880 Exhibition and extended for the 1888 Centennial Exhibition. Accommodation was required for the some one million interstate and international visitors who were to pass through the gates of the Garden Palace in Sydney. To meet this need, the temperance movement, keen to provide alternative accommodation to licensed hotels, backed the establishment of Sydney’s coffee palaces. The Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company was formed in 1878 to operate and manage a number of coffee palaces constructed during the 1870s. These were designed to compete with hotels by “offering all the ordinary advantages of those establishments without the allurements of the drink” (Murdoch). Coffee palaces were much more than ordinary hotels—they were often multi-purpose or mixed-use buildings that included a large number of rooms for accommodation as well as ballrooms and other leisure facilities to attract people away from pubs. As the Australian Town and Country Journal reveals, their services included the supply of affordable, wholesome food, either in the form of regular meals or occasional refreshments, cooked in kitchens fitted with the latest in culinary accoutrements. These “culinary temples” also provided smoking rooms, chess and billiard rooms, and rooms where people could read books, periodicals and all the local and national papers for free (121). Similar to the coffee houses of the Enlightenment, the coffee palaces brought businessmen, artists, writers, engineers, and scientists attending the exhibitions together to eat and drink (non-alcoholic), socialise and conduct business. The Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace located in York Street in Sydney produced a practical guide for potential investors and businessmen titled International Exhibition Visitors Pocket Guide to Sydney. It included information on the location of government departments, educational institutions, hospitals, charitable organisations, and embassies, as well as a list of the tariffs on goods from food to opium (1–17). Women, particularly the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU) were a formidable force in the temperance movement (intemperance was generally regarded as a male problem and, more specifically, a husband problem). Murdoch argues, however, that much of the success of the push to establish coffee palaces was due to male politicians with business interests, such as the one-time Victorian premiere James Munro. Considered a stern, moral church-going leader, Munro expanded the temperance movement into a fanatical force with extraordinary power, which is perhaps why the temperance movement had its greatest following in Victoria (Murdoch). Several prestigious hotels were constructed to provide accommodation for visitors to the international exhibitions in Melbourne. Munro was responsible for building many of the city’s coffee palaces, including the Victoria (1880) and the Federal Coffee Palace (1888) in Collins Street. After establishing the Grand Coffee Palace Company, Munro took over the Grand Hotel (now the Windsor) in 1886. Munro expanded the hotel to accommodate some of the two million visitors who were to attend the Centenary Exhibition, renamed it the Grand Coffee Palace, and ceremoniously burnt its liquor licence at the official opening (Murdoch). By 1888 there were more than 50 coffee palaces in the city of Melbourne alone and Munro held thousands of shares in coffee palaces, including those in Geelong and Broken Hill. With its opening planned to commemorate the centenary of the founding of Australia and the 1888 International Exhibition, the construction of the Federal Coffee Palace, one of the largest hotels in Australia, was perhaps the greatest monument to the temperance movement. Designed in the French Renaissance style, the façade was embellished with statues, griffins and Venus in a chariot drawn by four seahorses. The building was crowned with an iron-framed domed tower. New passenger elevators—first demonstrated at the Sydney Exhibition—allowed the building to soar to seven storeys. According to the Federal Coffee Palace Visitor’s Guide, which was presented to every visitor, there were three lifts for passengers and others for luggage. Bedrooms were located on the top five floors, while the stately ground and first floors contained majestic dining, lounge, sitting, smoking, writing, and billiard rooms. There were electric service bells, gaslights, and kitchens “fitted with the most approved inventions for aiding proficients [sic] in the culinary arts,” while the luxury brand Pears soap was used in the lavatories and bathrooms (16–17). In 1891, a spectacular financial crash brought the economic boom to an abrupt end. The British economy was in crisis and to meet the predicament, English banks withdrew their funds in Australia. There was a wholesale collapse of building companies, mortgage banks and other financial institutions during 1891 and 1892 and much of the banking system was halted during 1893 (Attard). Meanwhile, however, while the eastern States were in the economic doldrums, gold was discovered in 1892 at Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie in Western Australia and, within two years, the west of the continent was transformed. As gold poured back to the capital city of Perth, the long dormant settlement hurriedly caught up and began to emulate the rest of Australia, including the construction of ornately detailed coffee palaces (Freeman 130). By 1904, Perth had 20 coffee palaces. When the No. 2 Coffee Palace opened in Pitt Street, Sydney, in 1880, the Australian Town and Country Journal reported that coffee palaces were “not only fashionable, but appear to have acquired a permanent footing in Sydney” (121). The coffee palace era, however, was relatively short-lived. Driven more by reformist and economic zeal than by good business sense, many were in financial trouble when the 1890’s Depression hit. Leading figures in the temperance movement were also involved in land speculation and building societies and when these schemes collapsed, many, including Munro, were financially ruined. Many of the palaces closed or were forced to apply for liquor licences in order to stay afloat. Others developed another life after the temperance movement’s influence waned and the coffee palace fad faded, and many were later demolished to make way for more modern buildings. The Federal was licensed in 1923 and traded as the Federal Hotel until its demolition in 1973. The Victoria, however, did not succumb to a liquor licence until 1967. The Sydney Coffee Palace in Woolloomooloo became the Sydney Eye Hospital and, more recently, smart apartments. Some fine examples still survive as reminders of Australia’s social and cultural heritage. The Windsor in Melbourne’s Spring Street and the Broken Hill Hotel, a massive three-story iconic pub in the outback now called simply “The Palace,” are some examples. Tea remained the beverage of choice in Australia until the 1950s when the lifting of government controls on the importation of coffee and the influence of American foodways coincided with the arrival of espresso-loving immigrants. As Australians were introduced to the espresso machine, the short black, the cappuccino, and the café latte and (reminiscent of the Enlightenment), the post-war malaise was shed in favour of the energy and vigour of modernist thought and creativity, fuelled in at least a small part by caffeine and the emergent café culture (Teffer). Although the temperance movement’s attempt to provide an alternative to the ubiquitous pubs failed, coffee has now outstripped the consumption of tea and today’s café culture ensures that wherever coffee is consumed, there is the possibility of a continuation of the Enlightenment’s lively discussions, exchange of news, and dissemination of ideas and information in a sober environment. 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Grand Hotels: Reality and Illusion. London: Reaktion Books, 2002. Ellis, Markman. The Coffee House: A Cultural History. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2004. Federal Coffee Palace. The Federal Coffee Palace Visitors’ Guide to Melbourne, Its Suburbs, and Other Parts of the Colony of Victoria: Views of the Principal Public and Commercial Buildings in Melbourne, With a Bird’s Eye View of the City; and History of the Melbourne International Exhibition of 1880, etc. Melbourne: Federal Coffee House Company, 1888. Fitzgerald, Ross, and Trevor Jordan. Under the Influence: A History of Alcohol in Australia. Sydney: Harper Collins, 2009. Freeland, John. The Australian Pub. Melbourne: Sun Books, 1977. Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace. International Exhibition Visitors Pocket Guide to Sydney, Restaurant and Temperance Hotel. Sydney: Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace, 1879. Mitchell, Ann M. “Munro, James (1832–1908).” Australian Dictionary of Biography. Canberra: National Centre of Biography, Australian National U, 2006-12. 5 Feb. 2012 ‹http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/munro-james-4271/text6905›. Murdoch, Sally. “Coffee Palaces.” Encyclopaedia of Melbourne. Eds. Andrew Brown-May and Shurlee Swain. 5 Feb. 2012 ‹http://www.emelbourne.net.au/biogs/EM00371b.htm›. Muskett, Philip E. The Art of Living in Australia. New South Wales: Kangaroo Press, 1987. Standage, Tom. A History of the World in 6 Glasses. New York: Walker & Company, 2005. Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company Limited. Memorandum of Association of the Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company, Ltd. Sydney: Samuel Edward Lees, 1879. Symons, Michael. One Continuous Picnic: A Gastronomic History of Australia. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 2007. Teffer, Nicola. Coffee Customs. Exhibition Catalogue. Sydney: Customs House, 2005.

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In this article I discuss a story told by the South Australian Ngarrindjeri Aboriginal elder, Aunty Hilda Wilson (nee Varcoe), about the time when, at not quite sixteen, she was sent from the Point Pearce Aboriginal Station to work in the Adelaide Hills, some 500 kilometres away, as a housekeeper for “one of Adelaide’s leading doctors”. Her secondment was part of a widespread practice in early and mid-twentieth century Australia of placing young Aboriginal women “of marriageable age” from missions and government reserves into domestic service. Consciously deploying Indigenous storytelling practices as pedagogy, Hilda Wilson recounted this episode in a number of distinct ways during the late 1990s and early 2000s. Across these iterations, each building on the other, she exhibited a personal resilience in her subjectivity, embedded in Indigenous knowledge systems of relationality, kin and work, which informed her agency and determination in a challenging situation in which she was both caring for a white socially-privileged family of five, while simultaneously grappling with the injustices of a state system of segregated indentured labour. Kirmayer and colleagues propose that “notions of resilience emerging from developmental psychology and psychiatry in recent years address the distinctive cultures, geographic and social settings, and histories of adversity of indigenous peoples”. Resilience is understood here as an ability to actively engage with traumatic change, involving the capacity to absorb stress and to transform in order to cope with it (Luthar et al.). Further to this, in an Indigenous context, Marion Kickett has found the capacity for resilience to be supported by three key factors: family connections, culture and belonging as well as notions of identity and history. In exploring the layers of this autobiographical story, I employ this extended psychological notion of resilience in both a domestic ambit as well as the broader social context for Indigenous people surviving a system of external domination. Additionally I consider the resilience Aunty Hilda demonstrates at a pivotal interlude between girlhood and womanhood within the trajectory of her overall long and productive life, and within an intergenerational history of resistance and accommodation. What is especially important about her storytelling is its refusal to be contained by the imaginary of the settler nation and its generic Aboriginal-female subject. She refuses victimhood while at the same time illuminating the mechanisms of injustice, hinting also at possibilities for alternative and more equitable relationships of family and work across cultural divides. Considered through this prism, resilience is, I suggest, also a quality firmly connected to ideas of Aboriginal cultural-sovereignty and standpoint and to, what Victoria Grieves has identified as, the Aboriginal knowledge value of sharing (25, 28, 45). Storytelling as Pedagogy The story I discuss was verbally recounted in a manner that Westphalen describes as “a continuation of Dreaming Stories”, functioning to educate and connect people and country (13-14). As MacGill et al. note, “the critical and transformative aspects of decolonising pedagogies emerge from storytelling and involve the gift of narrative and the enactment of reciprocity that occurs between the listener and the storyteller.” Hilda told me that as a child she was taught not to ask questions when listening to the stories of an Elder, and her own children were raised in this manner. Hilda's oldest daughter described this as a process involving patience, intrigue and surprise (Elva Wanganeen). Narratives unfold through nuance and repetition in a complexity of layers that can generate multiple levels of meaning over time. Circularity and recursivity underlie this pedagogy through which mnemonic devices are built so that stories become re-membered and inscribed on the body of the listener. When a perceived level of knowledge-transference has occurred, a narrator may elect to elaborate further, adding another detail that will often transform the story’s social, cultural, moral or political context. Such carefully chosen additional detail, however, might re-contextualise all that has gone before. As well as being embodied, stories are also emplaced, and thus most appropriately told in the Country where events occurred. (Here I use the Aboriginal English term “Country” which encompasses home, clan estate, and the powerful complex of spiritual, animate and inanimate forces that bind people and place.) Hilda Wilson’s following account of her first job as a housekeeper for “one of Adelaide’s leading doctors”, Dr Frank Swann, provides an illustration of how she expertly uses traditional narrative forms of incrementally structured knowledge transmission within a cross-cultural setting to tell a story that expresses practices of resilience as resistance and transformation at its core. A “White Doctor” Story: The First Layer Aunty Hilda first told me this story when we were winding along the South Eastern Freeway through the Adelaide hills between Murray Bridge and Mount Barker, in 1997, on our way home to Adelaide from a trip to Camp Coorong, the Ngarrindjeri cultural education centre co-founded by her granddaughter. She was then 86 years old. Ahead of us, the profile of Mt Lofty rose out of the plains and into view. The highest peak in the Mount Lofty ranges, Yurrebilla, as it is known to Kaurna Aboriginal people, or Mt Lofty, has been an affluent enclave of white settlement for Adelaide’s moneyed elite since early colonial times. Being in place, or in view of place, provided the appropriate opportunity for her to tell me the story. It belongs to a group of stories that during our initial period of working together changed little over time until one day two years later she an added contextual detail which turned it inside out. Hilda described the doctor’s spacious hill-top residence, and her responsibilities of caring for Dr Swann’s invalid wife (“an hysteric who couldn't do anything for herself”), their twin teenage boys (who attended private college in the city) along with another son and younger daughter living at home (pers. com. Hilda Wilson). Recalling the exhilaration of looking down over the sparkling lights of Adelaide at night from this position of apparent “privilege” on the summit, she related this undeniably as a success story, justifiably taking great pride in her achievements as a teenager, capable of stepping into the place of the non-Indigenous doctor's wife in running the large and demanding household. Successfully undertaking a wide range of duties employed in the care of a family, including the disabled mother, she is an active participant crucial to the lives of all in the household, including to the work of the doctor and the twin boys in private education. Hilda recalled that Mrs Swann was unable to eat without her assistance. As the oldest daughter of a large family Hilda had previously assisted in caring for her younger siblings. Told in this way, her account collapses social distinctions, delineating a shared social and physical space, drawing its analytic frame from an Indigenous ethos of subjectivity, relationality, reciprocity and care. Moreover Hilda’s narrative of domestic service demonstrates an assertion of agency that resists colonial and patriarchal hegemony and inverts the master/mistress-servant relationship, one she firmly eschews in favour of the self-affirming role of the lady of the house. (It stands in contrast to the abuse found in other accounts for example Read, Tucker, Kartinyeri. Often the key difference was a continuity of family connections and ongoing family support.) Indeed the home transformed into a largely feminised and cross-culturalised space in which she had considerable agency and responsibility when the doctor was absent. Hilda told me this story several times in much the same way during our frequent encounters over the next two years. Each telling revealed further details that fleshed a perspective gained from what Patricia Hill Collins terms an “epistemic privilege” via her “outsider-within status” of working within a white household, lending an understanding of its social mechanisms (12-15). She also stressed the extent of her duty of care in upholding the family’s well-being, despite the work at times being too burdensome. The Second Version: Coming to Terms with Intersecting Oppressions Later, as our relationship developed and deepened, when I began to record her life-narrative as part of my doctoral work, she added an unexpected detail that altered its context completely: It was all right except I slept outside in a tin shed and it was very cold at night. Mount Lofty, by far the coldest part of Adelaide, frequently experiences winter maximum temperatures of two or three degrees and often light snowfalls. This skilful reframing draws on Indigenous storytelling pedagogy and is expressly used to invite reflexivity, opening questions that move the listener from the personal to the public realm in which domestic service and the hegemony of the home are pivotal in coming to terms with the overlapping historical oppressions of class, gender, race and nation. Suddenly we witness her subjectivity starkly shift from one self-defined and allied with an equal power relationship – or even of dependency reversal cast as “de-facto doctor's wife” – to one diminished by inequity and power imbalance in the outsider-defined role of “mistreated servant”. The latter was signalled by the dramatic addition of a single signifying detail as a decoding device to a deeper layer of meaning. In this parallel stratum of the story, Hilda purposefully brings into relief the politics in which “the private domain of women's housework intersected with the public domain of governmental social engineering policies” (Haskins 4). As Aileen Moreton-Robinson points out, what for White Australia was cheap labour and a civilising mission, for Indigenous women constituted stolen children and slavery. Protection and then assimilation were government policies under which Indigenous women grew up. (96) Hilda was sent away from her family to work in 1927 by the universally-feared Sister Pearl McKenzie, a nurse who too-zealously (Katinyeri, Ngarrindjeri Calling, 23) oversaw the Chief Protector’s policies of “training” Aboriginal children from the South Australian missions in white homes once they reached fourteen (Haebich, 316—20). Indeed many prominent Adelaide hills’ families benefited from Aboriginal labour under this arrangement. Hilda explained her struggle with the immense cultural dislocation that removal into domestic service entailed, a removal her grandfather William Rankine had travelled from Raukkan to Government House to protest against less than a decade earlier (The Register December 21, 1923). This additional layer of story also illuminates Hilda’s capacity for resilience and persistence in finding a way forward through the challenge of her circumstances (Luthar et al.), drawing on her family networks and sense of personhood (Kickett). Hilda related that her father visited her at Mount Lofty twice, though briefly, on his way to shearing jobs in the south-east of the state. “He said it was no good me living like this,” she stated. Through his active intervention, reinforcement was requested and another teenager from Point Pearce, Hilda’s future husband’s cousin, Annie Sansbury, soon arrived to share the workload. But, Hilda explained, the onerous expectations coupled with the cultural segregation of retiring to the tin shed quickly became too much for Annie, who stayed only three months, leaving Hilda coping again alone, until her father applied additional pressure for a more suitable placement to be found for his daughter. In her next position, working for the family of a racehorse trainer, Hilda contentedly shared the bedroom with the small boy for whom she cared, and not long after returned to Point Pearce where she married Robert Wilson and began a family of her own. Gendered Resilience across Cultural Divides Hilda explicitly speaks into these spaces to educate me, because all but a few white women involved have remained silent about their complicity with state sanctioned practices which exploited Indigenous labour and removed children from their families through the policies of protection and assimilation. For Indigenous women, speaking out was often fraught with the danger of a deeper removal from family and Country, even of disappearance. Victoria Haskins writes extensively of two cases in New South Wales where young Aboriginal women whose protests concerning their brutal treatment at the hands of white employers, resulted in their wrongful and prolonged committal to mental health and other institutions (147-52, 228-39). In the indentured service of Indigenous women it is possible to see oppression operating through Eurocentric ideologies of race, class and gender, in which Indigenous women were assumed to take on, through displacement, the more oppressed role of white women in pre-second world war non-Aboriginal Australian society. The troubling silent shadow-figure of the “doctor’s wife” indeed provides a haunting symbol of - and also a forceful rebellion against – the docile upper middle-class white femininity of the inter-war era. Susan Bordo has argued that that “the hysteric” is archetypal of a discourse of ‘pathology as embodied protest’ in which the body may […] be viewed as a surface on which conventional constructions of femininity are exposed starkly to view in extreme or hyperliteral form. (20) Mrs Swann’s vulnerability contrasts markedly with the strength Hilda expresses in coping with a large family, emanating from a history of equitable gender relations characteristic of Ngarrindjeri society (Bell). The intersection of race and gender, as Marcia Langton contends “continues to require deconstruction to allow us to decolonise our consciousness” (54). From Hilda’s brief description one grasps a relationship resonant with that between the protagonists in Tracy Moffat's Night Cries, (a response to the overt maternalism in the film Jedda) in which the white mother finds herself utterly reliant on her “adopted” Aboriginal daughter at the end of her life (46-7). Resilience and Survival The different versions of story Hilda deploys, provide a pedagogical basis to understanding the broader socio-political framework of her overall life narrative in which an ability to draw on the cultural continuity of the past to transform the future forms an underlying dynamic. This demonstrated capacity to meet the challenging conditions thrown up by the settler-colonial state has its foundations in the connectivity and cultural strength sustained generationally in her family. Resilience moves from being individually to socially determined, as in Kickett’s model. During the onslaught of dispossession, following South Australia’s 1836 colonial invasion, Ngarrindjeri were left near-starving and decimated from introduced diseases. Pullume (c1808-1888), the rupuli (elected leader of the Ngarrindjeri Tendi, or parliament), Hilda’s third generation great-grandfather, decisively steered his people through the traumatic changes, eventually negotiating a middle-path after the Point McLeay Mission was established on Ngarrindjeri country in 1859 (Jenkin, 59). Pullume’s granddaughter, the accomplished, independent-thinking Ellen Sumner (1842—1925), played an influential educative role during Hilda’s youth. Like other Ngarrindjeri women in her lineage, Ellen Sumner was skilled in putari practice (female doctor) and midwifery culture that extended to a duty of care concerning women and children (teaching her “what to do and what not to do”), which I suggest is something Hilda herself drew from when working with the Swann family. Hilda’s mother and aunties continued aspects of the putari tradition, attending births and giving instruction to women in the community (Bell, 171, Hughes Grandmother, 52-4). As mentioned earlier, when the South Australian government moved to introduce The Training of Children Act (SA) Hilda’s maternal grandfather William Rankine campaigned vigorously against this, taking a petition to the SA Governor in December 1923 (Haebich, 315-19). As with Aunty Hilda, William Rankine used storytelling as a method to draw public attention to the inequities of his times in an interview with The Register which drew on his life-narrative (Hughes, My Grandmother, 61). Hilda’s father Wilfred Varcoe, a Barngarrla-Wirrungu man, almost a thousand kilometres away from his Poonindie birthplace, resisted assimilation by actively pursuing traditional knowledge networks using his mobility as a highly sought after shearer to link up with related Elders in the shearing camps, (and as we saw to inspect the conditions his daughter was working under at Mt Lofty). The period Hilda spent as a servant to white families to be trained in white ways was in fact only a brief interlude in a long life in which family connections, culture and belonging (Kickett) served as the backbone of her resilience and resistance. On returning to the Point Pearce Mission, Hilda successfully raised a large family and activated a range of community initiatives that fostered well-being. In the 1960s she moved to Adelaide, initially as the sole provider of her family (her husband later followed), to give her younger children better educational opportunities. Working with Aunty Gladys Elphick OBE through the Council of Aboriginal Women, she played a foundational role in assisting other Aboriginal women establish their families in the city (Mattingly et al., 154, Fisher). In Adelaide, Aunty Hilda became an influential, much loved Elder, living in good health to the age of ninety-six years. The ability to survive changing circumstances, to extend care over and over to her children and Elders along with qualities of leadership, determination, agency and resilience have passed down through her family, several of whom have become successful in public life. These include her great-grandson and former AFL football player, Michael O’Loughlin, her great-nephew Adam Goodes and her-grand-daughter, the cultural weaver Aunty Ellen Trevorrow. Arguably, resilience contributes to physical as well as cultural longevity, through caring for the self and others. Conclusion This story demonstrates how sociocultural dimensions of resilience are contextualised in practices of everyday lives. We see this in the way that Aunty Hilda Wilson’s self-narrated story resolutely defies attempts to know, subjugate and categorise, operating instead in accord with distinctively Aboriginal expressions of gender and kinship relations that constitute an Aboriginal sovereignty. Her storytelling activates a revision of collective history in ways that valorise Indigenous identity (Kirmayer et al.). Her narrative of agency and personal achievement, one that has sustained her through life, interacts with the larger narrative of state-endorsed exploitation, diffusing its power and exposing it to wider moral scrutiny. Resilience in this context is inextricably entwined with practices of cultural survival and resistance developed in response to the introduction of government policies and the encroachment of settlers and their world. We see resilience too operating across Hilda Wilson’s family history, and throughout her long life. The agency and strategies displayed suggest alternative realities and imagine other, usually more equitable, possible worlds. References Bell, Diane. Ngarrindjeri Wurruwarrin: A World That Is, Was and Will Be. Melbourne: Spinifex, 1998. Bordo, Susan. “The Body and the Reproduction of Femininity.” Writing on the Body: Female Embodiment and Feminist Theory. Eds. Katie Conboy, Nadia Medina, and Sarah Stanbury. New York: Columbia UP, 1997. 90-110. Collins, Patricia Hill. Black Feminist Thought. New York: Routledge, 2000. Fisher, Elizabeth M. "Elphick, Gladys (1904–1988)." Australian Dictionary of Biography. National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, 29 Sep. 2013. ‹http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/elphick-gladys-12460/text22411>. Grieves, Victoria. Aboriginal Spirituality: Aboriginal Philosophy, The Basis of Aboriginal Social and Emotional Wellbeing, Melbourne University: Cooperative Research Centre for Aboriginal Health, 2009. Haebich, Anna. Broken Circles: The Fragmenting of Indigenous Families. Fremantle: Fremantle Arts Press, 2000. Haskins, Victoria. My One Bright Spot. London: Palgrave, 2005. Hughes, Karen. "My Grandmother on the Other Side of the Lake." 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The Leichhardt Highway is a six hundred-kilometre stretch of sealed inland road that joins the Australian Queensland border town of Goondiwindi with the Capricorn Highway, just south of the Tropic of Capricorn. Named after the young Prussian naturalist Ludwig Leichhardt, part of this roadway follows the route his party took as they crossed northern Australia from Morton Bay (Brisbane) to Port Essington (near Darwin). Ignoring the usual colonial practice of honouring the powerful and aristocratic, Leichhardt named the noteworthy features along this route after his supporters and fellow expeditioners. Many of these names are still in use and a series of public monuments have also been erected in the intervening century and a half to commemorate this journey. Unlike Leichhardt, who survived his epic trip, some contemporary travellers who navigate the remote roadway named in his honour do not arrive at their final destinations. Memorials to these violently interrupted lives line the highway, many enigmatically located in places where there is no obvious explanation for the lethal violence that occurred there. This examination profiles the memorials along Leichhardt’s highway as Gothic practice, in order to illuminate some of the uncanny paradoxes around public memorials, as well as the loaded emotional terrain such commemorative practices may inhabit. All humans know that death awaits them (Morell). Yet, despite this, and the unprecedented torrent of images of death and dying saturating news, television, and social media (Duwe; Sumiala; Bisceglio), Gorer’s mid-century ideas about the denial of death and Becker’s 1973 Pulitzer prize-winning description of the purpose of human civilization as a defence against this knowledge remains current in the contemporary trope that individuals (at least in the West) deny their mortality. Contributing to this enigmatic situation is how many deny the realities of aging and bodily decay—the promise of the “life extension” industries (Hall)—and are shielded from death by hospitals, palliative care providers, and the multimillion dollar funeral industry (Kiernan). Drawing on Piatti-Farnell’s concept of popular culture artefacts as “haunted/haunting” texts, the below describes how memorials to the dead can powerfully reconnect those who experience them with death’s reality, by providing an “encrypted passageway through which the dead re-join the living in a responsive cycle of exchange and experience” (Piatti-Farnell). While certainly very different to the “sublime” iconic Gothic structure, the Gothic ruin that Summers argued could be seen as “a sacred relic, a memorial, a symbol of infinite sadness, of tenderest sensibility and regret” (407), these memorials do function in both this way as melancholy/regret-inducing relics as well as in Piatti-Farnell’s sense of bringing the dead into everyday consciousness. Such memorialising activity also evokes one of Spooner’s features of the Gothic, by acknowledging “the legacies of the past and its burdens on the present” (8).Ludwig Leichhardt and His HighwayWhen Leichhardt returned to Sydney in 1846 from his 18-month journey across northern Australia, he was greeted with surprise and then acclaim. Having mounted his expedition without any backing from influential figures in the colony, his party was presumed lost only weeks after its departure. Yet, once Leichhardt and almost all his expedition returned, he was hailed “Prince of Explorers” (Erdos). When awarding him a significant purse raised by public subscription, then Speaker of the Legislative Council voiced what he believed would be the explorer’s lasting memorial —the public memory of his achievement: “the undying glory of having your name enrolled amongst those of the great men whose genius and enterprise have impelled them to seek for fame in the prosecution of geographical science” (ctd. Leichhardt 539). Despite this acclaim, Leichhardt was a controversial figure in his day; his future prestige not enhanced by his Prussian/Germanic background or his disappearance two years later attempting to cross the continent. What troubled the colonial political class, however, was his transgressive act of naming features along his route after commoners rather than the colony’s aristocrats. Today, the Leichhardt Highway closely follows Leichhardt’s 1844-45 route for some 130 kilometres from Miles, north through Wandoan to Taroom. In the first weeks of his journey, Leichhardt named 16 features in this area: 6 of the more major of these after the men in his party—including the Aboriginal man ‘Charley’ and boy John Murphy—4 more after the tradesmen and other non-aristocratic sponsors of his venture, and the remainder either in memory of the journey’s quotidian events or natural features there found. What we now accept as traditional memorialising practice could in this case be termed as Gothic, in that it upset the rational, normal order of its day, and by honouring humble shopkeepers, blacksmiths and Indigenous individuals, revealed the “disturbance and ambivalence” (Botting 4) that underlay colonial class relations (Macintyre). On 1 December 1844, Leichhardt also memorialised his own past, referencing the Gothic in naming a watercourse The Creek of the Ruined Castles due to the “high sandstone rocks, fissured and broken like pillars and walls and the high gates of the ruined castles of Germany” (57). Leichhardt also disturbed and disfigured the nature he so admired, famously carving his initials deep into trees along his route—a number of which still exist, including the so-called Leichhardt Tree, a large coolibah in Taroom’s main street. Leichhardt also wrote his own memorial, keeping detailed records of his experiences—both good and more regretful—in the form of field books, notebooks and letters, with his major volume about this expedition published in London in 1847. Leichhardt’s journey has since been memorialised in various ways along the route. The Leichhardt Tree has been further defaced with numerous plaques nailed into its ancient bark, and the town’s federal government-funded Bicentennial project raised a formal memorial—a large sandstone slab laid with three bronze plaques—in the newly-named Ludwig Leichhardt Park. Leichhardt’s name also adorns many sites both along, and outside, the routes of his expeditions. While these fittingly include natural features such as the Leichhardt River in north-west Queensland (named in 1856 by Augustus Gregory who crossed it by searching for traces of the explorer’s ill-fated 1848 expedition), there are also many businesses across Queensland and the Northern Territory less appropriately carrying his name. More somber monuments to Leichhardt’s legacy also resulted from this journey. The first of these was the white settlement that followed his declaration that the countryside he moved through was well endowed with fertile soils. With squatters and settlers moving in and land taken up before Leichhardt had even arrived back in Sydney, the local Yeeman people were displaced, mistreated and completely eradicated within a decade (Elder). Mid-twentieth century, Patrick White’s literary reincarnation, Voss of the eponymous novel, and paintings by Sidney Nolan and Albert Tucker have enshrined in popular memory not only the difficult (and often described as Gothic) nature of the landscape through which Leichhardt travelled (Adams; Mollinson, and Bonham), but also the distinctive and contrary blend of intelligence, spiritual mysticism, recklessness, and stoicism Leichhardt brought to his task. Roadside Memorials Today, the Leichhardt Highway is also lined with a series of roadside shrines to those who have died much more recently. While, like centotaphs, tombstones, and cemeteries, these memorialise the dead, they differ in usually marking the exact location that death occurred. In 43 BC, Cicero articulated the idea of the dead living in memory, “The life of the dead consists in the recollection cherished of them by the living” (93), yet Nelson is one of very few contemporary writers to link roadside memorials to elements of Gothic sensibility. Such constructions can, however, be described as Gothic, in that they make the roadway unfamiliar by inscribing onto it the memory of corporeal trauma and, in the process, re-creating their locations as vivid sites of pain and suffering. These are also enigmatic sites. Traffic levels are generally low along the flat or gently undulating terrain and many of these memorials are located in locations where there is no obvious explanation for the violence that occurred there. They are loci of contradictions, in that they are both more private than other memorials, in being designed, and often made and erected, by family and friends of the deceased, and yet more public, visible to all who pass by (Campbell). Cemeteries are set apart from their surroundings; the roadside memorial is, in contrast, usually in open view along a thoroughfare. In further contrast to cemeteries, which contain many relatively standardised gravesites, individual roadside memorials encapsulate and express not only the vivid grief of family and friends but also—when they include vehicle wreckage or personal artefacts from the fatal incident—provide concrete evidence of the trauma that occurred. While the majority of individuals interned in cemeteries are long dead, roadside memorials mark relatively contemporary deaths, some so recent that there may still be tyre marks, debris and bloodstains marking the scene. In 2008, when I was regularly travelling this roadway, I documented, and researched, the six then extant memorial sites that marked the locations of ten fatalities from 1999 to 2006. (These were all still in place in mid-2014.) The fatal incidents are very diverse. While half involved trucks and/or road trains, at least three were single vehicle incidents, and the deceased ranged from 13 to 84 years of age. Excell argues that scholarship on roadside memorials should focus on “addressing the diversity of the material culture” (‘Contemporary Deathscapes’) and, in these terms, the Leichhardt Highway memorials vary from simple crosses to complex installations. All include crosses (mostly, but not exclusively, white), and almost all are inscribed with the name and birth/death dates of the deceased. Most include flowers or other plants (sometimes fresh but more often plastic), but sometimes also a range of relics from the crash and/or personal artefacts. These are, thus, unsettling sights, not least in the striking contrast they provide with the highway and surrounding road reserve. The specific location is a key component of their ability to re-sensitise viewers to the dangers of the route they are travelling. The first memorial travelling northwards, for instance, is situated at the very point at which the highway begins, some 18 kilometres from Goondiwindi. Two small white crosses decorated with plastic flowers are set poignantly close together. The inscriptions can also function as a means of mobilising connection with these dead strangers—a way of building Secomb’s “haunted community”, whereby community in the post-colonial age can only be built once past “murderous death” (131) is acknowledged. This memorial is inscribed with “Cec Hann 06 / A Good Bloke / A Good hoarseman [sic]” and “Pat Hann / A Good Woman” to tragically commemorate the deaths of an 84-year-old man and his 79-year-old wife from South Australia who died in the early afternoon of 5 June 2006 when their Ford Falcon, towing a caravan, pulled onto the highway and was hit by a prime mover pulling two trailers (Queensland Police, ‘Double Fatality’; Jones, and McColl). Further north along the highway are two memorials marking the most inexplicable of road deaths: the single vehicle fatality (Connolly, Cullen, and McTigue). Darren Ammenhauser, aged 29, is remembered with a single white cross with flowers and plaque attached to a post, inscribed hopefully, “Darren Ammenhauser 1971-2000 At Rest.” Further again, at Billa Billa Creek, a beautifully crafted metal cross attached to a fence is inscribed with the text, “Kenneth J. Forrester / RIP Jack / 21.10.25 – 27.4.05” marking the death of the 79-year-old driver whose vehicle veered off the highway to collide with a culvert on the creek. It was reported that the vehicle rolled over several times before coming to rest on its wheels and that Forrester was dead when the police arrived (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Traffic Incident’). More complex memorials recollect both single and multiple deaths. One, set on both sides of the road, maps the physical trajectory of the fatal smash. This memorial comprises white crosses on both sides of road, attached to a tree on one side, and a number of ancillary sites including damaged tyres with crosses placed inside them on both sides of the road. Simple inscriptions relay the inability of such words to express real grief: “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed” and “Gary (Gazza) Stevens / Sadly missed / Forever in our hearts.” The oldest and most complex memorial on the route, commemorating the death of four individuals on 18 June 1999, is also situated on both sides of the road, marking the collision of two vehicles travelling in opposite directions. One memorial to a 62-year-old man comprises a cross with flowers, personal and automotive relics, and a plaque set inside a wooden fence and simply inscribed “John Henry Keenan / 23-11-1936–18-06-1999”. The second memorial contains three white crosses set side-by-side, together with flowers and relics, and reveals that members of three generations of the same family died at this location: “Raymond Campbell ‘Butch’ / 26-3-67–18-6-99” (32 years of age), “Lorraine Margaret Campbell ‘Lloydie’ / 29-11-46–18-6-99” (53 years), and “Raymond Jon Campbell RJ / 28-1-86–18-6-99” (13 years). The final memorial on this stretch of highway is dedicated to Jason John Zupp of Toowoomba who died two weeks before Christmas 2005. This consists of a white cross, decorated with flowers and inscribed: “Jason John Zupp / Loved & missed by all”—a phrase echoed in his newspaper obituary. The police media statement noted that, “at 11.24pm a prime mover carrying four empty trailers [stacked two high] has rolled on the Leichhardt Highway 17km north of Taroom” (Queensland Police, ‘Fatal Truck Accident’). The roadside memorial was placed alongside a ditch on a straight stretch of road where the body was found. The coroner’s report adds the following chilling information: “Mr Zupp was thrown out of the cabin and his body was found near the cabin. There is no evidence whatsoever that he had applied the brakes or in any way tried to prevent the crash … Jason was not wearing his seatbelt” (Cornack 5, 6). Cornack also remarked the truck was over length, the brakes had not been properly adjusted, and the trip that Zupp had undertaken could not been lawfully completed according to fatigue management regulations then in place (8). Although poignant and highly visible due to these memorials, these deaths form a small part of Australia’s road toll, and underscore our ambivalent relationship with the automobile, where road death is accepted as a necessary side-effect of the freedom of movement the technology offers (Ladd). These memorials thus animate highways as Gothic landscapes due to the “multifaceted” (Haider 56) nature of the fear, terror and horror their acknowledgement can bring. Since 1981, there have been, for instance, between some 1,600 and 3,300 road deaths each year in Australia and, while there is evidence of a long term downward trend, the number of deaths per annum has not changed markedly since 1991 (DITRDLG 1, 2), and has risen in some years since then. The U.S.A. marked its millionth road death in 1951 (Ladd) along the way to over 3,000,000 during the 20th century (Advocates). These deaths are far reaching, with U.K. research suggesting that each death there leaves an average of 6 people significantly affected, and that there are some 10 to 20 per cent of mourners who experience more complicated grief and longer term negative affects during this difficult time (‘Pathways Through Grief’). As the placing of roadside memorials has become a common occurrence the world over (Klaassens, Groote, and Vanclay; Grider; Cohen), these are now considered, in MacConville’s opinion, not only “an appropriate, but also an expected response to tragedy”. Hockey and Draper have explored the therapeutic value of the maintenance of “‘continuing bonds’ between the living and the dead” (3). This is, however, only one explanation for the reasons that individuals erect roadside memorials with research suggesting roadside memorials perform two main purposes in their linking of the past with the present—as not only sites of grieving and remembrance, but also of warning (Hartig, and Dunn; Everett; Excell, Roadside Memorials; MacConville). Clark adds that by “localis[ing] and personalis[ing] the road dead,” roadside memorials raise the profile of road trauma by connecting the emotionless statistics of road death directly to individual tragedy. They, thus, transform the highway into not only into a site of past horror, but one in which pain and terror could still happen, and happen at any moment. Despite their increasing commonality and their recognition as cultural artefacts, these memorials thus occupy “an uncomfortable place” both in terms of public policy and for some individuals (Lowe). While in some states of the U.S.A. and in Ireland the erection of such memorials is facilitated by local authorities as components of road safety campaigns, in the U.K. there appears to be “a growing official opposition to the erection of memorials” (MacConville). Criticism has focused on the dangers (of distraction and obstruction) these structures pose to passing traffic and pedestrians, while others protest their erection on aesthetic grounds and even claim memorials can lower property values (Everett). While many ascertain a sense of hope and purpose in the physical act of creating such shrines (see, for instance, Grider; Davies), they form an uncanny presence along the highway and can provide dangerous psychological territory for the viewer (Brien). Alongside the townships, tourist sites, motels, and petrol stations vying to attract customers, they stain the roadway with the unmistakable sign that a violent death has happened—bringing death, and the dead, to the fore as a component of these journeys, and destabilising prominent cultural narratives of technological progress and safety (Richter, Barach, Ben-Michael, and Berman).Conclusion This investigation has followed Goddu who proposes that a Gothic text “registers its culture’s contradictions” (3) and, in profiling these memorials as “intimately connected to the culture that produces them” (Goddu 3) has proposed memorials as Gothic artefacts that can both disturb and reveal. Roadside memorials are, indeed, so loaded with emotional content that their close contemplation can be traumatising (Brien), yet they are inescapable while navigating the roadway. Part of their power resides in their ability to re-animate those persons killed in these violent in the minds of those viewing these memorials. In this way, these individuals are reincarnated as ghostly presences along the highway, forming channels via which the traveller can not only make human contact with the dead, but also come to recognise and ponder their own sense of mortality. While roadside memorials are thus like civic war memorials in bringing untimely death to the forefront of public view, roadside memorials provide a much more raw expression of the chaotic, anarchic and traumatic moment that separates the world of the living from that of the dead. While traditional memorials—such as those dedicated by, and to, Leichhardt—moreover, pay homage to the vitality of the lives of those they commemorate, roadside memorials not only acknowledge the alarming circumstances of unexpected death but also stand testament to the power of the paradox of the incontrovertibility of sudden death versus our lack of ability to postpone it. In this way, further research into these and other examples of Gothic memorialising practice has much to offer various areas of cultural study in Australia.ReferencesAdams, Brian. Sidney Nolan: Such Is Life. Hawthorn, Vic.: Hutchinson, 1987. Advocates for Highway and Auto Safety. “Motor Vehicle Traffic Fatalities & Fatality Rate: 1899-2003.” 2004. Becker, Ernest. The Denial of Death. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1973. Bisceglio, Paul. “How Social Media Is Changing the Way We Approach Death.” The Atlantic 20 Aug. 2013. Botting, Fred. Gothic: The New Critical Idiom. 2nd edition. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014. 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