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When I was a boy, Turkey was mysterious and exotic place to me. They were not Christians there; they ate strange food; and wore strange clothes. There was something called a ‘bazaar’ where white women were kidnapped and sold into white slavery. Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, or was it Errol Flynn, got into all sorts of trouble there with blood thirsty men with curved swords. There was a song on the radio that reminded me over and over again that ‘It’s Istanbul not Constantinople Now’, sung by The Four Lads, possibly the first ‘boy band’.
All my ancestors are now dead. I'm an orphan. So for this history I've had to rely on my recollections a small pile of documents left by my mother. These include short biographies of several of her relatives. Following the female line; these recollections briefly span the two world wars; to the present.
I've dusted off this little satirical parable that I wrote in response to the The Garnaut Climate Change Review (2008). It's not entirely fair but then satire never is.
In a parallel universe, in 1920† Sidney, the place where Sydney is in ours, had need of a harbour crossing.
An engineer, Dr Roadfield, was engaged to look at the practicalities; including the geology and geography and required property resumptions, in the context of contemporary technical options.
After considering the options he reported that most advanced countries solve the harbour crossing problem with a bridge. He proposed that they make the decision to have a bridge; call for tenders for an engineering design; raise the finance; and build it. We'll call it the 'Sidney Harbour Bridge' he said; then less modestly: 'and the new crossing will be called the Roadfield Highway'.