OBJECTS OF THE ASSOCIATION The objects of the Association shall be: i. To foster the care, preservation and proper use of archives and records, both public and private, and their effective administration. ii. To arouse public awareness of the importance of records and archives and in all matters affecting their preservation and use, and to co- operate or affiliate with any other bodies in New Zealand or elsewhere with like objects. iii. To promote the training of archivists, records keepers, curators, librarians and others by the dissemination of specialised knowledge and by encouraging the provision of adequate training in the administration and conservation of archives and records. iv. To encourage research into problems connected with the use, administration and conservation of archives and records and to promote the publication of the results of this research. v. To promote the standing of archives institutions. vi. To advise and support the establishment of archives services throughout New Zealand. vii. To publish a journal at least once a year and other publications in furtherance of these objects.

MEMBERSHIP Membership of the Association is open to any individual or institution interested in fostering the objects of the Association. Subscription rates are: Within New Zealand $45 (individuals) $75 (institutions) Two individuals living at the same joint address can take a joint membership $55; this entitles both to full voting rights at meetings, but only one copy of Archifacts. Overseas NZ$75 (individuals) NZ$95 (institutions) Applications to join the Association, membership renewals and correspondence on related matters should be addressed to: The Membership Secretary ARANZ PO Box 11-553 Manners Street Wellington New Zealand Application forms are available on the ARANZ home page: www.aranz.org.nz ARCHIFACTS

Published by the Archives and Records Association of New Zealand

October ARCHIFACTS

Editor: Kevin Molloy

Editorial Committee: Philippa Tucker John Roberts

Reviews Editor: Stuart Strachan

Archifacts is published twice-yearly, in April and October.

Articles and correspondence should be addressed to the Editor at: PO Box 11-553 Wellington

Or submitted electronically to the Archifacts Editor, via the Archives and Records Association of New Zealand (ARANZ) home page: www.aranz.org.nz.

Intending contributors can obtain style guidelines at the above site.

Printed by McKenzie Thornton Cooper Ltd, Wellington.

© Copyright ARANZ 2005

ISSN 0303-7940

ii Contents

Editorial iV

Articles David Colquhoun "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond": Early Collecting and the National Historical Collection 1

Gillian Oliver The Role of an Electronic Discussion List in Community Formation: A Case Study of NZRecords 19

Shaun McGuire The Finnsburgh Fragment and Provenance: A Recordkeeping Discussion 27

Classic Archifacts Stuart Strachan The Nash Estate 37

Gnashing of Teeth 41

Book Reviews Helen Laurenson Going Up, Going Down: the Rise and Fall of the Department Store (Susan Butterworth) 49 Deborah Love in Time of War: Letter Writing Montgomerie in the Second World War (Amy Coleman) 52 Len and Shelley Anthony Wilding. A Sporting Life Richardson Edmund Bohan The House of Reed 1907-1983- Great Days in New Zealand Publishing (Stuart Strachan) 54 Roberto Rabel New Zealand and the Vietnam War: Politics and Diplomacy (David Colquhoun) 58 Editorial

A healthy journal relies on the continued input from members of the association, and it is a timely reminder to the membership that this is your journal and requires your support. After witnessing the success of the combined Archives and Records Association of New Zealand and Australian Society of Archivists conference in October, it is obvious that we have an able and articulate membership that is capable of showcasing its knowledge and expertise when called upon. The success of the Archives and Communities conference was an undoubted high-point on the archive and recordkeeping calendar for 2005 and all credit is due to the organising committee for making it the memorable and enlightening experience it was. This ability to pass on professional knowledge and experience to the wider archive and recordkeeping community in New Zealand is crucial if that community is to continue to grow. Equally, it is a sign of the profession's knowledge and maturity that it is able to tackle archive and recordkeeping issues, both nationally and internationally, on the conference floor, through the listserv and in print. Our organisation needs to be continually supplementing its body of knowledge, and safeguarding its "institutional memory," and this can only be achieved by the membership putting pen to paper, "exercising their digits," and articulating, for the membership, their ideas, challenges, research projects, and business goals. Archifacts is an open forum: it requires ideas, your ideas, to enable it to continue to present to its readership information that is professionally sound, useful, that makes us think, and that documents how far we have come. As you nibble on your Christmas and New Year fare, or down another glass over the coming weeks, perhaps ponder on the possibilities of that article you once started and hoped to see in print, that issue you wanted to debate, that story to tell, and make a resolution, "this year," to do it. The current number opens with a timely and long-awaited study by David Coluqhoun on the development of the National Historical Collection in New Zealand. Covering the genesis of our national collections and revealing many forgotten moments, the paper explores the vicissitudes of early collecting, the evolution of this country's cultural perceptions and values, and the persistence, by many individuals, that led to the building of a national collection of documents. Many of us now live and operate within a work environment where the listserv, as a professional tool, is ubiquitous. Gillian Oliver, founder

iv of NZRecords, presents an intriguing insight into the development of this listserv, and its role as a discussion forum in forming, and informing, a community of practice in the archive and recordkeeping world in New Zealand. When is a record not a record? Perhaps never. Shaun McGuire, in a thoughtful rumination using the Finnsburgh Fragment as example, deconstructs our perceptions, both personal and professional, on content, context and provenance, with some surprising results. We end this issue with two extended pieces from our "Classic Archifacts" files which raise issues that are still relevant to the archive and recordkeeping community. Dating from February and September 1977 both editorial commentaries tackle the then thorny issue of the Nash estate papers, an historian on the loose in the stacks, and the intervention of a government agency in the business of the then National Archives. The editorial board wishes all our members the best over the Christmas and New Year, and, as always, welcomes feedback and letters. Kevin Molloy

ν Archifacts

vi "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond": Early Collecting and the National Historical Collection

David Colquhoun Alexander Turnbull Library

The story of the National Historical Collection is a little known episode in New Zealand's archives history. It was started just before the First World War, and was eventually made redundant with the opening of the Alexander Turnbull Library in 1920 and the appointment of a Controller of Dominion Archives in 1926. Its main purpose was to build a collection of the private papers relating to early settlers, but its founders were also keen to improve the management of the Government's own archives. This article tells the story of the Collection.1 It begins with a brief look at early private and public collecting, before giving a more detailed account of the history of the Collection itself, and finishes with some concluding comments about the significance of the Collection in the wider history of New Zealand archives. While previous writers have looked at the history of the National Collection in the context of the history of Government archives,2 this paper is more concerned with the Collection's significance in the less researched story of New Zealand collecting archives. In the early years of colonisation there was no institutional interest in archives, nor was it a concern of libraries and museums that were established in the new towns. New Zealand was a raw new colony, a place to start a new life. History to most new colonists meant the history of home, back there. Of course numerous individuals, families and organisations did preserve records of their own activities. The many settler and Maori letters, journals, whakápapa books, photographs and other records that have eventually found their way into our collecting archives today is evidence of that. A registrar of records was appointed by the new Government in 1840,3 and the Colonial Secretary's Department did take some responsibility for some

1 Archifacts records of defunct agencies through the nineteenth century. However, there was little early settler concern for the documentary evidence of New Zealand history. But attention to such collecting did slowly develop. There were two strands; one was the emerging interest in settler history, the other an interest in Maori ethnography. The same people, from the small circle of New Zealand intellectuals, were often involved in both activities, but ethnographic collecting was seen as scientific, and carried out separately from activities around the preservation of settler history. Initially this attention to the collecting of Maori history and traditions arose out of the interest of missionaries, frontier officials and others to learn as much as possible about Maori so as better to convert, or otherwise influence them. The most notable example is the collection of Maori documents compiled by Sir George Grey, particularly those provided by the Arawa leader Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikaheke.4 It became a scholarly fascination for many, however, influenced increasingly by nineteenth century ideas of ethnology and ethnography. The Polynesian Society and, later, the Board of Maori Ethnological Research, built up manuscript collections as part of their activities. Such work was very much shaped by colonial assumptions of racial theory and the inevitable decline of native races, and it had a narrow focus on recording evidence of pre-European life. There was little interest, for example, in the records of the new Maori religious and political movements that emerged through the nineteenth century. However, the work of the ethnographers did sometimes complement Maori interests in preserving records of their past. There were Maori members active in the Polynesian Society, and Sir Apirana Ngata later actively promoted the collecting of kaumatua papers relating to whakapapa, history and traditions, as part of his campaign to promote a new Maori cultural renaissance.5 The interest of Pakeha in their New Zealand history, the main theme of this paper, started later. Whereas a book like A.S. Thomson's 1859 Story of New Zealand, the first published history of Pakeha New Zealand, was still dominated by discussions of Maori and how to civilize them, later works became more concerned with accounts of settler achievements and colonial progress. Settler memoirs and pioneer history became a popular genre.6 The work of the historian and Parliamentary representative Robert McNab was particularly important in raising some awareness of archives. From 1905 McNab published a string of historical narratives on early New Zealand history, extracted mostly from overseas libraries and archives. His interest was in pre-1840 history but his books made some realise that

2 "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond" histories written about the years after 1840 would depend on what sources were preserved and available in New Zealand. Lindsay Buick, another younger historian who became a prominent supporter of the National Historical Collection, later summed up the new interest in preserving settler history when he wrote: we are dealing with a situation that is rapidly receding from us, for the pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond and when they are gone there will be none who can furnish personal reminiscences, or explain many matters that will in years to come appear inexplicable.7 Other manifestations of this new attitude include the interest in Native Associations in the 1890s, later formation of early settler associations in the main centres, and a growing interest in preserving historic sites and buildings. Some began private collections of New Zealand books, and others manuscripts, the most important examples being the rich collections of Alexander Turnbull and Thomas Hocken, which would eventually form the basis of New Zealand's two leading research libraries. There was some sporadic lobbying for the Government to do something about its own records. Edward Tregear was an early advocate and in 1896 Seddon employed a clerk to do some listing and "sorting." Some time in the 1890s the Treaty of Waitangi was rescued from inadequate storage when Hocken discovered it was being eaten by rats. Hocken later also arranged for duplicate copies of New Zealand Company papers held in the Public Record Office in London to be sent to New Zealand. Around this time Augustus Hamilton, the new Director of the Dominion Museum attempted, unsuccessfully, to set up a New Zealand public records office in the Mt. Cook Barracks in Wellington.8 While generally without success this lobbying did help to generate interest that led to the setting up of the National Historical Collection. Just as important, however, were examples of enthusiastic collecting, in Dunedin and Christchurch in particular. In 1898 the Otago Early Settlers Association was formed. It soon opened a museum and sought photographs and documents for the collection, although they appear to have been acquired more as museum exhibits rather than as a research collection.9 A manuscripts collection was also established at the Canterbury Museum. In June 1909 the Board of that Museum passed a resolution to set up an Early Colonists' Department and to "form a MS collection - biographical, historical and otherwise - relating to New Zealand at large." The following month a public meeting was held to discuss how

3 Archifacts to build up such a museum and manuscripts collection. Over the next few years the Museum obtained papers of several early Canterbury leaders, most notably the papers of the settlement's founder, John Godley.10 Such collecting focused on the papers of the early political and social elites, and was less interested in records of those outside such circles. The National Historical Collection campaign had its immediate origins in this Canterbury initiative. The main advocate was George Russell, something of a forgotten figure in New Zealand archives history. Before the Reform Party victory of 1912 Russell was Member of Parliament for the wealthy constituency of Avon in Christchurch, and the opposition shadow Minister for Internal Affairs. He was also Chairman of the Canterbury Museum Board of Governors and had been the main advocate for the Museum's settler history collections. Around this time he had also visited the just-opened Mitchell Library in Sydney. He was impressed, particularly by the documents relating to New Zealand history held there, and was inspired to start something similar in New Zealand." Russell was a member of the Library Committee of the General Assembly Library, and in 1911 he put through a resolution for the establishment within the Library of a "manuscripts and historical section with the view of obtaining all possible original documents (or copies) dealing with the early history of the colony," with appropriate funding. It recommended that a special room be built for storage in the Library, that the relatives of all those who had been Premier or Minister be approached and asked to contribute documents, and that the wider public also be encouraged to donate.12 The following month this resolution was debated in Parliament. Up till then it was the longest debate on any matter related to the subject of archives, and was not surpassed in length until the debates about the Archives Bill of 1957. It provides an insight into the new interest in New Zealand settler history and archives. Russell did most of the talking. In a detailed and enthusiastic speech he spoke of the Mitchell as a possible model, acknowledged the important work of collectors like Grey, Turnbull, Hocken and McNab, and set out a kind of collecting policy. The collection as he saw it would be made up of two main classes, political and ecclesiastical records, and he gave a roll call of many of the names of the leading establishment politicians and churchmen from the past whose records should be sought.'* He went on to suggest that a Government approach be made to Britain to arrange for the transfer to New Zealand of records relating to New Zealand's history. Examples he gave were

4 "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond"

records of the voyages of Captain Cook, of the Horse Guards relating to the New Zealand wars, and of overseas missionary societies. Such thinking would have been shaped by the recent success of Hocken in arranging the arrival of the duplicate New Zealand Company records referred to above. It was an unrealistic expectation but did indicate some thought about what was held overseas relating to New Zealand's history. There were further suggestions. He noted that "there was in the possession of the native tribes documents relating to the wars from the Maori side, which would be of extreme interest if the holders could be prevailed upon to hand them over as part of a national collection." His main interest though, was in the papers of prominent early settlers and European visitors. He suggested approaches be made to local church organisations, local authorities, and other individuals, who might "donate records, photographs, pictures, and documents in their possession." As an example of individuals whose papers might be sought he referred to the family of businessman and land speculator William Rhodes, one of wealthiest men in late nineteenth- century New Zealand. Other Reform Party speakers supported him. One suggested that £10,000 was needed, seemingly implying that a Reform Government would indeed find such a sum. Another spoke of the need for a new building to house the collection, because the General Assembly Library did not have the reputation to encourage private donations, and they criticised the Liberal Government for not doing enough. The Liberal Party Minister of Internal Affairs was on the defensive. He could do little but support Russell's motion, but the impression was left that the Liberals were not as committed to the cause of pioneer history as their Reform opponents. There was certainly a strong political aspect to this debate. An indecisive election had just been fought, and the Reform Party was close to ending twenty-one years of Liberal rule. The social expeiiments of the Liberal Party were losing popularity. There was unease in the middle classes about the new, socialist militancy in the labour movement, many of whose members were new immigrants. Preserving settler history, particularly that of the rural and urban elite, while not in any way a central election issue, was a comforting conservative value that the Reform Party recognised as having some electorate appeal. The debate was given coverage in conservative newspapers around New Zealand, and all supported the idea of such a collection.14

5 Archifacts

When the Reform Party finally came to power the following year Russell became the new Minister of Internal Affairs. He remained committed to the idea of a national collection and set out his plans in a memorandum to Prime Minister William Massey. While Massey was a man not renowned for cultural interests, he no doubt appreciated anything that strengthened the image of the Reform Party as the advocate of pioneer farmer values. In this memorandum Russell stated that the collection was "most important from both a national and a historical point of view" and should be "as complete a record as possible of early historical records, photographs, pictures etc." In addition to the Library Committee's recommendations of the previous year he now added the idea of a complete set of paintings of Governors, and asked Massey to approach the British authorities and ask them to forward all records relating to New Zealand they were no longer using. By now Russell was assuming the collection would be based within the Museum, presumably because of the earlier criticism of the General Assembly Library.15 He consulted further with Hamilton, the Museum Director and the official authority on archives matters. Hamilton took the opportunity to lobby again, unsuccessfully, for a much- needed new Museum building as the best way to ensure appropriate storage. He also suggested that a group of two or three people "act as honorary directors or advisors or as a board of directors, with the High Commissioner when necessary, for the purpose of negotiating for important political or historical documents."16 Russell had at least one meeting with possible members of such a committee.17 Hamilton was almost certainly the author of another later memorandum that raised the need to make decisions about the care of Government archives, which had not been talked about by Russell and his colleagues, and urged care in collecting any printed material, as this might duplicate what the General Assembly Library already held.18 In July the Legislative Council also passed a resolution, shaped by Russell, that a committee be appointed: For the collection of manuscripts, literature, articles, maps and other matter, to throw light on and serve to perpetuate the records of the early history of New Zealand... to be known as the 'Dominion Historical Committee,' and to have power to call for persons, papers and records, and to report from time to time.19 Administrative arrangements for the Collection were then begun. Firstly, an annual allocation of £.500 was approved, as part of the Museum vote.20 It was a long way short of the £10,000 boldly being

6 "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond" talked about during election year, but still a respectable start. Secondly, the 1913 Board of Science and Art Act provided an administrative structure for the Collection. The new Act was concerned with much more than archives-keeping of course. It was a major extension of the state's role in the promotion of science and the arts. It did provide for a possible home for the Collection, with a proposed Dominion, Scientific, Art and Historical Library.21 However, there was no progress until late 1915. There were two reasons for this delay; firstly the death of Augustus Hamilton in late 1913, while on a visit to the Bay of Islands to inspect early Church records.22 Hamilton had been a pragmatic, informed and consistent advocate for archives throughout his career, and there was a consequent hold-up before the appointment of his permanent successor, Allen Thomson. The second reason was the outbreak of the First World War. The war decreased the likelihood of any major funding for cultural initiatives, and deflected the patriotic enthusiasm that had helped foster the idea of the Collection in the first place. Nevertheless some things did happen. Thomson's background was in natural sciences, but he soon demonstrated an interest in history collections, introducing, for example, a very popular Museum display of yachting and maritime art.23 In late 1914 he organised the purchase of a 1772 James Cook letter from Maggs in London. After some negotiation it was acquired for £92, paid for out of the largely unspent annual allocation for the National Historical Collection. It was framed and hung in the General Assembly Library.24 Thomson's 1915 annual report for the Museum included a long paper concerning the functions of the Museum and also noted that "manuscripts, logbooks, old newspapers, photographs, prints and pictures" were part of the Museum's collecting interest and that the only thing to be decided was whether such a collection should include records relating to Pacific and Antarctic exploration.25 Russell continued to make statements of support for the National Historical Collection and in response received two long proposals from two people keen to be involved, the journalist and historian Lindsay Buick and the General Assembly Librarian Charles Wilson. Wilson argued, predictably, that the General Assembly Library should become a National Library, with a new building including a reading room "similar to the main reading room of the British Museum," and incorporating a separate Department of Archives.26 Wilson's paper was in response to an earlier one by Buick that gave greater emphasis to an archives department within a new National Library, separate from both the General Assembly Library and the

7 Archifacts

Museum. To Buick the main purpose of such a new Library and Archives would be the writing of history, in conjunction with the Government Printing Office: Under this system the Hon. Mr McNab might be assisted in the compilation of the Historical Records of the Dominion. Provincial histories might be taken up. The story of the New Zealand Company might be told. Biographies of Governors Hobson and Fitzroy written, and many other subjects treated which I fear will wait long if left to private enterprise. The Keeper in charge of the Department of Archives, wrote Buick, would "not be a mere recording official, but a person with enthusiasm for the collection of historical facts and documents, and literary ability sufficient to put them into an interesting narrative."27 It was a position, of archivist as historian, that Buick had in mind for himself. The new Board of Science and Art finally had its first meeting in January 1916. Among the other business Thomson presented a long report about the proposed historical collection, which included useful definitions of Government archives, municipal and ecclesiastical archives (which he thought might best stay in the care of the bodies that created them), and what he called "historical material in private hands," the main focus of the proposed Collection, which he defined quite widely. He made it clear that it was not to include books but would include: Letters, deeds, diaries, programmes of meetings and entertainments, bank and account books, old household accounts, manuscripts, memoranda, minutes and proceedings of societies of all kinds, tradesmen's advertisements, photographs, pictures and engravings of people and places, newspapers, pamphlets, posters, plans, maps, in short any material that will help the historian of the future to obtain a clearer picture of the course of public events and the manner of private life of the times he is studying. It was a pragmatic report. He summarised the ideas of Buick and Wilson, but concluded that the Collection had to be managed by the Museum until Parliament decided otherwise. He also emphasised the importance of finding safe storage, the setting up of a Committee, and the launch of a public appeal for donations to the Collection. Subsequent steps were to include the appointment of qualified staff "to classify the collections, prepare catalogues or calendars, and superintend the examination of the collections by students"; arranging for the copying of material at the Public Record Office; and the purchase of historical material wherever possible. Until the

8 "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond" appointment of staff, however, Thomson wrote that Museum staff would be only able to "receive, acknowledge and pack them up for storage with a provisional register."28 Over the next few months a committee to oversee the National Historical Collection was finalised. Turnbull was asked but declined saying that he thought it would be inappropriate "seeing I would be in active competition with the Government in the way of acquiring historical documents for my own library." However, he offered to give advice if needed.29 The final committee comprised Thomson, Board of Science and Art member C.A. Ewen, a prominent businessman and book collector, Wilson, McNab, and Buick. The Committee was an enthusiastic one, at least to begin with. They swapped articles and information about overseas archives. Buick, for example, suggested they all read a recent article on the Canadian archives, which by that time was developing the combination of public recordkeeping and private archives collecting that sets it apart from the archives institutions of other British settler societies.30 An area in the General Assembly Library strong-room was set aside for temporary storage of the Collection.31 Once again the local press provided some support. The day after the first Committee meeting the Evening Post commented, in an article titled "Old New Zealand," that the nation was lagging behind Britain and other Dominions in developing public historical collections. The next day the editorial stated that, despite the pressures of war, New Zealanders "have the assurance that zealous, competent men are working vigorously and systematically" to build a collection that was "needed for the complete history of New Zealand, from the pioneering, industrial, commercial and political viewpoints."32 The Committee was also keen to improve the storage and care of Government archives. They inspected the Mt. Cook Barracks where the New Zealand Company records, records of the Hawkes Bay Provincial Government and other early Colonial Secretary Department records were held, and recommended further shelving be erected. But this came to little as the Defence Department took over Mt. Cook Barracks the following year and all the archives there were shifted to the basement of the new Central Police Station, yet another of the many adhoc storage arrangements for Government archives through the twentieth century.33 Rather more ambitiously the Committee recommended there be an annual inspection of the records of each Department. The Undersecretary for the Department of Internal Affairs pointed out separately to Russell that no such inspections would be possible

9 Archifacts until there was a proper archives building with its own staff.*4 But although Government archives remained outside the control of the National Historical Collection the lobbying of the Committee did have some effect on increasing the Department's interest in archives. The surviving archives of the Marlborough, Nelson, Otago and Southland Provincial Governments were brought to Wellington for storage, in the Police Station basement, and the Department hired an officer to do some re-shelving and listing work.35 However, it was always the collecting of private papers relating to settler history that was the main purpose of the Collection. In June 1916 a Mrs Turton was appointed and her first task was to work with Thomson on the appeal for donations. She began compiling lists and biographical information on early settlers and eventually had over fifteen-hundred names.36 Thomson then drafted a circular promoting the Collection that was sent out to 1,157 people in early 1917, accompanied in some cases by a facsimile of the Cook letter purchased in 1914 "to show that a nucleus already exists, and to ensure the folder will not be tossed like other circulars into a wastepaper basket."37 Others were sent out as more names were found, and some were sent to the High Commissioner in London for forwarding to those he thought might be interested.38 A four-page bulletin setting out the aims of the Collection was also drafted but evidently not printed. The appeal did not achieve the results hoped for, despite extensive follow-up work.39 There were, however, some notable small accessions. The family of James Busby donated some of his papers including a letterbook from the 1830s, two Hone Heke letters, and two unpublished manuscripts by Busby on New Zealand history. Other donations included several early Maori school registers, a business ledger of an early Nelson settler, a Resident Magistrate's diary, a Donald McLean letterbook, and some Canterbury Association letterbooks.40 Many of those approached replied they had nothing, or nothing of sufficient significance. Others needed more encouragement than a circular and a follow-up letter. One contact in Blenheim told Turton of several visits he had made to local people who owned interesting papers but were loath to give them up. He concluded "with many of these people it seems a more delicate, and yet forceful, touch than I can impart is wanted to bring them to the point."41 Many collecting archivists have faced the same challenge. There were other collecting initiatives. Turton visited Napier to photograph and interview Mrs CP. Davies, daughter of the missionary Henry Williams, and the transcript was added to the Collection.42

10 "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond"

The High Commissioner was given authority to make purchases. He obtained a couple of minor artworks and also arranged the donation of some Turton family papers and artefacts.''3 After McNab's death in 1917 his papers were handed over by the Public Trust Office.4*' A supporter with the troops overseas sent in some soldiers' newspapers and other papers, but a 1919 appeal for war diaries had little success.45 Another, rather bizarre, initiative was an approach to the local church minister at Opotiki asking for information and photographs relating to the killing of the missionary Carl Volkner in 1865. Photographs of the tree where he was hung and the pulpit where his severed head was displayed were duly supplied for the Collection.46 There were other initiatives too, in addition to the main task of collecting. Efforts were made to compile a national register of early settlers. This idea was suggested to the Committee by Stephenson Percy Smith and work was begun in 1918. After some discussion I860 was decided on as the cut-off date for being eligible, and in 1919 five thousand application forms were printed.47 But the project faded away and no partial or completed register has been located. Another idea that did not reach fruition was for a journal of history. This was envisaged as a sequel to McNab's Historical Records of New Zealand and the intention was that it would print unpublished documents, as well as short articles by historians.48 All this was rather less than the Collection's founders had first hoped for. In early 1919 Thomson reported that the public response to the appeal "had hardly been equal to the effort."49 He thought the main problem was a lack of resources and, in particular, the lack of a purpose-built building that would encourage donors. Certainly the relatively invisible physical presence of the Collection meant it was less likely to attract donor support than established and active local institutions could in Otago and Canterbury. Resources were also easily diverted to other historical purposes. In particular most of the National Historical Collection annual budget in its later years was taken up paying for James Cowan to research and write his classic history of the New Zealand wars. His contract said that he was also to seek out material to add to the Collection but, apart from some copies of pictorial material, nothing was ever handed over.50 However, the main reason for the stunted development of the National Historical Collection was the War. As the fighting in Europe dragged on and the death toll reached ever more horrifying levels there was little money available for anything other than the war effort. There was at least one complaint that such a Collection was an inappropriate use of public money in wartime, to which the Minister

11 Archifacts defensively replied that the work was being done by "a body of patriotic gentlemen who give their services free and who are assisted by staff of the Dominion Museum who receive no increased salary for this extra work."51 Commemorative sentiment in New Zealand became more concerned with remembering war heroes and the dead, rather than the achievements of early settlers. The Museum had to cope with a large assortment of unsolicited war trophies, artefacts and documents received from the Defence Department and a London military committee.52 A project for leading artists to paint Victoria Cross winners was begun.53 By 1920 the Board of Science and Art had established a separate committee to investigate setting up a separate war museum.54 The Defence Department meanwhile had created a separate, and ill-fated, War Records Historical Branch.55 With all these Great War projects ambition outran longer-term commitment. Further research into them would be a very interesting study, but for the purposes of this paper the main effect was that the National Historical Collection became a lesser priority to the Museum Director, the Board, and politicians. In 1918, however, the death of Alexander Turnbull and the bequest of his collection to the Government provided a new opportunity for furthering the aims of the Collection's founders. His house was purchased and in 1920 the Alexander Turnbull Library was opened to the public.56 Thomson, the Museum Director, was very keen to see the new Library take over the National Historical Collection and later in the year the private papers and documents held at the Museum were transferred to the new Library where they were eventually incorporated into the Library's holdings.57 The Turnbull Librarian, Johannes Andersen, had been a supporter of the National Historical Collection from its beginning,58 and in his new role he continued to actively seek out the papers of New Zealand notables, particularly relating to his own historical, scientific and ethnographic interests. The library world was now the home of Government-funded collecting of private archives, and it has remained so ever since. Initially the Turnbull was also seen by the Board and its Historical Committee as a solution for the problem of what to do with Government archives. Andersen was willing to include the custody of these archives within the Turnbull, provided he could obtain extra staff to look after them.59 However, the Department of Internal Affairs was less keen, mainly because of concerns about unrestricted research access.60 For a short period the Department employed James Cowan to look though the archives and decide what was suitable for

12 "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond" the Turnbull. Showing all the qualities of an historian and none of an archivist he sorted out four parcels of documents and these were transferred to the Library.61 Luckily, for the peace of mind of later archivists, the documents were eventually returned, and their original order reinstated. The appointment of Guy Scholefield as Controller of Dominion Archives in 1926 is the final act in this account of the National Historical Collection. Scholefield was a journalist and historian who had been hoping for a Government position connected with history since at least 1914, while studying and working in London.62 On his return to New Zealand in 1919 he had impressed the Department of Internal Affairs with a report on the Public Record Office, and in 1921 he was appointed to be the chair of the new Library and Archives Committee of the Board of Science and Art.63 It was a prestigious appointment, helped no doubt by his connections to the Reform Party as editor of the conservative Wairarapa Age. By 1925 his lobbying had persuaded the Department of Internal Affairs of the benefits of setting up a sub- department for the care of official records.64 In the end, however, a cheaper and more convenient solution was found when Scholefield was appointed as the new General Assembly Librarian, to Andersen's chagrin, with the additional position of Controller of Dominion Archives, with an additional salary of £200.65 Selected Government archives were now placed under Scholefield's care, in their new home, the attic of the General Assembly Library. Any chance of a combined "total archives" approach to the Government's management of collecting and recordkeeping had gone. The foundations for present-day institutional arrangements for the Government's archives responsibilities were now laid. What concluding comments can be drawn from account of the National Historical Collection? Firstly, it does show that there was more discussion and thinking about archives in the years before the Great War than many have realised. Bagnall's statement, for example, that the Alexander Turnbull Library was an "an unsought legacy. . . far from the normal preoccupations of New Zealand,"66 downplays the very real interest in building a national collection of documents that was evident in the years immediately before the war. It is likely that Turnbull left his collection to the Government because he was impressed by the leadership of Russell and by the work of the members of the Historical Committee of the Board of Science and Art. The 1911 Parliamentary debate on the need for a historical collection is a notable event in New Zealand's archives history that has been forgotten.

13 Archifacts

Secondly, while the National Historical Collection was an important step towards the setting up of a national archives for Government records, it is at least as important as an episode in the more neglected history of New Zealand collecting archives. It arose out of local collecting initiatives and the collecting of the papers of early notables was always a central purpose. The subsequent history of collecting archives is very little researched, with the exception of manuscript collecting at the Turnbull. Much could be done. When did collecting in regional institutions begin? What kinds of collections were built up? How have they been shaped by the institutions and professional groupings they have had to operate within? Finally, the collecting aims and activities of the National Historical Collection are a reminder about how much archives collecting has always been shaped by changing cultural perceptions and values. These early collectors, and their fellow ethnographic collectors, had different ideas about what was significant than those of a modern collecting archivist. While our predecessors have built up wonderfully rich collections they also ignored much that would be seen as significant today. Modern techniques of documentation strategies and appraisal documentation do bring greater objectivity and transparency. But collecting archives will always be shaped by cultural attitudes, because they collect so selectively, and because their main purpose is to build collections that will support contemporary research. It is this that makes archives history so important, for unless we understand how and why these collections have developed we will not fully understand their particular strengths and weaknesses.

1 This paper is partly based on a more detailed, more wide-ranging unpublished research paper: D. Colquhoun, "The State, Archives Keeping and History Making in New Zealand," 1996, MS-Papers-7670, Alexander Turnbull Library (ATL). 2 For example: I. Wards, "A New Beginning?," Archifacts, April 2001, 50-55. As a term the National Historical Collection only referred to the collection of private archives and other historical material that was acquired, and placed under the control of the Dominion Museum. But the Historical Committee that oversaw that Collection was also interested in the preservation of Government archives and sometimes also referred to these as part of the "Historical Collections." As this paper shows, they made recommendations about the care of Government archives, some of which were carried out by the Department of Internal Affairs. 3 New Zealand Advertiser, 19 June 1840, 1. 4 J. McRae, "Maori Literature: A Survey," in Oxford History of New Zealand Literature in English, ed. T. Sturm (Auckland: Oxford University Press, 1998), 8-9. 5 D. Colquhoun, op cit, 14-16, 35-36, 56-57.

14 "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond'

6 F. Hamilton, "Pioneering History: Negotiating Pakeha Collective Memory in the Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries," New Zealand Journal of History (April 2002): 66-81. 7 L.G. Buick to Minister, 1 November 1915, DM 6/5/7, Te Papa Archives (TP). 8 D. Colquhoun, "Our First Chief Archivist? Augustus Hamilton's very brief career as 'Director in Charge of Archives,'" New Zealand Archivist (Spring/September 2000): 1-3. 9 S.G. Brosnahan, To Fame Undying. The Otago Early Settlers Association and Us Museum 1898-1998 (Dunedin: The Association, 1998), chapters 1-3. 10 Early Colonists' Section minute book, Series 6/6 B2, Canterbury Museum. See also New Zealand Parliamentary Debates (.NZPD), vol. 156, 436. 11 NZPD, 436. 12 Resolution of Joint Library Committee, 28 September 1911, ΙΑ 1, 1912/2079, Archives New Zealand (ANZ). 13 This summary of the speeches of Russell and others in this and the next three paragraphs come from NZPD, op cit, 436-441. 14 Newspaper cuttings, ΙΑ 1, 1912/2069. ANZ. 15 Minister to Prime Minister, 4 April 1912, ibid. 16 Director to Minister, 30 May 1912, ibid. 17 A. Turnbull to Minister, 3 May 1916, 12/1/45, Te Papa Archives (TP). 18 Unsigned undated memorandum, 1912, ibid. 19 Legislative Council order paper, 10 July 1912, ibid. 20 AJHR, 1913, B-7, 68. 21 For a detailed survey of the Board and its work see M. Hoare, "The Board of Science and Art 1913-1930: A Precursor to the DSIR," in In Search of New Zealand's Scientific Heritage, eds. M. Hoarc and L.G. Bell (Wellington: Alexander Turnbull Library and Royal Society of New Zealand, 1984), 25-48. 22 R.K. Dell, "The First Hundred Years of the Dominion Museum," unpublished typescript, 113, MS-Papers-5156, ATL; J.A. Thomson, "Report on the Establishment of a National Collection of Historical Records," 21 January 1916, DM 6/5/7, TP. 23 Freyberg Collection file 1915-1917, DM 12/1/11, TP 24 Correspondence, December 1914-December 1915, ΙΑ 1, 135/18, ANZ. 25 AJHR, 1915, H-33, 13. 26 C. Wilson to Minister, 13 December 1915, DM 6/5/7, TP. 27 T.L. Buick to Minister, 1 November 1915, ibid. Buick was to continue to lobby for a position as an official historian. Eventually, in 1934, he was put on the Government payroll, replacing the late Elsdon Best. He had wanted to be called "Government Historiographer" but instead would appear on the public services lists, as Best had done, as "clerk." J.A. Young to T.L. Buick, 9 August 1934, ΙΑ 1, 1935/187/128, ANZ. 28 Thomson, op cit. 29 A. Turnbull to Minister, 3 May 1916, DM 12/1/45, TP. 30 T.L. Buick to Director, 2 May 1916, DM 12/1/45, TP. The article was in the 1915 Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 167-174. 31 Reports of the Historical Committee, 24 and 31 May 1916, DM 12/1/45, TP. 32 Newspaper cuttings, 17 and 18 May 1916, DM 6/5/7, TP. 33 Undersecretary to Commissioner of Police, 5 April 1917, ΙΑ 1, 4/3/3, ANZ; Undersecretary to Director, 23 June 1920, DM 16/2/19, TP. 34 Undersecretary to Minister, 6 June 1916, DM 12/1/45, TP. 35 Undersecretary of Lands and Survey to Undersecretary, 28 June 1916, 1A 1, 4/3/3, ANZ; Correspondence 1919-1920, DM 20/0/18, TP; Archives of the Provinces of

15 Archifacts

Nelson and Marlborough and the Nelson Trust Funds Board, Wellington 1958, 9-10; Archives of the Provinces of Otago and Southland, Wellington 1955, 6; A. Taylor to Undersecretary, 15 August 1915; Capt. Bilton to Chief Clerk, 27 May 1919, IA 1, 4/3/3, ANZ. 36 Director to Undersecretary, 20 April 1917, DM 12/1/50, TP. 37 Director to Minister, December 1916, DM 12/1/45; Report of the Historical Committee, 30 January 1918, DM 6/5/7, TP. 38 Minister to High Commissioner, August 1917, DM 12/1/43, TP. 39 There are dozens of correspondence files dealing with contacts arising from the appeal, NHC box file 1917, TP 40 Report on the Historical Collections, 23 June 1920, DM 6/5/7; New Zealand History accessions register, 1917-1920, TP. 41 R.W. Jenkins to Turton, 2 July 1917, R.W. Jenkins file, NHC 1917 box file, TP. 42 Director to Undersecretary, 24 October 1917, DM 12/1/50, TP. 43 Undersecretary to Director, 7 August 1919; High Commissioner to Minister, 19 November 1919, ibid. 44 List and note in McNab papers, MS-Papers-0047-073, ATL; Director to Chief Librarian, 25 August 1920, DM 12/1/43, TP. 45 E.W. Arnold file, DM 12/1/12, TP; Report of the Historical Committee, 11 March 1919, DM 6/5/7, TP. 46 T.H. Fisher file, NHC box file, TP. 47 Report of Historical Committee, 1919, DM 6/5/7, TP. 48 Papers 1917-1920, DM 20/1/17, TP. 49 Report of Historical Committee, 11 March 1919, DM 6/5/7, TP. 50 Expenditure sheets, ca. 1923, IA 1, 126/8/24; Commission, 9 March 1918, IA 1 4/2/13, ANZ; 51 J. Death file 1917, NHC box file, TP 52 Reports of the Historical Committee, 30 January 1918, 11 March 1919, DM 6/5/7, TP. 53 Dominion, 24 June 1920, cutting accompanying Board Minutes, 23 June 1920, ibid. 54 Report on the Historical Collections, 30 January 1920, ibid. 55 Report on the work of the New Zealand War Records Section, 16 September 1919, DM 12/1/24, TP. The archives collected remained unsorted and in 1930 the Defence Department starting destroying them, before parts were rescued by the new Controller of the Dominion Archives, WA Series list; Report of the Controller of Dominion Archives, 23 October 1930, IA 1, 135/4, ANZ 56 For the early history of the Turnbull see R. Barrowman, The Turnbull: A Library and its World (Auckland: University Press and Historical Branch, Internal Affairs, 1995), chapters 1 and 2; A.G. Bagnell, "A Troubled Childhood: 'The Nucleus of a National Collection,'" Turnbull Library Record (August 1970): 92-111. 57 Report of the Historical Collections, 23 June 1920, DM 6/5/7; Director to Librarian, 25 August 1920, and later correspondence, DM 12/1/45, TP. 58 J.C. Andersen to Minister, 1 February 1916, DM 20/0/19, TP. 59 Chief Librarian to Undersecretary, 28 Feburary 1922, IA 1, 135/2, ANZ. 60 Undersecretary to Secretary of Board of Science and Art, 23 June 1920, DM 16/2/19, TP. 61 Undersecretary to Secretary of Board of Science and Art, 7 July 1920, ibid; Undersecretary to Cowan, 7 July 1920, IA 1, 4/3/3, ANZ. 62 G.H. Scholefield to R. McNab, 11 June 1914, MS-Papers-0047-04, ATL.

16 "The pioneers are steadily passing to the great beyond"

63 G.H. Scholefield to Undersecretary, 22 September 1920, IA 1, 4/3/9, ANZ; Minister to Scholefield, 10 August 1921, MS-Papers-0212-42, ATL. 64 Undersecretary to Minister, 15 February 1926, IA 1, 135/2, ANZ. 65 G.H. Scholefield to Minister and related correspondence, April-June 1926, ibid. 66 Bagnall, op cit, 92.

17 Archifacts

18 The Role of an Electronic Discussion List in Community Formation: A Case Study of NZRecords

Gillian Oliver Open Polytechnic of New Zealand

Introduction The aim of this paper is to illuminate the role of an email discussion forum in forming a community of practice in recordkeeping in New Zealand. The first part of the paper considers the part played by communication in the formation of communities. This is followed by description of the development of NZRecords, an electronic discussion list, in the context of a rapidly changing and maturing recordkeeping environment.

Communication and Community Formation Communication, in whatever form or medium, is an essential part of the establishment and organisation of a community, and has been described as "the essence of organisation."1 The role of written communication in community formation has been considered by Orlikowski and Yates,2 based on an analysis of email messages. Their research findings make clear the ongoing nature of the organising process, and illustrate the recursiveness of action and structure in community formation.3 In other words, communication and community are continually changing in response to each other. "Community of Practice" is a term widely used, generally to refer to a loose or unofficial grouping of individuals engaged in the same field of endeavour. The concept was established by Lave and Wenger4

• This paper is based on a presentation made at the Archives and Records Association/ Australian Society of Archivists Joint Conference, Archives and Communities, Wellington, 6-8 October 2005.

19 Archifacts in 1991, and since then has been the subject of an extensive body of literature. The definition that appears particularly appropriate to this case study is from Davenport and Hall: the level of the social world at which a particular practice is common and coordinated, at which generic understandings are created and shared, and negotiation is conducted.5 The key phrases here refer to creating and sharing generic understandings, and conducting negotiation. Until the formation of NZRecords there was no communication channel that could be used by recordkeepers, either working or interested in the New Zealand environment, to conduct negotiation, or create understandings.

Background to the Formation of NZRecords In the late 1990s there were a number of professional associations active in the recordkeeping field in New Zealand. Archivists, and some records managers, were likely to be members of the Archives and Records Association of New Zealand (ARANZ) and/or the New Zealand Society of Archivists (NZSA). Records managers, and some archivists, were likely to be members of the North American Association of Records Managers and Administrators (ARMA). Two chapters of ARMA had been established in New Zealand, one in Auckland and one in Wellington. These two ARMA chapters operated independently of each other. Consequently, although professional development opportunities and networking support was available, to find out what was going on (across the professions) necessitated membership of multiple associations - something that was financially not viable for most people. Also significant was the concentration of expertise in the main centres; archivists and records managers in the smaller provincial towns and cities, or rural areas, had very limited opportunities to participate in discussion or receive the support that can be so crucial to isolated professionals. This communication need is particularly acute in the recordkeeping occupations where individuals are quite likely to be the only person working in that domain within their organisations, and possibly accounts for some of the documented popularity of listservers worldwide in this discipline* A further important factor to be considered was the scarcity of formal education opportunities in New Zealand for both archivists and records managers. The "Ham Report"7 of 1993 describes an environment in which fewer than twenty New Zealand archivists had taken an overseas archival postgraduate qualification.8 The majority of recordkeepers had either a Certificate in Archives Management

20 A Case Study of NZRecords from the Wairarapa Community Polytechnic or Certificate in Records Management from the Auckland Institute of Technology; an introductory postgraduate paper covering both records management and archives from Victoria University of Wellington; or had no formal qualification at all. Ham dismissed the above-mentioned educational offerings with the following words: "To date, [they] are much like the mini-skirt: they reveal a lot without covering very much."9 At least one of the reasons why there were no significant educational opportunities available for recordkeepers in New Zealand is alluded to by Ham when he refers to an unsuccessful review of education and training opportunities in 1987: the lack of success was because "[t]ension within the profession made progress impossible."10 Perhaps poor or inadequate communication channels were a contributing factor. Alison Fraser, a veteran records management consultant, has pointed out that in 1986 findings from the Action Review of records management in New Zealand included commentary on the need for greater interaction and information sharing, and for a facility for asking questions and receiving authoritative answers." A tool that enabled communication between practitioners and facilitated the exchange of knowledge and information was therefore sorely needed, particularly given this absence of local education opportunities. Taking into account the relatively small population in New Zealand, and the fragmented pattern of representation by professional associations, a listserv encompassing both records managers and archivists, rather than one that was allied to one particular association, was considered the best course of action. If separate lists were established there would be a risk of reinforcing existing barriers and boundaries between groups, and furthermore it would be difficult if not impossible to achieve the critical mass necessary to ensure reasonable discussion and information exchange.

NZRecords Today NZRecords was established using majordomo listserver functionality in 1999, primarily for the use of New Zealand archivists and records managers. The early stages of building the list, that is, encouraging recordkeepers to subscribe and to use the facility for discussion as well as a bulletin board for advertising jobs, promoting meetings and so on, were slow and quite laborious. The foundations of the list were established by continuously promoting its existence, and publicising subscription instructions at every available opportunity. This was coupled with a strategy to maintain awareness of its existence among subscribers by establishing minimum posting levels of one message

21 Archifacts per week. In this way, subscribers were continually reminded of this new virtual communication channel so that when it was needed it would be used. The numbers of subscribers has grown steadily and this trend shows no sign of slowing down. In 2005, there are over five hundred and the list is an accepted and important communication channel for recordkeepers.12 The majority of subscribers are New Zealand based, but there are also overseas subscribers, some of whom provide quite significant input into list discussions. One distinct category of overseas subscribers consists of individuals looking for employment opportunities in New Zealand. New entrants to the recordkeeping occupations, that is, students enrolled in recordkeeping courses are made aware of the list's existence and encouraged to subscribe. As well as archivists and records managers, list subscribers include members of other occupations working in related areas such as librarianship and information technology. Many of these "other" professionals join the list because of short-term requirements - for example, they need to recruit a records professional, or are involved in a specific project, but it is surprising how many stick around. It is heartening to know that awareness of recordkeeping issues is being raised beyond the immediate confines of the recordkeeping profession by the exposure of these subscribers to discussion on the list. The recordkeeping environment in New Zealand now is very different from the one that existed in the 1980s and 1990s. The national archival authority has become a stand-alone government department, and the long-awaited new legislation has become reality - the Public Records Act 2005 has replaced the Archives Act 1957. The representation of professional associations has changed somewhat, as the NZSA no longer exists, and records managers have dropped their allegiance to ARMA, turning instead to the Records Management Association of Australia.13 In the field of education, diplomas at both undergraduate and postgraduate levels have been developed. Analysis of postings to NZRecords during the intervening years reflects the changes that have taken place, and record some of the debate that has occurred. At times, the debate has been heated. A very selective and subjective sample of some of the more significant threads is briefly outlined in the following paragraphs. On an ongoing basis, NZRecords has been a crucial communication channel to inform the development of educational programmes. It has been used to gauge stakeholder support for new offerings, and discussion has helped shape existing programmes. For example, both New Zealand recordkeeping educational providers (Victoria University

22 A Case Study of NZRecords of Wellington and the Open Polytechnic of New Zealand) have now included a practicum component, and the debate that took place on-list helped provide justification for inclusion of that component.14 At the end of 1999 there was a proposal to organise a records management event, independent of any association. The event itself did not actually take place, but the suggestion and planning stimulated a good deal of discussion and enabled a lot of underlying issues to be aired in a public but informal forum.15 In 2000 a salary survey was conducted via the list, covering both records managers and archivists. Not surprisingly, the data collected showed huge variations across both sectors. It also highlighted issues relating to employment conditions and raised awareness of educational and professional development needs in both occupational groups. The list has been used to gather or exchange information about a range of other factors relating to recordkeeping. The most recent example of this was a survey about staffing levels. However, the more mundane-seeming questions and answers that take place should not be overlooked. These all contribute to negotiating those shared understandings that characterise a "Community of Practice," for example, dating of file volumes. What started as a seemingly straightforward "how-to-do-it" query resulted in quite lengthy exchanges, over twenty postings within a couple of days, ranging from the highly philosophical to the deeply pragmatic. What was significant was the fact that this electronic forum permitted the intermingling of archival and records managers' perspectives.16 The degree of greater understanding resulting from this is a moot point, but raising awareness, of what can be quite different priorities, does at least provide some insight into each other's domain.

Conclusions NZRecords is a relatively public manifestation of the interactions of the recordkeeping community in New Zealand. It is not of course the only communication channel; members of the list will also be interacting with each other in other places, in other ways, and these interactions will in turn affect the nature of on-list communications. Returning to Giddens' theory of the recursiveness of action and structure,17 and applying this to the formation of a community, it is useful to consider the ways in which discussions that occur on NZRecords inform theory and practice in New Zealand recordkeeping. This occurs routinely, on an ongoing basis, and I see evidence of this in two ways. Firstly, messages are cited in the bibliographies that are part of students' assessments. Secondly, I regularly receive requests

23 Archifacts for help in accessing the listserv archives - people have remembered a particular topic being discussed and have now encountered that particular problem themselves. Once retrieved from the archives the relevant message(s) may or may not contain the information required. However, the enquirer can then make contact with individuals who have faced, or who are experiencing, similar situations, and further communication channels are established. Generic understandings are created and shared, questions asked and answered and negotiations are conducted in day-to-day communication between recordkeepers on NZRecords. The existence and the activities of this "Community of Practice" have helped strengthen and empower the recordkeeping community in New Zealand. The list has also provided a means by which the local community is enriched by international expertise, whether this is in the form of involvement in debate, or eventual employment in New Zealand. The messages that document the needs, thoughts, and often feelings of New Zealand recordkeepers that make up the archives to the list represent a rich resource recording the continually changing nature of this community. Detailed analysis of these postings could underpin future studies of the development of the recordkeeping community in New Zealand. Formation of this community would not have been possible without a freely accessible and easily used communication channel, open to all.

1 K.E. Wcick, "Theorizing About Organizational Communication," in Handbook of Organizational Communication, eds. F.M. Jablin, et al. (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1987), 97-122. 2 Wanda J. Orlikowski, and JoAnne Yates, "Genre Repertoire: The Structuring of Communicative Practices in Organizations," Administrative Science Quarterly 39 (1994): 541-574. 3 A. Giddens, The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structure (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1984). 4 J. Lave, and E. Wenger, Situated Learning: Legitimate Peripheral Participation (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1991). 5 E. Davenport and H. Hall, "Organizational Knowledge and Communities of Practice," Annual Review of Information Science and Technology 36 (2002): 172. 6 Bekir Kemal Ataman, "Technological Means of Communication and Collaboration in Archives and Records Management," Journal of Information Science 30, 1 (2000): 30-40. Available from http://www.archimac.org/BKACV/Articles/TechMeans.spml 7 Gerald F. Ham, Towards Career Professionalisation: An Education Programme for New Zealand Archivists and Records Managers (Wellington: ARANZ, 1993), 8 Ibid, 17. 9 Ibid, 7. 10 Ibid, 6.

24 A Case Study of NZRecords

11 A. Fraser, message to the NZRecords listserv, 11 October 2005. 12 The "Conferences and Listservs" thread of October 2005, available from the listserv archives at http://tane.knowledge-basket.co.nz/listserv/welcome.html, gives an indication of the most recent discussion relating to the role of NZRecords and lists in general. 13 The name of which has changed to reflect this; the association is now the Records Management Association of Australasia. 14 The "Practicum" thread, commencing 5 May 2004, available from the listserv archives at http://tane.knowledge-basket.co.nz/listserv/welcome.html. 15 Unfortunately messages recording the early discussion about this event occurred before the NZRecords archives were established. 16 The "Dating of File Volumes" thread, 20-21 July 2004, available from the listserv archives at http://tane.knowledge-basket.co.nz/listserv/welcome.html. 17 Giddens, The Constitution of Society.

25 Archifacts

26 The Finnsburgh Fragment and Provenance: A Recordkeeping Discussion

Shaun McGuire Alexander Turnbull Library

'. . . the horns of the house, hall-gables burning?' Battle-young Hnœf broke silence: 'It is not the eaves aflame, nor in the East yet does day break; no dragon flies this way. It is the soft clashing of claymores you hear that they carry to the house. Soon shall be the cough of birds, hoar wolf's howl, hard wood talk, shield's answer to shaft. Now shines the moon, welkin-wanderer. The woes at hand Shall bring to the full this folk's hatred for us. Awake! on your feet! Who fights for me? Hold your lindens right, hitch up your courage, think bravely, be with me at the doors!' An extract from The Finnsburgh Fragment1

Records are considered to be constructed of a trinity of interrelated elements: structure, content and context. Structure refers to what the record is made of, what medium it is recorded on, and how the text is laid out. Content is the record's actual text, its language, phrases, numbers and symbols with which it records its subject. Context deals with why the record was created, who created it, and what the record was intended for.2 If any of this trinity is flawed, the record is incomplete - a fragment. Positivism would indicate that if the person reading the record does not understand its context, then the record has little value.3 However, Verne Harris demonstrates, using the example of his tattoo, that a full understanding of context is not necessary to make a record useful.4 Harris argues that with some context, even one degraded with time, a record has a use.

27 Archifacts

The following discussion will investigate the relationship between content and context using the example of The Finnsburgh Fragment, a section of an Anglo-Saxon record, a fragment, first captured by oral tradition. Its existence provides evidence that a record can survive as a fragment of text if it can be meaningfully connected to a context. A number of issues need closer examination. For example, are the two elements "context" and "content," clearly divided, or do they depend on another; can context be derived from content; how many sources of information can influence a record's context; and ultimately, is context absolute or finite? The Finnsburgh Fragment appears alien to the contemporary mind, with little to indicate that it is a record. The structure of its text is such that a modern reader could believe that it is in fact not a record but part of a legend, or myth. Its primary related text, Beowulf, is clearly a text that deals in the mythic. The heroic Beowulf defeats monsters, even a dragon, in the passage of his tale. Yet, at one point of his poem, Beowulf sits, and listens to the reciting of The Fight at Finnsburgh, a tale that does not have the fantastic elements of Beowulf. The Fight at Finnsburgh, from which our fragment survives, is a realistic account of a feud in a Frisian feasting hall. The Fight at Finnsburgh records heroism, treachery, compromise and vengeance. It records actions that can easily be measured on a human scale. It is a natural record created by an oral tradition and based on a remarkable event; its poetic form denotes its life before being recorded in writing.5 The more recent history of The Fight at Finnsburgh took place in 1705, when a Lambeth Palace researcher, George Hicks, discovered a fragment of a heroic lay (a song or recitation), on a single leaf of material bound up with a collection of homilies.6 Hicks published what he found, but the leaf of writing was later lost, and remains so. Fortunately, as the fragment is part of a longer oral piece for recitation, the text of the lost leaf was not its original carrier. In its original form the fragment is recorded in the Anglo-Saxon language, and written in poetic metre. So The Finnsburgh Fragment, as a record, has structure, and this helps the fragment retain validity amongst historians. Hicks was able to infer a context for this record because of the clues offered in the text. Three lines in particular offered some context: Battle-young Hnœf broke silence Hengest himself hastening in their steps Blades clashing flashed fire. As though all Finnsburgh was ablaze?

28 The Finnsburgh Fragment and Provenance

This was enough for the lines to be connected to the information on The Fight at Finnsburgh in Beowulf, lines 1068-1159, which gives a summary of this particular story. This tale is thought to be possibly part of a larger, now lost, saga of Hengest, one of the recorded personalities of Britain during the early sub-Roman period (starting 410 AD and ending before or during the 7th century). This period is notoriously record-poor, and historians must study it with what few resources they have. In this light The Finnsburgh Fragment is an important record. The poem Beowulf the writings of the priest Gildas circa 540 AD,8 the Historia Brittonum, which is traditionally attributed to a Welsh priest Nennius, the later writings of Bede, The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, and the King List of Kent, all corroborate the existence and importance of Hengest. The latter records have value even though they lean heavily on Gildas' earlier work. Whereas the British Gildas, and the Welsh Nennius, write of Hengest's period as one of decline for the Roman British tradition, casting Hengest as God's scourge, Bede and the Anglo-Saxon Chroniclers, writing from the Germanic tradition, see the same period as the triumph of their culture. Hengest is a positive protagonist in the later Anglo-Saxon tradition. The Anglo- Saxon Chronicles states that Hengest lead settlers to Kent9 and archaeology not only supports the growth of "Saxon" communities in Kent but also the movement of Jutes, the people of Finnsburgh, into the appropriate Frisian territory between 410-430 AD.10 For all this The Finnsburgh Fragment is a flawed record. Not much weight can be placed on the exact details it contains; the poet that created it was probably not a direct witness. Even if the poet was present, a poet's memory would be stretched in the heat of a skirmish to remember exactly the words Hnarf used to his followers, even if the poetic, but still manly and pithy words, were his. The record fails even to accurately date itself, a problem common to the period.11 Clearly the fragment is part of a record to be repeated along the coasts of the North Sea. The record reported that there was a fight at Finnsburgh, a number of people died, Finn lost and Hengest is a leader to be followed. Any attempts to place more meaning on the fragment can only prove that while content of a record is absolute, context is inferred. As so much primary material is missing no one can truly know all there is to know of the context of The Finnsburgh Fragment. The Fragment itself describes a period from near the beginning of Hengest's life, when he was still a follower of Hnaef. It is not possible to determine if The Fight at Finnsburgh lay is limited to the scope

29 Archifacts of the tale retold within Beowulf or whether it is part of a larger saga of the life of Hengest. The known provenance of the fragment can only place it in a culture, not into the hands of an individual or organisation. The chain of responsible custody is indeed very murky. However, this has not prevented the fragment being placed within a context because the knowledge that readers do have is enough for them to infer a context. Terry Cook notes the importance of diplomatics for an understanding of records.12 Diplomatics is the study of records as objects to determine provenance. Diplomatics determines a physical record's origins by reviewing its text (language, vocabulary and structure), the physical nature of the material the record is written on, the penmanship used, and any other physical clue. This level of rigour can be applied to transcribed oral material, such as The Finnsburgh Fragment. The clues of an oral record, its vocabulary, the structure of its verses, the events and concepts mentioned, and more importantly not mentioned, can give provenance to an oral record. If provenance can be determined by a record or record fragment's content, even in the case of a record created by an oral tradition, then the importance of content for a full understanding of a record's context is evident. In the case of The Finnsburgh Fragment the connection between the fragment's content and context is complex. The record's content was needed to identify its context. So text can be part of the context. Yet without the linking of the Fragment to other sources of the sub- Roman period, the content would have no meaning. So the context of The Finnsburgh Fragment is clearly formed from knowledge of other records. But the context is limited by the understanding of scholars of the past. At present the fragment is seen not only as a very small survivor of The Fight at Finnsburgh, but also the only remaining primary representative of a larger Saga of Hengest, the accepted record of an important individual's life, generated by the culture he lived in. The process that the readers of The Finnsburgh Fragment have undergone shows that if "a single capital T-truth does not exist"13 we are left with the position that the reader ultimately infers context based on the reader's understanding of the provenance, original order and chain of responsible custody. An individual reader's inferred context colours their understanding of the record and the inference is ultimately based on the individual reader's view of the world. This means a record's context is not absolute; it can change from reader to reader. The only way that any record's context is standardised is for readers to form a community that has a meaningful consensus on

30 The Finnsburgh Fragment and Provenance the context of a given record. The process of coming to a consensus would involve a communication of what additional evidence can be found about the record's provenance, original order and chain of responsible custody. If too little context for the record remains, then the community of readers will be unable to reach a meaningful consensus. With this failure the record could be said to be of no use for its original purpose. However even then the record would not be entirely without use, because, if the interrelationship between a text and its context is damaged to such a degree its original purpose is destroyed, the text of the record can become a text for another record with another context. This effectively creates an entirely new record.14 If context can only be inferred, it follows there can be no meaningful boundary between content and context because a record's text is one of the tools used by the reader to discover context, if only to relate it to other texts. As the text of The Finnsburgh Fragment provides enough clues to relate it to a larger context, so the fragment's content is part of its context. Once The Finnsburgh Fragment was put into context it became part of the larger body of interrelating records and, for that matter, legends of sub-Roman Britain. It influenced the understanding of those records, as the fragment was influenced by its relationship to them. This leads to the questions: do all texts interrelate, are all texts part of the context of other texts? If this is so, is there really a finite knowledge of context? In the case of the fragment it is clearly true that its text is part of the context of other texts. Without Beowulf we would not know the story of Finnsburgh. Further, without the other works that include accounts of Hengest we would not know the reason that the story of Hergest was included in the poem Beowulf or why the audience would understand that the tale of Finnsburgh was an entertainment fitting for Beowulf. In one sense every record provides a context for other related records and no matter how thin the relationship is it remains in existence. A parking ticket obviously relates to the invoice of its payment, and to the guidelines given by councils to parking wardens about awarding tickets. Harris's tattoo is a record that is linked to the tattooist's memory of receiving payment for his or her work. Therefore knowledge of a record is linked to the knowledge of context. At any one point of time the knowledge required to understand context is finite. Of course that does not mean that the finite amount of knowledge remains the same through-out the

31 Archifacts life-span of the record. When The Fight at Finnsburgh was created a curious person with patience and a desire to travel could meet with the survivors of Finnsburgh. That person could find and speak to the poets reciting the lay, they could see the remains of the hall and the settlement. That person could then truly understand the lay, and the lay's strengths and weaknesses as a record. The public who received the record most likely did not do that. The lay existed, so they did not have to. For a modern reader the knowledge required to understand the record is not only the knowledge of the record's text, but also all of the other records of the period that would add to the understanding of the record. As the actions and decisions of the individuals included in The Fight at Finnsburgh are dictated by the restrictions of a culture long past, the modern reader of this record requires different information than a contemporary of Hengest. The modern reader would require knowledge of the writers and chronicles of the period; would need to read the works of those who review the period and acquire information on other sagas that relate to other heroes of not only Hengest's culture but also similar cultures and the social, technological, and economic restrictions on their actions." Therefore at a single moment of time the volume of records containing relevant information for another record is finite; but the volume is always changing as records are created, disappear or become obsolete. The context of a record is not absolute, it is inferred; a record's context continually reforms as it ages. Consequently there is a connection between content and context, as the reading of the content of a record is a useful first step for the reader attempting to understand its context. As context is inferred, the factors operating on the reader's understanding and interpretation derive from numerous, diverse sources. Ultimately the only way agreement on the context of a record can be arrived at is through the community of readers reaching an understanding on the nature of the record.

32 The Finnsburgh Fragment and Provenance

Appendix A: The Finnsburgh Fragment '. . . the horns of the house, hall-gables burning?' Battle-young Hnœf broke silence: 'It is not the eaves aflame, nor in the East yet does day break; no dragon flies this way. It is the soft clashing of claymores you hear that they carry to the house. Soon shall be the cough of birds, hoar wolf's bowl, hard wood talk, shield's answer to shaft. Now shines the moon, welkin-wanderer. The woes at hand Shall bring to the full this folk's hatred for us. Awake! on your feet! Who fights for me? Hold your lindens right, hitch up your courage, think bravely, be with me at the doors!' The gold-clad thanes rose, girt on their swords. Two doubtless soldiers stepped to the door, Sigeferth and Eaha, with their swords out, and Ordlaf and Gunthlaf to the other door went, Hengest himself hastening in their steps. Hearing these adversaries advance on the door Guthere held on to Garulf so he should not front the rush to force the threshold and risk his life, whose loss could not be remedied; but clear above the whispers, he called out his demand, - brave heart - 'Who held the door?' 'My name is Sigeferth, of the Secgan, chief, known through the seas. I have seen a few fights and can take on trouble. What you intend for me your own flesh shall be the first to taste.' The swung strokes sounded along the wall ; wielded by the brave, the bone-shielding boss-boards split. Burg-floor spoke, and Garulf fell at last in the fighting at the door, Garulf, the first man in the Frisian islands, son to Guthlaf, and good men lay around, a pale crowd of corpses. The crows dangled

33 Archifacts

black and brown. Blades clashing flashed fire - as though all Finnsburgh were ablaze. Never have sixty swordsmen in a set fight Borne themselves more bravely; or better I have not heard of. Never was the bright mead better earned Than that which Hnœf gave his guard of youth. They fought and none fell. On the fifth day the band was still whole and still held the doors. Then a wounded warrior went to the side, said his ring-coat was riven to pieces, stout hauberk though it was, and that his helm had gone through. The folk's shepherd and shielder asked him how the braves bore their wounds and which of the young men . . .

1 "The Finnsburgh Fragment," Appendix A, Michael Alexander, Beowulf (Great Britain: Penguin Group 1973): 153-155. 2 Terry Cook, "Electronic Records, Paper Minds: the Revolution in Information Management and Archives in the Post-custodial and Post-modernist Era," Archives and Manuscripts, vol.22, no.2 (1994): 312. 3 For the discussion of Positivism as a philosophy "which recognizes only positive facts and observable phenomena, with the objective relations of these and the laws that determine them, abandoning all inquiry into causes or ultimate origins," see Oxford English Dictionary Online http://helicon.vuw.ac.nz:2126/entrance.dtl. [accessed 9 December 2004] This definition would dictate that in the case of The Finnsburgh Fragment too many of its characteristics are unobservable. We do not know when it was committed to paper or by whom. We do not know how directly the oral record was originally composed, whether by a witness, or someone who heard of the event but was not there. All that we can be reliably sure of is that the actual text of the fragment that survives is probably not faithful to the event. To accept these notions would ignore the use this fragment has been to scholars of the sub-Roman Era. However as Greene notes, "the archival paradigm rejects this increasingly untenable belief in the objectivity and truthfulness of any form of documentation...a 'good' - reliable, valid, authentic and so on - record can tell a lie, a poor record a truth," Mark Greene, "The Power of Meaning: The Archival Mission in the Postmodern Age," American Archivist 65, no. 1 (Spring/Summer 2002): 52, cited in Harris, "Law, Evidence and Electronic Records," http://www. archivists.org.au/sem/misc/harris.pdf. [Accessed 2005]

34 The Finnsburgh Fragment and Provenance

4 Verne Harris, "Of Fragments and Fictions," in Exploring Archives: An Introduction to Archival Ideas and Practices in South Africa, 2d ed (Pretoria: National Archives of South Africa, 2000): 83. Verne Harris assures us that on his left arm there is a tattoo which is a record of an event. While the record's text is on Harris's arm its context is in his mind, consequently he wonders if the context of the record could be viewed as reliable to an outsider, as the context held in his mind can not be independently reviewed. By his own admission Harris can no longer fully recall the first account of the tattoo's context he gave, so the context has obviously degraded, yet he claims it still has validity as a record. 5 The validity of oral tradition is discussed by Cunningham, based on information from Dcarstyne, cited in Mark Greene, "The Power of Meaning: The Archival Mission in the Postmodern Age," 48. A broad definition of records is used, which recalls oral histories. The Finnsburgh Fragment is clearly an oral history, later captured into writing. 6 This would indicate that The Finnsburgh Fragment was deliberately forgotten for a time, as discussed by Terry Cook, "What is Past is prologue: A History of Archival Ideas Since 1898 and the Future Paradigm Shift," Archivaría 43 (Spring 1997): 18. At some point of its existence some person decided that the fragment was of little use, perhaps it spoke too strongly of a pagan past to a monk of a later period, or perhaps a post-Norman conquest French-speaking cleric decided that it was just too Anglo-Saxon. We can only speculate, although the fragment's discovery within a collection of homilies, and our knowledge of record practices in the period, would indicate the decision to bind the fragment into the homilies was taken by some member(s) of the clergy. 7 Michael Alexander, "The Finnsburgh Fragment," 153-154. 8 John Morris, The Age of Arthur: A History of the British Isles from 350 to 650 (Great Britain: Orion Books Ltd. 1998), 35-37. 9 Norman Davis, The Isles a History, (Great Britain: MacMillian Publishers Ltd 2000), 140. 10 Morris, The Age of Arthur, 266-267. It may seem to be slightly laboured to put "Saxon" into quotation marks but I do not believe that the archaeological evidence supports a 19th century concept of a pure race of Saxons landing anywhere in Britain. I believe that the followers of Hengest were a mix of peoples, from different German tribes varying in culture, language and the degree of Romanisation they had acquired. In time the "Saxons" would have families perhaps with people of their own cultures or with native Britons or with other peoples. 11 Debatable timelines for the Sub-Roman period makes it one of the many areas of British history given over to a "blood sport" of academic dispute. However, this does not mean that the records themselves are without meaning. In fact it actually seems to increase the records value as they can be shaped into any number of contexts. 12 Terry Cook, "What is Past is Prologue: A History of Archival Ideas Since 1898 and the Future Paradigm Shift," 36-37. 13 Mark Greene, "The Power of Meaning: The Archival Mission in the Postmodern Age," 52. 14 Returning to the example of Verne Harris's tattooed left arm, the tattoo being the text of a record whilst the record's context is in Harris mind. What would happen if the tattoo became utterly separated from the context needed to recount the event Harris uses it to record? In the 1930s an Australian by the name of James Smith also had a tattoo on his arm. Assuming that the tattoo on Smith's arm was

35 Archifacts

also the text of a transaction, the context of which was held at that time in his head, this tattoo is as good a record as Harris's tattoo. Therefore when Smith's tattoo (and the arm it was attached to) was regurgitated by a recently captured tiger shark in a Sydney aquarium in 1935 the record should have been considered useless. Smith was no longer able to connect text to context. Of course the tattoo had not reached the end of its useful life. Even though the context was gone, the tattoo was put into a new context by being used for identification purposes. The new context attached to the tattoo by Australian police included: knowing that the tattoo was once connected to Smith; an understanding of the company Smith kept, and that the arm was severed not by a bite of the apparently innocent shark but by someone with a large knife. The tattoo received a new provenance, a new order and an unfortunately incomplete chain of custody as it was connected to a forensic investigation. The tattoo therefore proved valuable in the resulting well-publicised murder inquiry. Should the same misfortune befall Harris, a happily unlikely event, the archival community could rest assured that Harris's tattoo would continue to have value in the resulting investigation. Despite the tattoo being apparently ruined as a record of one transaction, it would become a record of another. In this case the theoretical murder and dismemberment of Harris. As a result, it would be an entirely different record with a different context. Verne Harris, "Of Fragments and Fictions," in Exploring Archives: An Introduction to Archival Ideas and Practices in South Africa, 83. For more information on "The Shark Arm Murder" a brief account can be found in D.P. Lyle, Forensics for Dummies, (Indianapolis: Wiley Publishing, Inc. 2004), 146. 15 For example, Beowulf, lines 1068-1159, relates that when Hengest brought Finn to an agreement following the initial combats that claimed Hnzf along with many others, the terms arranged involved both sides of combatants living on in Finnsburgh. For Finn and Hengest it was easier to agree to both armed bands living in the same settlement, a few hundred yards from each other, than for one band to agree to leave Finnsburgh. This would have left one group foodless and shelterless in mid-winter, apparently a worse fate than having to trust their ex-rivals.

36 Classic Archifacts The Nash Estate

Archifacts, N.S. No.l, February 1977, 1-4

Stuart Strachan

It is not often that the use of archives for the writing of history becomes serious news; and when it does, as happened with Professor Keith Sinclair's biography of Sir Walter Nash, the facts are well worth setting down if only as a matter of record, and this is as good a place to do it as any. It should be added, however, that in the absence of an authoritative public statement by any of the parties, this account will probably be misleading in some of its details. The facts in the case of the Nash biography, so far as they can be determined from rather scanty published sources are these. In June 1968 Sir Walter Nash, Minister of Finance in the first Labour Government, 1935-1949, and Prime Minister in the second, 1957-60, died at the age of 86, undoubtedly the Grand Old Man of New Zealand politics. The garage at his home in Lower Hutt was crammed with a mass of papers accumulated over 50 years of public life. These Nash had bequeathed to the National Archives, where they were deposited by the Public Trustee, the administrator of the Nash estate, pending the settlement of the terms of transfer. The papers were an enormous, incredible accumulation, 14 tons in weight, and which, shorn of published material, occupied 213 metres of shelving in the National Archives. Sinclair describes Nash's "papyromania" thus: Nash had, since he reached New Zealand (1909), and certainly by about 1914, begun to keep every scrap of paper which, however remotely, was concerned with him . . . [He] did so with a thoroughness unique in New Zealand and extraordinary, or odd, anywhere. He kept in-letters and drafts of out-letters and copies of out-letters; diaries; notes saying that Mr Jones was waiting outside at 11:30am. All the notes and memos which accumulated in his drawers were periodically bundled up. When Peter Fraser - and other ministers - died he kept the contents of their drawers too. When he went to the Second Socialist International he kept his Cook's itinerary, passport, tickets, hotel bills, agenda, conference papers, notes taken down at the conference, his draft and published

37 Archifacts

reports on it, and Lot's [his wife] refusal to go. It could be said that he was the greatest lover of paper, and not merely documents related to himself, in history. (Walter Nash, 259) This unique assemblage, though bequeathed to and deposited in the National Archives, did not come under its complete control. Under the terms of Nash's will the deposit was made only at the discretion of the Public Trustee and advisory trustees, and apparently as part of the terms of transfer they were able to specify the use to which the papers were to be put, at first for a limited period. A biography of Nash naturally suggested itself, and in January 1970 Bruce Brown, who was Nash's private secretary, 1954-59, and already the author of The Rise of New Zealand Labour (1962), was engaged to write it. Brown, however, because of other commitments, found himself unable to begin he work, and about July 1970 the Public Trustee concluded an agreement with Professor Keith Sinclair of Auckland University to undertake the task. This he did within six years and the biography was duly published in November of last year. This straightforward set of events was, however, interrupted by a report in The Week (10 September 1976), immediately followed by other press reports, that the Security Intelligence Service had attempted to censor certain passages in the Nash biography. Putting them all together, a composite account can be attempted. In August 1975 Sir Guy Powles, the Ombudsman, was asked to inquire into the state of the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service. The Service had some unfavourable publicity as a result of the trial of the late Dr W.B. Sutch on a charge of breach of the Official Secrets Act, and of the Jays Affair which had involved the leakage of Service documents to the New Zealand Herald. According to a New Zealand Press Association report (14 September 1976) Professor Sinclair drew the attention of Sir Guy Powles to copies of Security Intelligence Service reports to Nash, when Prime Minister, in the Nash papers on people Sinclair knew, and which he strongly felt to be inaccurate. Reference was thought to have been made to these in the confidential report of Sir Guy to the Prime Minister in July 1976, and the Service to have traced his source to the work of Sinclair with the Nash papers. The Security Intelligence Service then managed to obtain a copy of the manuscript of the biography, possibly from the Public Trustee, to whom Sinclair had submitted it for scrutiny ten months earlier and who had approved it for publication without alteration. The Service was reported to be upset at the prospect of publication in the biography of a number of episodes chiefly relating to the history of Dr Sutch as

38 The Nash Estate a security risk, and approached Professor Sinclair seeking the deletion of three offending passages. It was claimed by the Service, possibly with justification, that Nash had retained amongst his papers State documents which he had no right to retain, and that they would seek an injunction under the Copyright Act restraining publication. Sinclair and his publisher, the Auckland University Press, prepared to resist these demands, but it was hardly necessary. The book was already printed, though not yet bound, and as the alterations requested would have meant the reprinting of thirty-five pages, the Security Intelligence Service wisely let the mater drop. It all happened in less than a week. The Security Intelligence Service's rather battered image took another dent, and Sinclair and the Auckland University Press got magnificent publicity for their book, which should have helped sales. Rather more seriously The Week reported a little later (24 September 1976) that the Security Intelligence Service was pressing the National Archives to allow only Government documents cleared by the Service to be available to researchers, and that the Chief Archivist, Judith Hornabrook, had refused to allow Service officers to go through the Nash papers with a view of removing documents they felt should not be there. Meanwhile the Nash papers are closed to all, and are likely to be so for some time, while they receive their proper arrangement by National Archives staff. While it has its lighter side, this episode does raise a number of important issues for the archivist and historian. Least of these is the distorting involvement of the Security Intelligence Service, whose importance in the matter should be heavily discounted. If some other agency of Government, such as the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or the Department of Trade and Industry, had been involved in its place, it is doubtful the affair would have excited half the public interest it did. By mentally substituting some other Government department for the Security Intelligence Service a better perspective can be got; and it can be seen that the true importance of the episode lies in the nature of the Nash papers themselves, the way in which they came to National Archives and the use made of them. They were a phenomenon new in New Zealand, our first genuinely large accumulation of modern political papers, and the first to be used for historical purposes. But it is certainly not the last, as recently similar collections, beginning to approach the Nash papers in size, have been deposited in public institutions, notably the papers of Sir John Marshall (122m) and Sir Keith Holyoake (76m) in the Alexander Turnbull Library, and the papers of Norman Kirk (43m) in the National Archives. The issues raised by the Nash and these other papers include: the question of ministerial

39 Archifacts documents in private political papers and their ownership; the most suitable place for their deposit; the matter of access to such documents and Government archives generally; the position of the "privileged" historian; the confidentiality of Government documents, freedom of information, and censorship; and the purely practical matter of the wisdom of allowing researchers to use unarranged records. These are questions which have never been publicly considered in New Zealand and failure to resolve or at least understand them better could lead to inequity, frustration, embarrassment, and even danger, not just for archivist and historians, but for the cause of knowledge itself.

40 Gnashing Of Teeth Archifacts, N.S. No.3, September 1977, 49-53

Stuart Strachan

With the issue of a press statement on 6 September by the Rt Hon. R.D. Muldoon, Minister in Charge of the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service, the last chapter of popular public interest in the saga of the Nash papers has probably been written. It will be remembered (see Archifacts n.s. no.l, Feb. 1977) that this began in October 1970 with the deposit of Sir Walter Nash's huge accumulation of papers in the National Archives by the Public Trustee, who commissioned Professor Keith Sinclair to write a biography of Nash based upon the papers. Late last year it was revealed that Professor Sinclair had drawn the attention of Sir Guy Powles, then conducting an inquiry into the operation of the Security Intelligence Service, to relevant classified documents in the papers, and that some of them had been used for the biography. An attempt was made, unsuccessfully, by the Security Intelligence Service to have certain passages in the book deleted, and it was reported that a move had been made to have the documents concerned removed from the custody of the National Archives. In March of this year a 6p.m. South Pacific TV2 news item disclosed that the Chief Archivist, obviously under considerable pressure, had handed over the classified documents to the Security Intelligence Service sometime previously. There was no public reaction, but the matter was raised again several times in Parliament by Mr Trevor Young, the Labour member for Hutt, Sir Walter's old seat. Late in July he referred to the issue in the debate on the estimates of expenditure relating to the Security Intelligence Service. On 16 August in reply to a question from Mr Young, wanting to know why access to the Nash papers was restricted, the Minister of Internal Affairs, the Hon. D.A. Highet, replied that though the National Archives had custody of the papers it did not control the access to them. This remained with Sir Walter's trustees and they had indicated that access should be restricted at least until 1980 - "with the proviso that this period could be extended to 1990, so that the papers can be properly sorted and recorded." The following day, in reply to another question from Mr Young, asking who gave the Security Intelligence Service authority to remove certain documents from the Nash papers in the

41 Archifacts

National Archives, the Prime Minister, Mr Muldoon, replied that the documents had not been removed from the National Archives by the Security Intelligence Service, only that certain highly classified reports had been handed to the Service for safe custody. Mr Young persisted. On 23 August 1977 answering further oral questions concerning access to the Nash papers, the Minister in Charge of the Public Trust Office, the Hon. S.E.F. Holland, confirmed that the agreement giving Professor Sinclair access to the Nash papers had expired on 16 November 1976. He did not know if Professor Sinclair had denied access to any student, but several students on Professor Sinclair's recommendation had been permitted to use the papers. The agreement made between the Chief Archivist and the Public Trustee prohibited access to the papers for 10 years from October 1970, or for a longer period up to 20 years as might be necessary. Late last year at the request of the Chief Archivist it had been agreed that further access would not be permitted before October 1980 to facilitate the sorting and cataloguing of the papers. Finally on 1 September yet more questions from Mr Young elicited from the Minister of Internal Affairs that the Chief Archivist had on 1 April 1976 delivered to the Security Intelligence Service 32 papers which had emanated from it, for which a receipt had been given; and that the Security Intelligence Service, though it had asked for all documents originating with it in the papers, had not asked for permission to search the whole collection. This piecemeal release of information was clearly unsatisfactory, and Mr Young's questioning obviously had its effect, for on 6 September a press release on the subject was issued, which is as definitive a public statement on the matter as we are likely to get. It reads as follows:

6 September 1977 Press Statement Right Hon. R.D. Muldoon Minister in charge of the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service The Nash Papers Publicity has recently been given to the fact that certain papers from the collection made by the late Sir Walter Nash were given to the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service by the Chief Archivist. It is clear that there is considerable misunderstanding concerning the true state of affairs concerning this. In August 1970, the NZSIS was told that there might be classified official papers amongst the Nash Collection. The

42 Gnashing of Teeth

Service therefore obtained an assurance from the Public Trust Office, which held the Nash Collection of papers as part of the Estate, that classified official papers in the Collection would not be shown to researchers without the prior approval of the originating departments, and without the necessary security clearance having been sought. In October 1970 the Public Trust Office, after consulting with the Crown Law Office, offered to deposit the Nash Collection in the National Archives, provided certain terms were accepted by the Chief Archivist. One of these terms was that the Chief Archivist undertook to seek the authority of the appropriate departments to allow access to Professor Sinclair to papers which might be regarded as current departmental records, or as material which might come within the terms of the Official Secrets Act. In addition, the access was subject to the department concerned retaining the right to peruse the manuscript and direct non-publication of any specific material derived from departmental papers contained in such manuscript, subject to the proviso that any such directions should be communicated to Professor Sinclair within a period of one month from the date the manuscript was submitted for approval. The Chief Archivist accepted these terms and in November 1970 the Public Trust Office and Professor Sinclair signed an agreement regarding access to the Collection, in which Professor Sinclair acknowledged that he was aware of the conditions imposed by the Public Trustee when the papers were deposited in the custody of the National Archives and confirmed his agreement to and acceptance of such conditions. It was not until March 1976 that the NZSIS learnt that Professor Sinclair had, in 1971, been given access by the then Chief Archivist to a large number of classified official papers without regard to the provision of the agreement. These classified papers were originated by more than one Government department. They included papers classified SECRET and TOP SECRET and forming part of current departmental records. Immediately on receipt of this information the legal position concerning the ownership and custody of the classified Government papers which had found their way into the Collection was examined. Meetings attended by representatives from Internal Affairs, the National Archives, the Public Trust Office, the Crown Law Office and the NZSIS were held, at which it was decided that the conditions under which the Nash papers were deposited in the National Archives should be observed insofar as this was still possible. It was apparent that

43 Archifacts

the National Archives did not have the necessary facilities for the secure custody of highly classified current departmental records. It was therefore arranged that the Chief Archivist should deposit with the NZSIS, under seal, all papers in the Collection which had been originated by the NZSIS and advise other Government departments whose papers were in the Collection of their rights under the 1970 Deposit Agreements. The Chief Archivist provided the NZSIS with a list of those papers originated by the Service which she had been able to trace in the Collection. These NZSIS papers and certain connected material which, for archival reasons, the Chief Archivist did not wish to separate from the NZSIS papers were deposited in the NZSIS Registry on 1 April 1976. They were held under seal until 31 August 1976 when, on a Crown Law Office opinion, it was agreed that the NZSIS should take possession of the papers it had originated. The sealed package was then opened and the NZSIS papers were noted. These papers and the other contents were then replaced in the package and are still held in safe custody in the Service's Registry. The sheer bulk of the Nash Collection - there were many tons of papers - and the consequent sorting problems created great difficulties for those handling the papers in the National Archives where facilities at the time were inadequate for proper security procedures to be observed. The security procedures incorporated in the agreements concerning the deposit of the Collection in the National Archives were not observed and the NZSIS, as soon as it became aware of the situation in 1976, attempted quite properly to prevent further unauthorised dissemination of classified material. [END] This is clear enough as far as it goes, and will probably satisfy public interest in the matter. However, it raises several questions which ought to be of public concern, revealing as it does unequivocally the present weakness of the National Archives and the Act which supports it. In the first place it is extremely difficult to comment on the legality of the seemingly forced handing over of the classified documents, as it involves the interpretation of an Act which is general in its wording, in conjunction with an agreement made between the National Archives and the Public Trustee, which has never been fully made public. From newspaper reports it is obvious that there was a conflict of legal opinion between the Public Trust Office and the Crown Law Office concerning the right of the Security Intelligence Service to

44 Gnashing of Teeth ask for the return of the classified documents, and that the latter prevailed. It is also apparent from the wording of the Archives Act Section 8 that only in the case of a threat to our national security or our relationship with a foreign government could documents possibly be withdrawn from the National Archives without the agreement of the Chief Archivist. But the authority of the Chief Archivist in this instance seems to have been curtailed, either by the terms of what was agreed to in October 1970 or by the irregular fashion, as part of a private collection, in which these particular public documents come to be held in the National Archives. It is difficult to believe that classified documents which had been completely lost sight of in the Nash papers for over 15 years would have any current operational value to the Security Intelligence Service, let alone be a threat to the security of the nation or its relationship with other nations. While it is the lot of any security service that its successes and virtues are necessarily concealed, and its vices only too easily imagined, it would seem that the only reasons for the Security Intelligence Service wishing to repossess these documents could be pique and fear of embarrassment on its own account, or more justifiably fear of embarrassing others, given the confessed lack of security at the National Archives. While the Service may have been quite justified in wishing the documents withdrawn because of lack of security, what is disturbing is that it was seemingly able to force the hand of the Chief Archivist, circumventing the very provision in the Act designed to cover just such a case, by arguing that the documents concerned had never been properly deposited in the National Archives in the first place as public archives from a Government department, but privately as part of a private collection without any department's knowledge or permission. This is certainly required in the case of documents less than 25 years old, and so the protection afforded by Section 8(2c) of the Act was rendered null and void. This returns us to the old knotty problem of the status of public documents in politicians' papers. A worrying aspect of the whole proceeding is the implication that the Security Intelligence Service had a right of ownership of documents which it had originated, and not merely the protection of information contained within them. This would seem to be spurious at law, as documents are commonly the property of those whom they are given to, not of those who give them. In this particular case, the recipient was the then Prime Minister, and if anybody had the right to request the return of the classified documents from the National Archives it was the Prime Minister's Office in the Prime Minister's Department where the documents in question should have been

45 Archifacts filed and kept, not the Security Intelligence Service. However, it so happens that the Prime Minister is also the Minister in Charge of the Security Intelligence Service, so the result would probably have been the same anyway. But the idea that Government departments have a general right of ownership of the documents they originate is false, and it is hoped that the advice given to other Government departments did not include any suggestion that this as the case. It could lead to extremely dangerous practices for the integrity of Government records, and eventually of the public archives. Another worrying aspect of the whole episode is that, apart from the breaking of the agreement of October 1970 whereby Professor Sinclair should not be allowed access to documents of a classified nature, the justification for the original removal of such documents from the custody of National Archives was that its "facilities at the time were inadequate for proper security procedures to be observed." This is, on the face of it, an appalling admission to have had to make, though to anybody familiar with the premises occupied by National Archives in recent years it will come as no surprise. Our national archives, as a permanent record of our national heritage, ought to have had the most secure facilities as a matter of course, and not just for the keeping of classified documents. If the holdings of the National Archives were not in fact preserved securely, then there was very great cause for concern indeed, and the matter ought to have been remedied. On this ground alone the Security Intelligence Service may have been justified in taking the action it did. Since then, however, the National Archives has moved into new premises in Vivian Street which it is likely to occupy for some years to come, and a number of questions naturally present themselves. Are the Vivian Street premises secure? If not, why are they not? If they are, should not the classified documents which were originally removed on grounds of inadequate security be returned to their place in the Nash papers? Surely the Security Intelligence Service does not have an actual use for them, as they would have their own copies of them in any case? One would dearly love to know the answers. Finally there is the point that, as it turned out, the National Archives was party to an agreement whose terms it found impossible to observe. Professor Sinclair was given exclusive right to use the Nash papers for a period of six years for the writing of the biography, but classified papers were to be denied to him. But the National Archives, chronically understaffed, simply did not have the resources then, and they were not made available later, to cope with the work of organising the papers and identifying classified documents

46 Gnashing of Teeth simultaneously with their use by Professor Sinclair and his assistants. Thirteen tons of disorganised private papers, with public documents intermingled, is not something that can be tackled oh the side in addition to a normal workload. The necessary extra resources were either not asked for or were not forthcoming, so that Professor Sinclair had perforce to be permitted to go through the collection before classified documents could be isolated. Perhaps it was felt that the agreement he signed would be sufficient protection. In the event it was not and the balloon went up.

47 48 Reviews BOOK REVIEWS

Helen Laurenson Going Up, Going Down: the Rise and Fall of the Department Store. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2005. AUP Studies in Social and Cultural History, No. 2, 165pp. $34.99 ISBN 1 869 403 41 X

Helen Laurenson's Going Up Going Down is a welcome and handsome addition to the still fairly small body of New Zealand commercial history. Its subject is the New Zealand department store, principally in its heyday from about 1920 to I960 with a short introduction on its colonial antecedents and a postscript on the dethronement, but not complete displacement, of the "high street" department store by the new suburban mall from the early 1980s. There have been a number of histories of individual stores and companies but this is the first to draw them together as a national institution. The examples are chosen from all the major cities, including Farmers and Smith and Caughey in Auckland, Kirkcaldie and Stains in Wellington, Ballantynes in Christchurch and the DIC in a number of centres. The approach is, however, not primarily economic or commercial. As the series title indicates, it is a study in social and cultural history, with an emphasis on gender and class and the experience of being a shopper at that particular period. It concentrates particularly on the way the stores were arranged to cater to the differing needs and tastes of men and women, the goods available, and issues like transport and mail-order catalogues. Above all, the stores gave an experience, almost a daydream, of being among wealth and plenty to ordinary New Zealanders whose daily physical surroundings, even in towns, could be mundane and limited, or downright bleak. They were little islands of London or New York, which it cost nothing to enter for an hour or so. It is no coincidence that the Auckland rioting during the desperate days of April 1932 targeted the windows of Smith and Caughey. The jobless vented their frustrations and misery on displays of what they desired but could not afford. The title is drawn from the "patter" of the now long-defunct lift attendants, incorporated into a popular song printed in full as

49 Archifacts a frontispiece, and the four chapters reflect the usual arrangement of floors. This begins with ground floor (including the characteristic display windows): cosmetics and accessories, menswear and general goods; first floor: women's wear, manchester and dressmaking fabrics; second floor: children's department; and top floor: the tearooms, which were of a size and elegance now remembered only by elderly customers. This arrangement works very well for Laurenson's particular purposes, though it is perhaps restrictive for dealing with issues relating to the stores as a whole. The design and illustrations are of superb quality, drawn from a wealth of professional advertising material. They are more than mere supplementary illustrations, conveying far better than words could the style and glamour, even theatrical quality, the stores projected at their height. As such they are an intrinsic part of the text. Although the format is quite small, the sumptuous black and white images convey an impression of a larger and more opulent volume. In fact, the illustrations make Going Up Going Down an interesting hybrid form; much more visually appealing than a monograph would normally be, but more scholarly than a popular history. Although all the chapters contain a wealth of information, I found the third and fourth of particular interest because they deal with less familiar material. The chapter on the children's department includes a study of in-store playgrounds, which made shopping a less fraught experience for parents, and of the development of Christmas features. The in-store Santa Claus and associated displays and Christmas parades have for so long been taken for granted as a staple of Christmas celebrations that it is well to be reminded that they were created and developed by the big stores themselves. Even during the 1930s these displays were more elaborate and relatively costly than their present- day counterparts. The tearooms now exist only in an attenuated form, but in the days before the present plethora of restaurants they were the most affordable experience of elegant dining available to most customers, even if only open for morning and afternoon teas and lunches. They were, of course, unlicensed. The illustrations show how large and ornate they were. With their potted palms and pianists they played a leading role in the daytime social life of women in the big towns. They were sufficiently grand to double as reception and entertainment venues for civic events and even royal visits. I found this particularly illuminating of a vanished social scene.

50 Book Reviews

As is to be expected of a history with its origins in an MA thesis, Going Up Going Down is founded on extensive primary research, particularly in the archives of the companies concerned, and newspapers. Two other major sources are individual company histories and oral interviews with a number of staff and customers. It is. very good to see such sources being pioneered and exploited. Laurenson also cites a wide range of secondary and non-New Zealand sources on aspects of the development of consumerism in general and department stores in particular. The notes are more than simple citations and include significant additional information. Although the section of notes is not particularly long it would have been useful to have a brief bibliography and a list of the abbreviations used. Even to the professional reader it is a little tedious to have to hunt through the notes to find these details. Going Up Going Down is a pioneering work, mapping out a territory but not exploring all of it. This is an observation, not a criticism. It would be unreasonable to expect a writer essentially working on a labour of love to explore all the dimensions of such a complex phenomenon, particularly the economic ones. Matters such as hire purchase and store credit, in-store security, staff training and display skills, all crucial to the financial functioning of the businesses, are dealt with either lightly or not at all. There is obviously room for parallel studies of these and other issues like the ownership and structure of the companies and the role of CBD land values in promoting and, eventually, retarding the growth of these palatial enterprises. Land values are commented on in relation to the relative decline of the stores, but not in much detail. If the stores were in some respects theatrical, this is a history of the stage sets and the patrons. It invites a complementary study of the backstage and front- of-house functions. Where I did feel the Laurenson could have done a little more was in the first chapter, dealing with the development of these stores. By 1920, when her main interest begins, most of these companies were already fifty to seventy years old. This is old by any commercial standards. I wanted further details of upmarket retailing in the colonial period. How did it emerge from the makeshift drapery and general businesses set up by the earliest settlers? Laurenson deals very briefly with the personalities of the founders of the stores, but not to any extent with the shape of the businesses. It would also have added considerably to the value of the book to give a rather larger overview of the emergence of the department store as a flagship of European and United States retailing in the mid nineteenth century. This is

51 Archifacts passed over very briefly, though it is clear from her sources that the author must be aware of these developments. With these reservations, however, this is an innovative and scholarly but accessible history. Susan Butterworth Tawa

Deborah Montgomerie Love in Time of War: Letter Writing in the Second World War. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2005. AUP Studies in Social and Cultural History, Volume 1. 152pp. $34.99 ISBN 1 86940 336 3

Deborah Montgomerie's recently released Love in Time of War: Letter Writing in the Second World War, is the first in a new series of social and cultural histories to be published by Auckland University Press. The book examines the role letter writing played in the lives of those at home and abroad during World War II. It does not set out to be an all-encompassing general history, rather a case study of just one element of New Zealand's war experience. The book has a very clear structure. Three chapters, each based around a different set of letters, are sandwiched between an introduction and conclusion. These tell the stories of three families affected by separation from their loved ones during World War II. Each begins with a letter from the subject of the chapter, the only letters reproduced in their entirety. An introduction of the letter-writer follows, and then Montgomerie moves into a general discussion of the issues the letters bring up and their context. As part of this discussion, the author draws on plenty of other evidence, from similar letters and journals. Though essential to sound historical argument, occasionally it feels as though these snatches of other lives cause the reader to lose the thread of the core stories. This does feel like petty criticism, but part of me wanted to hear the stories with no "distractions." The first chapter is based around the letters Bob Wilson, a young, single soldier from a farming family in Northland, wrote to his parents from North Africa. Sent off to Egypt in 1941, a year after volunteering for military service, Wilson's story ended in tragic fashion when he was taken as a prisoner of war, and the ship on which he was transported on to Europe was torpedoed by a British submarine. Only six of the letters he wrote home survived. These are

52 Book Reviews used by Montgomerie to discuss issues of domesticity and masculinity. Wilson's constant questioning in his letters for small details about life at home indicates that young single men still valued domesticity and family connections, while the brevity and lack of emotion in a number of his letters, particularly to his father, reaffirms stereotypes of masculinity in the 1940s. The second chapter reverses the roles and follows the letters of Gay Gray, a wife left behind when her husband was sent to war in the Middle East. As Montgomerie points out, it was rare for letters sent from New Zealand to survive and enter the public record. Letters from civilians were not as valued as those from servicemen. Gray's only survived because they were marked "return to sender" when her husband was taken prisoner-of-war. As the title of the book implies, it was the process of writing (and receiving) letters that was most important. There is much discussion in this chapter and elsewhere of how letter writing fulfilled a purpose for both writer and reader. During wartime "information was currency" (p. 110). Gray's regular letters to her husband were part of her wartime routine, and were no doubt read and re-read by him, just as any news from home was. Gay Gray even continued to write her letters after she received the telegram telling her that her husband Duncan was missing. The letters of Jack Lewis in the third chapter are used to discuss how separations of war affected married men and fathers. Lewis's letters written to his wife and young daughters tell the story of a man desperate to stay involved in domestic life, despite the problems of distance that serving on the other side of the world imposed. His letters, like those of Bob Wilson, divided between telling his family what he was up to and asking about the intimate details of the life he was missing back in New Zealand. He was careful to keep his letters full of humour, a vital component of many soldiers' letters, and shielded his family from the harsher details of military life. There are plenty of well-captioned illustrations. The numerous photographs tend to relate to the text, however the images of unnamed soldiers seem rather impersonal compared to the written word. Though there are some photographs of Gay Gray herself in the second chapter, readers could be left feeling that the illustrations break the flow of writing. This is most likely a problem of source availability and not a deliberate choice. As an archivist, it is exciting to see a book centred entirely around one archival form, the letter, showing the importance of the smallest archive to the historical record. Even a single letter can shed light on not only the personal, but also the wider social and cultural issues

53 Archifacts of the time. Of course, reliance on a single type of archive has its limitations, and Montgomerie acknowledges this, pointing out that the letters could hide as much as they revealed. Bob Wilson is unlikely to have shared all of his adventures overseas in letters to his parents. Letters were always constructed with their audience in mind. To Montgomerie, therefore, wartime letters are further evidence, "more ammunition" (p.132) to help us, and those telling our histories, avoid over-simplified generalisations about the experience of war for New Zealand and New Zealanders. In Love in Time of War, Montgomerie draws on a wide variety of sources. The core letters come from unpublished collections held at the Alexander Turnbull Library and the Auckland War Memorial Museum Library. The rest of the letters and diaries referred to are drawn from already published histories and anthologies. An extensive range of secondary sources is also used to provide background and historiographical comment. Unfortunately, there is no overall bibliography, which could have been helpful for the reader wishing to read further. Love in Time of War sets out to be history for the general market and succeeds. It is well-written, in a clear and authoritative style, well- edited (I found only one typographical error), and at times compelling reading. If the other books in the series are to be of the same quality, then it will be a very valuable series indeed. Amy Coleman Hocken Collections

Len and Shelley Richardson Anthony Wilding. A Sporting Life. Christchurch: University of Canterbury Press, 2005. 451pp. $4995 ISBN 1 877257 01 X

Edmund Bohan The House of Reed 1907-1983- Great Days in New Zealand Publishing. Christchurch: University of Canterbury Press, 2005. 31 lpp. $3995 ISBN 1 877257 32 Xp

These two excellent books have much in common. Besides being published by the University of Canterbury Press, both works are

54 Book Reviews biographical, the Wilding life overtly and the Reed history implicitly. In addition, both subjects came to untimely ends, and both say something about the development of New Zealand identity. Pertinently, for regular readers of this journal, the two books make very extensive use of rich collections of personal papers, particularly correspondence. First in time is the biography of Anthony Wilding, who, for the last fifty years, has been a virtually forgotten figure, except perhaps in Canterbury and tennis circles. Wilding was born in Christchurch in 1883, where he had a privileged childhood with supportive parents who carefully fostered his athletic prowess at both cricket and tennis. He left New Zealand to study Cambridge University in 1902. Never a keen student, he nonetheless readily entered into college life, excelling particularly at tennis, which became his major preoccupation. He participated in his first Wimbledon tournament in 1904, subsequently winning the singles title four times, 1910-1913. At the time he was New Zealand's most famous international sportsman. To quote the Richardsons: Anthony Wilding's emergence as an international tennis star in the decade before the outbreak of the Great War captured the imagination of his age. From 1910, when he first captured the Wimbledon Championship, until the loss of the title in 1914 to the Australian Norman Brookes, Wilding's presence on the centre court of the All England Lawn Tennis Club drew record crowds to Worple Road. His youth and vigour were irrefutable evidence to the tennis fraternity that their sport had shrugged off its reputation as a game for curates and come of age as a 'manly' pastime. When the experts of the day turned, as they inevitably did, to assigning Wilding a place in the hierarchy of past champions, they placed him just a little below the truly 'great.' At on«- level then, as this book makes abundantly clear, Wilding's significance is that he began the long road towards the professionalisation of tennis. He trained harder than any player before him, studied and corrected his own faults, analysed his opponents' play, and worked the nascent circuits in Britain and Europe, though without direct financial reward. This is a fascinating story, one of international importance, which is done full justice. For New Zealanders Wilding's life is also a fascinating glimpse at New Zealand nationality and identity at the time. It has been increasingly clear for some time that these did not arise fully formed from a single event, such as the 1905-06 All Blacks Tour or Gallipoli, important milestones though these were, but emerged slowly and

55 Archifacts disjointedly over a much longer period from the 1890s through to the 1970s. Strong traces of a common Australasian identity remained in the shared Davis Cup team, for which Wilding played six times from 1905 to 1914. And, though colonial born, Wilding also saw no contradiction in being both a New Zealander and British. Similarly for the English, amongst whom he easily moved, "there was satisfaction to be gleaned from watching a son of Empire dominate the Wimbledon centre court." It is probable, though untested, that this sense of cohesion lasted longer between the socially privileged of the two countries, particularly amongst adherents of tennis, recognisably a sport of the advantaged. When the Great War came it is hardly a surprise that Wilding should have enlisted as an officer in the Royal Naval Division, rather than a New Zealand unit. Not unfittingly for a sporting hero, he died courageously at Aubers Ridge on the Western Front, 9 May 1915, and was widely mourned in Britain and New Zealand, as embodying the "imperial sportsman-soldier ideal." This is a richly detailed account told with great and satisfying competence - Len Richardson is the doyen of New Zealand academic sports historians. It is also one made possible by the wealth of surviving Wilding family papers at the Canterbury Museum. Diaries, newspaper clippings, and above all nine boxes of letters from Anthony were kept and saved by his mother, who was clearly the family archivist. The Richardsons could hardly have been more fortunate, and they made the most of their opportunity. Overlapping in time but continuing much longer is Edmund Bohan's House of Reed, 1907-1983, which begins as a family biography, first of Alfred Hamish Reed (and his wife Isobel) who alone began the firm in Dunedin, and then jointly with his nephew Alexander Wyclif ("Clif") Reed, who set up the Wellington branch in 1932. It rapidly became the major office, and when A.H. retired in 1940 the Dunedin office closed too. It was in the 1950s and 1960s that Reed reached its prime, issuing with its Australian subsidiary more titles than any other publisher in Australasia, easily eclipsing its erstwhile rival Whitcombe and Tombs, who had dominated New Zealand publishing during the previous three decades. Clif Reed was, in fact, a publisher of genius who had an instinct for satisfying the needs of New Zealand popular culture at the time. If he could not find or commission an author, he would fill the gap himself. Following the example of his prolific uncle, he wrote over two hundred books that were published by Reed. Reed tiles included academic works, popular history, primary education texts, guides, sporting books, and writings about Maori, many of them pioneering. It was as large a contribution to the

56 Book Reviews development of New Zealand culture and identity as any at the time. It was, however, a conservative identity, one that never achieved acceptance amongst New Zealand intellectuals of the day, who tended to regard Reed publications with disdain. Charles Brasch, Sir Joseph Heenan, and Geoff Alley were all contemptuous. When Clif asked Alley, the National Library Service Director, why Reed books were excluded from the local edition of British Books of Today, the blunt reply was that perhaps Reed "hadn't published anything of international importance." Yet Reed was capable of considerable innovation: the company discovered and fostered Barry Crump, whose books sold in unprecedented numbers; it took full and exclusive advantage of the breakthrough in colour photography reproduction pioneered by Kyodo; and it developed a new genre of pictorial publication around the photography of Ken and Jean Bigwood, and the work of artist Peter Mclntyre, which was immensely successful and profitable. Mclntyre's reputation with the art establishment was not dissimilar to Reed's with the literary one. As well as confirming A.H.'s reputation and enhancing that of A.W. Bohan's account brings forward at least two other key figures, Tom Kennedy and Ray Richards, who both began with Reed as office boys in Dunedin, and remained with the firm until 1976 and 1977 respectively. Their reputation, as immensely influential in New Zealand publishing, should now be fully secure. Reed's high noon was the early 1960s. Thereafter, anxieties and difficulties began to strike. The country was beginning to experience general economic difficulties, the recent introduction of television foreshadowed a fall in reading, competition from overseas publishers began to be felt, and the firm's fast growth heralded management difficulties, not least in the mind of Clif Reed who constantly searched for a solution to them. Ironically, it was this search that ultimately proved fatal to the firm, as successive reorganisations from 1965 onwards destroyed its cohesiveness and marginalised its real source of strength, a talented and dedicated staff. It began with the introduction of an accountant and management expert, Malcolm Mason, who, authoritarian, dogmatic, and imperceptive, had for far too long Clifs trust, and unthinkingly destroyed its famous sense of "family," before being compelled to resign in 1977. It was, however, too late. Mason had also proved incompetent, and the firm faced substantial losses, requiring injections of capital from unsympathetic sources (Singapore Straits Times), so that John Reed, Clifs son, so successful in Australia, was obliged to cede control to Associated Book Publishers in 1983-

57 Archifacts

Bohan tells a gripping story well, with much frankness, one that very much revolves around key personalities, their strengths and weaknesses, though there is sufficient information about Reed's financial fortunes and the wider publishing environment to keep his account well grounded. At the heart of the sources used is a unique personal correspondence, certainly in publishing, between A.H and A.W. from 1932 until the death of A.H. in January 1975. Clif wrote to his uncle "never less than three times a week" detailing every development and seeking advice, which A.H. offered in abundance, though with growing irrelevance in his last years. These letters, as well as the records of the company itself, are in the Turnbull Library. The country is very fortunate to have such an archive so well preserved. The two books are well produced, with quality illustrations and adequate indexes that are a little light on subject entries. They are also fully referenced. Unaccountably, Bohan's book lacks a bibliography of sources consulted, an inexcusable omission in a book of this standard. Stuart Strachan Hocken Collections

Roberto Rabel New Zealand and the Vietnam War: Politics and Diplomacy. Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2005. xi+443pp. $4999 ISBN I 86940 340 I

The Vietnam War was long and ugly. It began as a Vietnamese nationalist struggle against French colonial rule, and became more and more brutal as America poured in troops and military hardware to prop-up an unpopular anti-communist administration in Saigon. They lost, but not before causing enormous destruction and loss of life. New Zealand was one of the few countries that supported the American military effort and in this book Roberto Rabel examines in detail the diplomacy and politics behind this support, and the unprecedented protest against it. Rabel has a background in diplomatic and military history and, as this review will suggest, his approach to some extent reflects that background. But it is much more than a study of the machinations of New Zealand's diplomats. Rabel's aim is to show all the aspects of the New Zealand debate about Vietnam, from the inner workings of the diplomatic service, the attitudes of the leading

58 Book Reviews political leaders and parties, and the aims and internal workings of the protest movement. On the whole he does it very well. The book is organised chronologically, for the most part with alternating chapters that cut back-and-forth to the two main stories Rabel is telling. One concerns diplomacy, and the interactions between New Zealand's diplomats, political leaders (the dominant figure being, of course, Keith Holyoake), and their American, and Australian, counterparts. The second story covers the domestic debates between the National and Labour Parties, and the increasingly strident protest movement. Rabel is a prosaic writer and there is much detail here. The structure keeps it interesting, as the reader moves from chapter to chapter between the very contrasting worlds of high-level diplomacy, political party manoeuvring, and left-wing street protest. Through the detail Rabel develops two central arguments. The first deals with diplomats and National Party politicians. He argües that their commitment to supporting American policy in Vietnam developed from an acceptance of the Cold War division of the world and, more importantly, from the belief that New Zealand's security depended on the protection of the United States, particularly after Britain withdrew from Asia in the 1960s. Rabel shows how New Zealand's diplomats were often critical of American motives and dubious about any chances of success in Vietnam, but saw no alternative to supporting America in order to ensure a defence relationship with them. A notable exception to this consensus were the arguments of Jack Hunn, the Secretary of Defence from 1963-65, who irritated the diplomats of External Affairs, and his Minister, by arguing strongly that the war was a civil one, that a token military force was not essential for security, and that New Zealand should offer civilian aid only. He was ignored, and Rabel only gives his views a brief mention, but they are certainly interesting as a precursor of current, more non-aligned, foreign policy. At the time, however, it was the need to secure American protection, not the merits of the war itself, which motivated the experts in the Department of External Affairs. Keith Holyoake is a dominant figure throughout the book. Rabel does a good job revealing the thoroughly pragmatic way Holyoake managed Vietnam policy. He had little interest in the intricacies of international relations, or Vietnam, and judged everything for its political effects at home. While making a public show of support for the American war effort, he made sure that the actual New Zealand contribution was the minimum possible. It was a policy that often frustrated his officials, whose commitment to the American alliance

59 Archifacts sometimes meant they were arguing for more of a military commitment than Holyoake was prepared to give. Holyoake is also central to Rabel's second main argument: that the National Party Government was largely impervious to the protests against the war. At the 1969 election Holyoake sensed that the war had more supporters than opponents among his potential voters. He was helped by the early ambivalence of the Labour Party, caught between its acceptance of Cold War assumptions, but favouring non-military aid, and reluctant to identify with the more strident and leftwing protest movement. Holyoake's war policy became less popular, however, as Nixon's "peace with honour" policies got nastier, and Norman Kirk began to articulate a more independent foreign policy. Rabel argues that the real significance of the protest movement lay longer term, in the emergence of new political leaders committed to a more non- aligned foreign policy. He is not completely convincing, however, as it is possible that some of Holyoake's reluctance to commit more than the minimum number of troops was partly influenced by his concern not to further strengthen the anti-war movement. The book is based on extensive research. Most has been into the diplomatic theme of the book, including the archives of the New Zealand diplomatic service and Defence archives, personal papers, and oral history interviews with participants. Overseas archival sources have also been used, plus extensive primary and secondary published sources. Research into the protest movement was less extensive, the main source being the comprehensive archives of the Wellington- based Committee on Vietnam, as well as theses and published works. Certainly, the reader is left with the impression that the main story is that of the diplomats, and it is with them Rabel identifies. His account of the protesters is not unsympathetic, but this reader senses they are a world removed from his experience. A possible criticism is that his focus on the organised protest movement means he downplays wider expressions of opposition to the war, for instance in popular music and literature. There are many examples, such as the weekly satirical poems of Whim Wham in the Christchurch Press and New Zealand Herald, which often savaged the Government's Vietnam policy, or Karl Stead's anti-war novel Smith's Dream, later made into a very popular feature film. The Vietnam protests were also part of much wider social changes, but it is probably too much to expect such a study to venture into the broader realms of social history. The social history of New Zealand in these years is yet to be explored and written.

60 Book Reviews

Rabel is concerned to present a balanced view of his subject, and generally he does. But he cannot resist the odd jibe. While he acknowledges that the protest movement might be seen as principled and courageous, and influential in shaping later foreign policy debate, he also suggests in his conclusion that it could be seen as a failure, and hypocritical in taking no further interest in Vietnam after the war was won. These are possible points of view, but he does not present such moral judgements in his summing up of the Holyoake Government and its diplomats. They are seen as pursuing "an effective and coherent strategy." Alternative views to these are also possible. They knew the American justifications for the war were flawed, but still persisted in supporting it. It is well to remember here, for it is not mentioned in the book, that their efforts led to New Zealand contributing to a war that killed at least two million Vietnamese, not to mention those who continue to suffer from the effects of chemical defoliants and unexploded cluster bombs and mines. It is an unpleasant legacy that New Zealand has to live with. Although some of Rabel's conclusions may not satisfy all, this is a thoroughly researched, well-constructed and thoughtful book. The interweaving of diplomacy, politics and protest is effective. It would be very interesting to see the same wider approach taken to a study of the issues of nuclear ships, apartheid and the Middle East that have preoccupied New Zealanders over the last thirty years. David Colquhoun Alexander Turnbull Library

61 Archifacts

62 Archives and Records Association of New Zealand

Patron Her Excellency The Hon Dame Silvia Cartwright, PCNZM, DBE Governor-General of New Zealand

Council 2005-06

President John Timmins Hewitson Library Knox College, Dunedin

Vice Presidents Philip Colquhoun Commerce Faculty Victoria University

Tiena Jordan Whakatane District Museum

Treasurer Libby Sharpe Whanganui Regional Museum Wanganui

Secretary Triona Doocey Archives New Zealand Christchurch

Archifacts Editor Kevin Molloy Victoria University Councillor Wellington

Newsletter Editor/ Kay Sanderson Carterton Councillor

Council Andy Fenton NZ Micrographie Services Wellington Joanna Newman City Archives Wellington City Council Lois Robertson Open Polytechnic of New Zealand Narelle Scollay Archives New Zealand Auckland Sarah Padey City Archives Auckland City Council