I sometimes find that when people discuss the relationship many Australians have with watery environments (chlorinated, marine, estuarine and fresh), words and phrases such as ‘iconic’, ‘typical childhood’, ‘classic’ and ‘Australian dream’ can be used in a problematic way to idealise youth, whiteness and a certain type of masculinity in our culture. Think Max Dupain’s Sunbaker, the gorgeous black and white, head and shoulders portrait taken in 1937 on the southern NSW coast. Beautifully shot, it often claims the ‘iconic, quintessentially Australian’ title even though the young man in the photo was not Australian but British. With a few subtle words and wistful reminiscing, it can seem that all Australians were young, white and male and spent their entire childhoods blissful and carefree at the pool/ beach/ river, on their way to becoming either larrikins or future members of the Dolphins Australia Olympic Swim Team.
In recent years, there has been a shift in documenting Australian history with regards to water spaces. Instead of trying to capture an all-encompassing narrative expressed by a select few voices, social histories are emerging to record stories of often disparate individuals and groups, encouraging a broader perspective on our relationship with this element and allowing the reader or viewer to observe connections (or create their own). ‘The Pool’, The Australian exhibit at the 2016 Venice Architecture Biennale, incorporated oral histories of various identities and their connection with swimming pools to convey all sorts of pool experiences, including migrant, indigenous and queer voices. In 2019, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s two-part documentary, also called ‘The Pool’, shared a variety of stories from across the country to piece together the different ways Australians have interacted with water in the past and how they do this today. From contested spaces to today’s more accessible spaces, a wider history of pools is gaining popularity.
Therese Spruhan’s 2019 publication, The Memory Pool, continues in this direction. To quote the author, she is “interested in telling Australian history though people’s stories” (The Pod: Ocean Swimming podcast, episode 57). With her anthology of watery tales, she has achieved exactly this. Divided into seven neat sections to cover pools in the backyard, on the bay, at the beach, at your municipal recreation centre, in the suburbs, in competitions and in the country, the book presents 28 different stories of 28 individuals as they reflect upon a special childhood pool. Through this approach, she allows the stories to speak for themselves; each reflection is one more contribution to a deeper, more complex understanding of our relationship with water.
You may recognise some of the contributors: Laurie Lawrence, the legendary Olympic swimming coach, Merrick Watts of the comedy duo Merrick and Rosso, author Trent Dalton, actor Bryan Brown, gold medallists Priya Cooper and Shane Gould, actor Leah Purcell and former politician David Bartlett. The anthology also includes reflections from emerging identities such as Yusra Metwally, opinion writer and founder of Swim Sisters and artist Lizzie Buckmaster Dove, as well as tales from ‘ordinary’ Australians who recount memories of childhoods spent in, on and beside public pools, water holes, river baths and ocean pools. Pools are a great leveller and through this collection, all the stories are on the same level.
Based on recorded interviews, then re-written in the first person, Therese Spruhan has crafted each chapter to evoke the individual voice of each contributor. The older participants (the eldest was in his nineties at the time of writing), for example, have a different vocabulary for their world, compared to that of those growing up in the 80s, 90s and 2000s. Each chapter is brief but spoken in the language of contributor’s time, era and way of reflecting upon the world. It’s like being at a barbecue with a cross section of ages and backgrounds. Everyone is recounting their own experiences, in their own fashion. However, unlike at many barbecues and social gatherings, there is no shouting here; no voice is drowned out by the loudest of the group. It is a pleasure to reimagine their childhoods, understanding what their pool meant to them then, how this meaning sometimes shifted as they grew older and the meaning that the space holds for them now.
The diversity of the tales, and the individuality of each voice, make this book such a good read. You can step inside the shoes of so many different Australians: a young girl with cerebral palsy discovering how the pool gives a freedom unavailable on land; a teenage boy in Brisbane for whom the local pool was a sanctuary, a safe space away from an often insecure home life; a Muslim girl revelling in intergenerational, community fun during women-only Sunday sessions at her local pool; or a Goa-Gunggari-Wakka Wakka Murri woman for whom, despite the unrelenting racism in her town, “the pool was the only place …that it seemed OK for everyone to be just doing their stuff”.
It was really the tales from the less known that I enjoyed the most. Living in Western Australia, I was delighted to discover the intriguing histories of places such as Mettam’s pool at Trigg, north of Perth, Fonty’s Pool in Manjimup in the state’s south west and also that of the now closed Nedlands Baths on the Swan River. It was run by two staunch Danish sisters from 1953 to 1975 and their serious approach to teaching swimming ensured that the youth in the vicinity could simultaneously swim whilst not having fun. As a huge lover of shared swimming facilities and the benefits they can bring to all ages and abilities, I loved the chapters about community action to preserve or establish public pools.
Each chapter has a unique voice, but all are united by the sense of community that evolves in enclosed, watery spaces. Whether the edges of these spaces are sharply defined by concrete, tiles, property boundaries and right angles or naturally defined by the geography of rock pools, shorelines, riverbanks, silt and trees, all the reflections bring a sense of being enveloped by water, protected to a degree and a part of something shared. Unlike the wide, limitless ocean, these pools are a sheltered theatre for competition, adolescent yearnings and fumblings, shifting attitudes towards one’s own body, exploring limits with authority, tackling fears (both personal and physical) and better understanding one’s place in the world.
At 253 pages, this is a great gift for lovers of water and social history. It is best read beside the water, either chronologically or dipping in and out of the chapters in whichever order one chooses.