A Living Collection - Geoffrey McSkimming

When Geoffrey McSkimming was a boy he found an old motion-picture projector and a tin containing a dusty home movie in his grandmother's attic.

He screened the film and was transfixed by the flickering image of a man in a jaunty pith helmet, baggy Sahara shorts and special desert sun-spectacles. The man had an imposing macaw and a clever-looking camel, and Geoffrey was mesmerised by their activities in black-and-white Egypt, Peru, Greece, Mexico, Sumatra, Turkey and other exotic locations.

Years later Geoffrey discovered the identities of the trio, and he has spent much of his time since then retracing their footsteps, interviewing surviving members of the Old Relics Society, and gradually reconstructing the lost true tales of that well-known archaeologist and little-known poet, Cairo Jim.

McSkimming is now the author of the enormously successful Cairo Jim chronicles, selling over 300,000 copies worldwide.

 

Hat belonging to Henry Lawson, 1890–1922

FJ Palmer & Sons Ltd
Grey rabbit fur felt hat with dark grey-black silk ribbon hatband
Presented by Miss Joyce Dowling Smith, Dec 1975
R 660

Death mask of Henry Lawson, c. 1922

Illingworth, Nelson (attrib.), 1862–1926
Plaster cast
Purchased 1994
R 774

Cast of Henry Lawson’s right hand, c. 1929-1930

Lambert, George Washington (attrib.), 1873–1930
Plaster
Presented by Mr Walter Stone
R 61

In the late 1990s I regularly visited the Mitchell Library Reading Room to work on a series of novels. This was the first time in my professional life that I felt like I was getting somewhere as a writer and I felt proud about that; I also remember that the majestic surrounds of the Reading Room kept this pride in perspective.

One day on the way to the Reading Room I came across a display in the Mitchell foyer. There, in a glass case, was a plaster cast of a hand – Henry Lawson’s – the great Australian poet. I found myself drawn to the exhibit and, for a long time after, the image of his hand stayed in my mind. I re-read Lawson’s poems and a biography of the man – the poignancy of his final days has been with me ever since.

Last year, for the inaugural Cairo Jim’s Mysteries of the Mitchell tours, Lawson’s pen, his ‘death’ mask and his moth-eaten hat were displayed. Watching these items being placed in the display case, my emotional response came rushing back. This man, this great and tortured poet, ended his days in poverty, scrounging small sums from his publishers to survive week-by-week. Yet when he died, he was given a state funeral.

Australia has always had a strange relationship with its writers. I wish Lawson could know what we think of him now. I wish I could still be here in 100 years’ time, when the Mitchell celebrates its 200th, to see how Australia regards its scribes. I wonder if anything will have changed...

 

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