Skip to main content

Stitch across time-a small Eureka moment.

A stitch, a rhythm, a picking over and pulling together. 

History takes hold of a thread, and with a deft twist it can expose an underbelly, repackage a perspective or reveal a new truth.

Tomorrow puts the yarn in my hand (the hand of the present) and offers the chance to remake some fabric of a story. I will be restitching the Eureka Flag, to its original proportions and using the same techniques, though not the same skills, as the original seamstresses. 



The Flag of the Southern Cross.
Eureka Flag, Museum of Australian Democracy at Eureka, Ballarat. Image Anna Sublet


The Eureka Flag carries with it the sound of a call for democracy, a voice for those 'diggers' who were brutalised by colonial officialdom. It speaks of slaughter in a canvas camp, where the flag flew above the screams of an early morning injustice. Unfurled, fluttering, standing to attention above the hill.

What can our present stitching together tell us of this nation, this citizenry? Are we a proud nation, these days? Our sporting triumphs may meld some sort of pride in Commonwealth and Olympic medals, but when we look at our country, what do many of us see about our Australia Fair?

This flag of the Southern Cross staked a claim in history, in ownership of a story. Though the diggers' licences may have ostensibly given them the right to dig some dirt, the flag and the oath sworn beneath it staked a claim for a certain form of citizenship until then denied the men who worked their lots and the women who worked with them.

"We swear by the Southern Cross to stand truly by one another and fight to defend our rights and liberties." 



The Flag of the Southern Cross.
Detail, Eureka Flag.




What rights and liberties now need defending? The rights of the less advantaged in society to fairness and compassion, human rights of asylum seekers, a sense of equity in education, the 'common good' as opposed to the demands of interest groups and lobbyists and ideologues? 

We wave the flag of family history across oceans and generations. Emigrants that never returned to homelands as planned. They planted their feet and grew old here. This flag of the Southern Cross has a beauty that goes beyond our borders. 

Tomorrow I will stitch across time. I will wonder about the land that Australia has become, and the lives of those who stood under the Flag of the Southern Cross, nearly 160 years ago in Ballarat.

© Anna Sublet 2014


The remaking of the Eureka Flag is taking place at the Museum of Australian Democracy at Eureka, M.A.D.E Ballarat.


Further sessions are planned in August. See M.A.D.E. for details.

To read about the remaking of the flag by descendants, see also this piece on ABC Ballarat website.


Update:


A variation on this piece was published by The Ballarat Courier, p 17, 5th December, 2014


To see another version of my comment piece, see Eureka's Children newsletter, April 2015

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Widening Crack

The little flame in our forty-year-old wall furnace, the one that was supposed to hold tight, hang on and persist, was being extinguished, again and again. The pilot light had become unanchored, blown away and shut down. We were in lockdown, in a Melbourne winter.  We had been bunkered down in our homes on and off over the last two years. We had sat tight as we amassed days upon days of lockdown. At one stage, the summer came. We had mask-free beaches, we had open cinemas and bars.  But then, another Covid gust gutted us in 2021 and shut us back inside. Here we were, like a little pilot flame, buffeted and blown away but still holding out for better days. I would walk past the heater to find that the fan was blowing cold air into the small home. Each time we re-lit the pilot light, it didn’t last long before it was gone. Still, we kept holding onto hope as we sat through the days of rising case numbers and deaths. The gas technician (essential worker; exemption) was on his hands and kn

The Waiting

Morning walk.  I wake too late to do my nature writing workshop so I decide to get out into nature instead! Head off at about 7 am, sustained on half a cup of hot water with lemon, a banana and a snack KitKat. Make it to the backbeach in time to see the gold coming up from behind the sand dunes, flowering light from the lighthouse. Tiny black and white wren on the rocks, the Plover family just foraging. A heavy gull takes off when I approach. It flies past me, sits and waits, and flies back as it senses I’m no danger. I take photos and slow-mo videos. I can hardly make out the flying birds as they rise into the dark clouds.  I keep stopping to look at things. At one point I lie with my back in the sand on the edge of the dunes. All around the waves continue coming in and the birds call. What would I do without this?  At the lighthouse, Galahs wheel and screech, their pink bellies exposed as they fly above me. A couple fall behind, screeching ‘wait for me, wait for me!’ Further around t

Currawongs Spinning me Home

When the branches of Eucalyptus botryoides fall, as they often do, they root again and continue to grow. The tree is its own ecosystem. Currawongs, sleek black birds with their flash of white at the tail, build their nests, made of sticks and lined with soft material, high up in trees like this.  Some months ago, I stood in shock as arborists began to cut this tree on the next block down, over two days of vicious chain-sawing and woodchipping. I filmed the screaming tree, as it shuddered, shook and then gave way, limbs falling with the ‘thunk’ of a human body.  The tree danced a ballet for its dying and the currawongs lost one of their homes. Many love the currawong for its song, a mix of honey, with a note of uplift, a soaring whip almost, mellifluous on the updraft, ringing from up high. It sounds like an entreaty, a lament and an invitation. The onomatopoeic word, currawong , depicts the sound of their call.  Decades ago, for me these birds were synonymous with NSW, and it was a st