Skip to main content

"As I lay there half-reclining, with blood streaming down from my head and hands, a North Vietnamese soldier appeared literally a metre away over a slight rise. My first reacion was, ‘What a fantastic shot!’ "


 A white-bellied sea eagle, Queen Elizabeth Cape, Bruny Island. June 2021.

One Crowded Hour by Tim Bowden

Neil Davis was the kind of man that I suspect would be decidedly out of place in the modern world. A Tasmanian who found himself struck by wanderlust in the 1960s and set out to southeast Asia to record the seemingly endless turmoil and upheaval seen there.

Encompassing the Konfrontasi, the early ruptures of fighting in South Vietnam, the full-blown war in Vietnam, the overthrow of Suharto and descent into the Indonesian mass killings of 1965–66, the flow of neighbouring wars into Laos and Burma and, most vitally to Davis himself, the destruction of Cambodia, the madness of the Khmer Rouge genocide and subsequent invasion by Vietnam.

As close a friend to Neil Davis as anyone could be, Bowden has done an exceptional job compiling this autobiography. I did not expect to find so much joy in his formative years, which often feel like a makeweight in such books. Sorell and Hobart (particularly the eastern shore of that city) are richly imagined, demonstrating the apparent charm and grit of the subject in natural and gentle ways.

A bittersweet book – Bowden and Davis began work on it shortly before the latter’s death covering one of Thailand’s lesser-known failed military coups in 1985 – we are fortunate that enough time had been spent drawing together the varied thoughts, notes and interviews to do the subject justice.

Never a cynical man, Davis retained humanity and compassion for the victims of war and often risked his life to portray the true human tragedy of war. His thoughts on the sanctity of the importance of journalism and the critical importance of ‘objectivity’ are of note in the current environment.

A rewarding and insightful read.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mad as hell

So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...