A little truth 1

will you still feed me?

My Aunty Joan is my living hero.  Now, almost 97 she has finally come to the place of knowing she can't live on her own anymore.  She is almost blind.  She's had a couple of falls, no serious damage, but enough to show it's not safe to be alone. The little timber cottage in Gatton has been closed up and Joan waited in the local hospital for the next step. That step was something she could not handle herself so her daughters, son and their spouses had to organise a residential home for her. It took a while, but finally she is installed in a lovely unit of a large bedroom/sitting room and a large bathroom, all kitted out with movement sensors and emergency buttons.  There is a dining room and a TV room, and a swimming pool.

"Will you swim?"  I asked.

Joan was never a highly sociable person. As a child she disliked helping with her mother's fund raising bridge parties when she wanted to crawl into a corner to read a book.  Through her teens she studied nursing and as a young woman she faced hard work in several areas.  Later she nursed her husband through heart disease and during his last days Joan slept on the floor by his hospital bed, just to be there for him.  She was 85 when he died.  So then she lived alone for almost 12 years, eventually adjusting to the busy social whirl of meals on wheels deliveries, a fortnightly home help cleaner, visits from a nurse/social worker and an occasional shopping trip on the bus for the elderly. She told me she loved the mango tree that filled the backyard. It was her retreat. When life got too much she'd go out there to feed her face and calm down.

I was interested to hear about social life in the new 'home'.  She is pleased to be one of only three at her table in the dining room. One of the other ladies is very  quiet, and that suits Joan. The other one chatters non-stop and Joan says she just has to accept she will be asked if she takes sugar in her tea over and over again throughout each meal.

95th Birthday cake

She said, "I thought I'd be nice to this poor woman so when she said there was a good film on the television I went with her to watch it. Of course I couldn't see anything as we sat at the back of the room, and I couldn't hear it but she seemed to be enjoying herself and I just tried to stay awake and think about other things. Then the next day I said to her, 'That was an interesting film we saw yesterday'.  And do you know, she didn't have a clue to what I was talking about.  She said, 'What film, I didn't see a film, I went to bed early'.  So that was a waste of time." This was presented in the tone of dry humour that is my Aunty Joan. The humour that wraps around ordinary things and makes them amusing from her point of view. 

I choose to phone her rather than visit because visits are physically exhausting for her.  Joan has children who visit her regularly and I have phone calls - and she phones me as often as I phone her.  That is very special.  She told me once that she has the names of her children and grand-children written in a notebook by the phone so she can remember who everyone is and who to ask about.  And one day I realised my end of the family is on the list too as she asks after my sister and brother and then our children in order, during conversations.  I'm delighted to be 'on the list'.  My daughter she calls 'your girl' and my granddaughter is 'the little one', as she knows them the best from the family gatherings for her 90th and 95th birthday celebrations.  "And I'm not having another one for 5 years", she said each time.  

It was wonderful that for the 90th birthday her cousin Ian came up to Brisbane, from Sydney, for the event. Their mothers were sisters and though Ian was a bit younger he spent a lot of time with Joan and my mother. Now he is no longer available for parties or anything else leaving Joan as the surviving member of that generation, in our family.

But, Joan was not born as an old lady.  She was a vibrant young woman who did well at school and wanted to continue studying. Her exotic looks were not appreciated by her blond haired, blue eyed mother so Joan grew up thinking she was not attractive and would have to fend for herself.  Careers for women were limited to nursing or teaching and Joan followed her mother and aunts into nursing.  The war came and she was patching up Aussies wounded in the mountain jungles of New Guinea. One wounded soldier staggered down the Kokoda track and into her life.

My uncle talked of their meeting at their 50th Wedding Anniversay celebration.  "Joan was an Army nurse. After being wounded on the Kokoda trail I was delivered to her at a Military hospital in Sydney in Dec 1942. Joan was an energetic business-like officer with two pips on her shoulders and me a lowly corporal with two stripes on my sleeve. I was a little the worse for wear but was slowly brought back to working order with her help. Then Joan was sent off to the war in New Guinea and I went to work in Sydney for a firm of wool brokers."

His elbow had been shot away so doctors gave him the choice of having the arm permanently set straight or bent.  He chose bent so he could ride a horse and shoot a rifle. As he had studied wool classing before he joined the army Don went back to that city job, but the 'bush' was always in his heart. When Joan returned from the war they were married and Don worked as a station manager, just west of Charleville and a year or so later moved to Murweh.

Joan told me, "Don finally won the soldiers ballot for free land. Mogera was 80,000 acres of rough country inhabited by dingoes.  We chose a paddock near a dry dam and pitched a big army tent for a bedroom. Don built an iron shed for a kitchen and a bough shed to 'live in'! Our fourth child was born at Mogera 1952."

The iron shed was too hot so cooking was on an open fire outside and the baby was hung in a sling from the tent post, to protect him from snakes. The children played in the dust under the gaze of wild dingoes - starving in the drought and on the lookout for easy prey.  They had no water, no fences and no grass. Don pushed down Mulga scrub for the sheep to eat and guarded them on horseback. Then the wool boom burst and the price went down overnight. Don had a fall from the horse and a long stay in hospital.

Eventually a house was built, the station sold and another bought closer to town. At least the children could attend school but the school burnt down and Joan had to teach them at home after all. And, as Don described it, this venture turned out to be a non-profit business. Life was a battle with heat, drought, snakes in the wood pile, distance from family, from friends, even from the post office. Visitors were few. Sheep had to be cared for, fed, sheared, drenched, sometimes killed and eaten. Dogs and horses had to be trained, fed and cared for. Shearers were accommodated and fed, cows herded and milked, fruit cakes baked, dingoes and wild pigs hunted, kangaroos discouraged, snakes killed, beggars and thieves chased from the door, children educated, clothes made, books read by lantern light, clothing washed by hand, wood chopped, fires put out, fire breaks burned, neighbours helped, illnesses treated, wounds bandaged, vehicles repaired and each day started it all over again.

Finally a generator added evenings to their day, better vehicles brought the town closer and telephones connected the family. The outback station was sold and a smaller produce farm, a few hours from Brisbane, became home. Four children turned into two nurses, an engineer and business woman, six grandchildren and two great grandchildren.   

The house near Charleville - Joan's sister Margaret (my mother) visiting.

Of course Aunty Joan is not the only person to live a life of struggle and difficulty and she told me that herself when she talked about the desperate situation of other families during the depression. She has memories of going in the car with her father to deliver food parcels, until the family business closed and they could no longer afford to help others as they were also eating wild caught rabbits and home grown potatoes. The family lost their home and when her parent's marriage broke up Joan was sent to live with her mother's sister - not a big disaster for Joan as her cousin Claire was her best friend. Little sister Peg stayed with Mother while Father moved in with his former secretary. The loss of her father that way hurt Joan deeply, a hurt that is still there today, though it lives in the shadow of losing her oldest daughter to cancer, the same year that Don died. 

Joan once said to me - "We each have our own life and how we live it depends on the bits we inherit from parents."

And so I asked about her new home.

"It's all very nice," she said. "In fact it's luxury but I suppose I'll get used to it."  lol  "I'm not sure about the pool though."

'What do you do during the day?

"I read, I've got a nice chair here and there is a library. In the afternoon someone brings me a cup of tea, it's all very nice. I have lots of little sleeps. I can go to the TV room if I want, but I'm not interested in television now."

"Do you need anything? A fruit cake or a packet of biscuits?"

"I have some biscuits in the room but I can't eat them because I'm always full."

"Maybe I'll bring you a little bottle of coke when I come."

"He he, yes, that would be nice. But I have to be careful because I only have rotten teeth left."

"How's the food?"

"Oh, it's ..... it's alright. There's plenty of it."

Hmmmm - change in tone. She won't explain unless I insist.

"What is wrong with the food?"

" Well... it's not what I'm used to."

"You were used to meals-on-wheels."

"Yes."

"And this is different?"

"It's .... the way they ... present it."

"How?"

"It's frozen."

"Oh!"

"Apparently, this is what all the big hospitals do."

"And the meals-on-wheels were cooked fresh each day."

"Yes......  it was like I used to cook myself."

"Some frozen food is okay."

"Some is."
"Even meals-on-wheels is going to frozen dinners in some places."
"That's a shame."
"So you're eating airplane food."
She laughed. "They do whatever they do to heat it and it tastes okay. Rice is a bit .......... well ... let's say I've had enough chicken and rice to last me."

I am so sorry. So sorry that we can't give our darling oldies fresh food, sorry that our infirm get microwave dinners served in cardboard trays, with instant mashed potato and dried out beef. So sorry that your reward for a life of caring for others is that we can't afford to feed you properly. Forget about the wounded soldiers, the dust and dingoes, the barefooted children and snakes in the woodpile - forget about the sacrifice, the pioneer spirit, the building of family, here - have a frozen dinner.  

Caring for our elders should be part of family life. Children who don't see their grandparents regularly, if not daily, are missing an important part of their development and they lose track of where they are in history.

In traditional societies people look forward to living out their last years surrounded by their children and aging friends. Ancient Chinese society was held together by the belief in family. The greatest virtue being devotion to one’s parents.  They still respect the declining abilities of the aged to tend gardens, care for babies, assist in the education of children - allowing the young adults to work. Value is given to craft work, sharing skills, knowledge and understanding of life and passing on the family stories.  In sedentary farming societies around the world, the elderly are fed and cared for and live in the same hut or one near their adult children.

With nomadic people the elderly can become a burden and occasionally tribes were forced to abandon their aged and infirm. There is even a word for it.  Senilicide. It loosely means doing away with the olds.  When there is enough food to go around, everyone gets a share, even those who are not productive. During times of famine not feeding the elderly often saved the young.  When desperate, the Inuit left their old folk outside to die of exposure or starve to death, considering it to be assisted suicide. It was often a mutual decision.

Today's elderly live away from their children. After they do the expected retirement road trip they're supposed to quietly disappear into assisted living villages or nursing homes - if they can afford it, or a council flat, out of sight, until required for weddings and funerals. They feed themselves, they feed cats and lap dogs and sometimes go without.

We are all part of the aging population. Grannies struggling to keep up with technology give the smart young things the impression that old people have no place in the modern world. These old people are eating food, breathing air, using up valuable natural resources and clogging the medical system - becoming a burden. Some hospitals have a policy of treating young people first, some doctors prescribe drugs with little attention given to good health for the elderly, it's easier and cheaper. A version of senilicide has been practiced in hospitals and nursing homes for centuries - withhold food and they fade away. 

Often they don't really mind - being very old is not fun. But what is old? It's getting younger every year. Applying for a job is difficult at 55 and TV ads tell us we should be buying funeral insurance in our 40s. The Protestant work ethic of measuring a person's value by their ability to work - has led to our youth centred culture in which we idolise individualism and independence. In 2004, France had to pass decree requiring citizens keep in touch with their geriatric parents after a heat wave killed 15,000 people - most of them elderly and many bodies were not found for weeks because of neglect by their families. Also, France had the highest number of pensioner suicides in Europe.

So what are we going to do? Maybe these huge modern houses with parent retreats, teenager's living area and home theatres should also include granny flats, for us - but that depends on our children becoming millionaires. The question of where we'll end up when we can no longer manage independently is a big one.

Will you still need me, will you still feed me, 
when I'm sixty/eighty four?

on the12 Days of Christmas

Another Christmas over, and all the crazy activity, panic gift buying, mind blowing decorations, and far too much food has been gobbled up and choked down. Sadly, the lovely songs, hymns and carols from Christmas will be packed away too and that is a shame. There is no reason we can't sing them all year.

I recently had an email about the song, The 12 days of Christmas - someone knows I am interested in origins, and so I had a look at the song and the known history.  I always thought of it as a folk song and as children we used it as a counting back song, having fun getting the gifts in correct order, especially at the end. Technically it is a cumulative song, that is each verse builds on top of the previous verses. 

The actual 12 Days of Christmas is the annual festive period on the Catholic calendar (and maybe Anglican) beginning on December 25 and going until January 6th - which is Twelfth Night or the Feast of the Epiphany.  Other importance was attached to the Twelve Days as the weather on each day was carefully observed to predict what it would be in the corresponding month of the coming year.

Each of the 12 verses describe a gift given by 'my true love' on one of the 12 days of Christmas.

Gift giving at Christmas time, during the middle ages, was not within the family, but wealthy people gave money to the poor on St Steven's Day/ Boxing Day. Servants, who had worked Christmas Eve and Christmas Day often had a holiday on the day after Christmas and were given Christmas Boxes of leftover food and gifts or money, to take home and share with their families.

Over hundreds of years, and with improvements in living standards, different groups developed various gift giving traditions with some giving gifts on Twelfth Night, some on Christmas Day and some on various days in between. If it were possible to give the gifts mentioned in the song, you might not get much change from $60,000 in today's money.

The oldest English version if the song was printed in children's book called Mirth without Mischief, in 1780. The rhyme, then called The Twelve Days of Christmas sung at King Pepin's Ball, was suggested as a Twelfth Night  memories-and-forfeits  game. This is what children did before television. A leader recited a verse, each of the players repeated the verse, the leader added another verse, and so on until one of the players made a mistake.  That player had to pay a penalty, such as offering up a kiss, for the teens, or a sweet, for the little children.  One hundred years later, a collector of folktales and rhymes, described how it was played every Twelfth Day night before eating mince pies and twelfth cake.

The Twelve Days of Christmas

On the 1st day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

A Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 2nd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

2 Turtle Doves, And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 3rd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves, And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 4th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

4 Calling Birds, 3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves,

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 5th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

5 Gold Rings, 4 Calling Birds, 3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 6th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,6 Geese-a-Laying, 5 Gold Rings, 4 Calling Birds, 3 French Hens,

2 Turtle Doves, And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 7th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

7 swans a swimming, 6 geese a laying, 5 Gold Rings, 4 Calling Birds

3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves, And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 8th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

8 Maids-a-Milking, 7 swans a swimming, 6 geese a laying, 5 Gold Rings

4 Calling Birds, 3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves, And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 9th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

9 Ladies Dancing, 8 Maids-a-Milking, 7 swans a swimming6 geese a laying, 5 Gold Rings, 4 Calling Birds

3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves, And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 10th Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

10 Lords-a-Leaping, 9 Ladies Dancing, 8 Maids-a-Milking

7 swans a swimming, 6 geese a laying, 5 Gold Rings

4 Calling Birds, 3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

11 Pipers Piping, 10 Lords-a-Leaping, 9 Ladies Dancing

8 Maids-a-Milking, 7 swans a swimming, 6 geese a laying

5 Gold Rings, 4 Calling Birds, 3 French Hens

2 Turtle Doves, And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,

12 Drummers Drumming, 11 Pipers Piping, 10 Lords-a-Leaping

9 Ladies Dancing, 8 Maids-a-Milking, 7 swans a swimming

6 geese a laying, 5 Gold Rings, 4 Calling Birds

3 French Hens, 2 Turtle Doves

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

The lyrics have varied over the years, as happens with folk songs that travel. In early versions the gifts were 'sent to me' and later 'my true love gave to me'.   The 1780 version mentions 4 colly birds, a regional name for black birds.  This has changed through the years to canary birds, coloured birds and now calling birds in the popular version.  I was taught to put the partridge IN a pear tree, but some sing a partridge AND a pear tree. There is a suggestion that all the gifts were originally birds, the five gold rings being the markings on the ringed pheasant or five goldspinks (goldfinches) and those five gold rings have become five golden rings, possibly to fit the music.

In the north of England there were only 10 gifts and 10 verses, in others the last four gifts were changed around so the order of the Lords and Ladies were swapped with the musicians. As the song spread the gifts changed, this changed the song and some versions became alliterative tongue-twisters. That sounds interesting.

Far away in the Faroe Islands, which are between Norway and Iceland but belong to the Kingdom of Denmark, the gifts have changed to; one feather, two geese, three sides of meat, four sheep, five cows, six oxen, seven dishes, eight ponies, nine banners, ten barrels, eleven goats, twelve men, thirteen hides, fourteen rounds of cheese and fifteen deer.  In the late 1990's these appeared on a series of just two stamps. (Now that's fascinating trivia)

A novel published in 1862 gives us, my true love sent me five hares running, four ducks quacking, three fat hens, two turtle doves. a partridge and a pear-tree.  And a Scottish version includes an Arabian baboon and three stalks o'merry corn. Of course in modern times we like variety and there are versions that include Australian animals and whatever else you can think up.

There were several melodies for the song but the one we know
 today was added to the lyrics in 1909 by Frederic Austin. It was an
 arrangement of a traditional tune, to which he added his own 2 bar motif for five gold rings. He also added the four calling birds. Those who understand the history of music say the song's folk origin is obvious by inconsistencies such as - the introductory lines are made up of two 4/4 bars, while the lines of gifts have one 3/4 bar changing again on the Partridge. This is not an area I understand though it is vaguely familiar from music lessons I had at school.  The melody of the second to fourth verses is different in the fifth to twelfth verses .... which is understandable as there are more words. I think this is the beauty of folk music - no rules because the lyrics and the melody has been added to and embroidered like a crazy patchwork quilt, until we were able to record it and insist that it never changes again.

So, the email I was sent stated that the song in fact was a coded message for Catholic children. During the English Reformation of the 16 century the Roman Catholics in England were persecuted and driven underground. The story goes that this 'carol' was written as a catechism song for children. The gifts are codes for points of Catholic belief.

The partridge in a pear tree is Jesus Christ. Some say the tree represents the cross.

2  turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments

3  French hens stood for faith, hope and love.

4   calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke & John.

5   golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament.

6   geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.

7  swans a-swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit - Prophesy, Serving, Teaching,   Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy.

8  maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes.

9  Ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit-Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control.

10 Lords a-leaping were the ten commandments.

11 pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.

12 drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in the Apostles' Creed.

So, is this a secret, hidden for centruries, or is it a fun folk song that doubles as a counting lesson?

I don't give references with my research because anyone can find the same information on the net and if I give all the references it would fill up my page, and that's my job. Also, if someone else decided to check what I've said through google, they might find even better information than I have found.

This theory of an underground catechism song for oppressed Catholics was not mentioned anywhere until a Canadian English teacher, and part-time hymnologist published an article in 1979. A Catholic priest picked up the idea and wrote an article in 1982, claiming that there were old letters from priests and interviews with elderly Canadian Catholics to support it .... but in the end the evidence he offered was, "I can at most report what this song's symbols have suggested to me in the course of four decades".  Fair enough I think, in fact I rather like that as evidence.

But, historians, who know their stuff, dispute the interpretation and the underlying premise making comments such as;

"This was not originally a Catholic song, no matter what you hear on the Internet, neutral reference books say this is nonsense",

"Every religious song, every religious carol has at least depth in it, something that has some spirituality in it. This is frothy, light and frothy.""If you think of all the things being presented, you realize they're all gifts from a lover to a woman. Some of them are rather impossible to give, like eight maids a milking and nine ladies dancing. All those ladies and dancing and pipers and drums imply this is a wedding."

"There are the decidedly un-biblical fertility symbols — the partridge in a pear tree, for example. The pear is equivalent to the heart and the partridge is a famous aphrodisiac. And how about those six geese a-laying! Seven of the song's 12 verses feature birds of various kinds, all of them symbols of fertility. The whole song seems to me to point to a festival of joy and love more appropriate to a secular holiday like Valentine's Day or May Day than a religious holiday"

"The validity of the song’s second verse has always been questionable for the simple reason turtle doves leave English shores and begin migrating south from the end of September".

There is the French connection; 
"At least three similar New Years' or spring French carols feature a partridge, perfriz or perdriole, as the first gift.  The pear tree appears only in the English version, but the 'pear-tree' could be perdrix (Old French pertriz) carried into English as pear tree. There is a French red-legged partridge that frequently perches in trees.  A juniper trees apprears in some English versions and that may have come from the French 'joli perdrix' meaning pretty partridge.  The adjective 'French' in 'three French hens', probably simply means foreign.

 And  ... the argument was still going on in 2000,

"This is a genuine urban myth. There are a number of clues that give it away as a tall tale but most important is the fact that none of the supposedly secret meanings is distinctly Catholic. None of the twelve codes would have been considered anything but normal Christian orthodoxy by the Protestants which ruled England at the time, so it would not need to have been imparted clandestinely. If any of the meanings had been about the special status for Catholics accorded by Mary during her brief rule (1553-1558) or the theology of the Mass or papal monarchy, etc. then the story might be more believable. In fact "the 12 Days" is just one of a number of similar counting songs found in almost every European language."

So, it seems there is no evidence that underground catechism songs for Catholics were common, or even existed during or after the English Reformation.  There are a few examples of accumulative catechism songs, "Green grow the rushes, O," and "Go where I send thee", and there are "coded" nursery rhymes, Sing a song of sixpence and Rock-a-by, baby, but none of them qualify in terms of having hidden meanings  and also Catholic meanings.

Could it be that the "The Twelve Days of Christmas" originated as a religious song and was kept so secret or had such a covert meaning, that it was simply forgotten by the mid-1800s?  What do you think? 

False alarm on the reef?

The article below was written by Viv Forbes who is a regular contributor to pickeringpost.com where I find some very interesting ideas and information.  As this article as already been copied and shared on facebook, and I'd like to keep it as a reminder of some of the many false alarms we hear, I am sharing it on my blog. We hear so many false alarms as fashions ebb and flow - from eggs are bad for you to the coming of a new ice age - it's hard to keep track of it all.

False Alarm?       -------------

Corals – the Great Survivors by Viv Forbes

For at least fifty years, agitated academics have been predicting the end of the Great Barrier Reef. Now international “experts” are also sprouting coral calamity. But despite the alarms, the reef is still there.

An early scare focused on the Crown of Thorns Starfish which was going through one of its sporadic population booms. Such plagues come and go with the natural cycles of growth and decay. But the reef survived.

Then experts got scared in case someone drilled for oil on the Reef – so we had a Royal Commission and banned all that. However marine life seems to flourish around all artificial reefs such as jetties, shipwrecks and drilling platforms. Rigs have to be regularly cleaned of marine growth. 

Natural hydrocarbons have been part of the wild environment for longer than corals, which may explain why corals are remarkably tolerant of hydrocarbons. Despite natural oil and gas seeps, man-made spills, and hundreds of offshore drilling rigs, corals still thrive. 

After the worst oil spill ever during the First Gulf War there was no clean-up attempt apart from oil skimming because the 700 oil-well fires had priority. Fresh crude oil floats and is a danger to sea birds, but it soon reacts with air and salt water to become solid tar balls which sink to the sea floor. An inspection of the sea bed later to catalogue “the disaster” found teeming wildlife, with sea-grass, snails and fish thriving after the fertilising effect of the oxidising oil.

Corals are even thriving at the exact spot in the Montebello Islands where two atomic devices were tested by the British in 1952.

Another scare concerned coastal development and agricultural run-off. Again destruction of the Great Barrier Reef was forecast. Academics were summoned and a huge national park was established for their playground. Run-off still occurs, rivers still flood, but the reef is still there.

Lately global warming scares such as coral bleaching and ocean acidity have mesmerised the media. These are supposedly caused by wicked humans burning hydrocarbons and using energy by doing things. So we introduced a carbon tax, despite the fact that no unusual warming or acidity can be measured. And the reef is still there.

Now we are told that port dredging near Bowen is going to destroy the Reef. The Great Barrier Reef is 2,400 km long – stirring some mud at one small spot 40 km from the reef is unlikely to be noticed by the coral. Moreover, the stuff being dredged is comprised of natural material eroded from the land and put there over millennia by coastal rivers. Compared with the silt load discharged by rivers like the mighty Burdekin in a normal wet season, or stirred up by cyclonic surges, dredging is a non-event. The Reef has been coping with sediments like that for thousands of years.

All plants and animals need minerals for optimum health. Marine life gets its minerals from erosion of rocks on the land. Coastal rivers (and dredging of river silt) stir up the minerals which supply the off-shore environment. Like all nutrients, some is necessary, too much brings harm. 

Corals are among the greatest survivors on Earth and have been here for about 500 million years. Many of the types of corals found on reefs today were present in similar forms on reefs 50 million years ago.

Since corals first appeared there have been five mass extinctions when over 50% of all life forms on land and in the seas died. These episodes usually included massive volcanic events that filled air and sea with debris, lava, heat and acid fumes. And still corals survived.

Then there were asteroid impacts that created huge craters that dwarf man’s puny ports. Debris, rock, mud and slush were flung in all directions – far more and further than man’s dredging will ever do. Corals even survived this.

Corals also survived several deadly ice ages when sea levels fell so low that many coral reefs left their skeletons stranded as limestone hills on dry land. But always some colonisers followed the retreating seas and survived.

Then came the hot climate eras when the great ice sheets melted and sea levels rose dramatically. Some coral reefs drowned, but others just built on top of the old drowned corals forming the beautiful coral atolls we see today. Corals flourish in gently rising seas such as we have today – it gives them room to refresh and grow vertically.

And if the water gets too warm, coral larvae just drift into cooler waters closer to the poles. The Great Barrier Reef would move slowly south.

Corals have outlasted the dinosaurs, the mammoths and the sabre-toothed tiger. Captain Cook’s ship was almost disembowelled by the sturdy corals of the Great Barrier Reef in 1770. If Cook came back today, he would be unable to detect any changes in the Reef.

We should of course minimise soil erosion, human pollution of offshore waters and direct damage or interference with the Reef. However, green extremists would like to sacrifice all of Queensland’s coastal industry on the coral altar - exploration, mining, farming, land development, tourism, forestry, fishing, and shipping. They need reminding it is only rich societies who can afford to care for their environment.

No matter what the future holds, corals are more likely than humans to survive the next major extinction.

In the event of yet another Ice Age we must hope that reef alarmists have not denied us the things we will need to survive - food, energy, chemicals, shelter, concrete and steel generated by carbon fuels.

-----------------------------------------