In historical and cultural studies one of the new buzz words or perspectives is transnationalism with its emphasis on moving beyond the nation-state and seeing links which bind people, events, issues across and, indeed, in spite of national boundaries. In migration studies and in the international oral history movement, it is a concept that, without enunciating it as such, has played an important part in the way we work, think, exchange and meet. It is also a concept that underpins or perhaps extends Alexander von Plato's recent evaluation of one of the key aims of the International Oral History Association when it was formed in 1996, namely that 'it would support international projects and the international exchange of theory and methodology in oral history.' (Plato 2006) So, let me from my vantage point here in a rural town 160 kilometres north of Sydney in Australia and four months after co-hosting the 14th International Oral History Conference in Sydney, pick up on these themes and offer some reflections. They are intentionally fairly personal reflections which draw on my own encounters with various oral history networks, issues and methodologies and which, hopefully, offer a sense of the form and texture of oral history as it has emerged in Australia and the conversations which Australian oral historians have had with their counterparts elsewhere in the world. In this vein it is also hopefully a fitting tribute to the role that Alexander von Plato has played in sustaining and challenging international links and in furthering and deepening the use of oral history.

The aim of this thesis is to examine, in the form of a qualitative study, the formation of a criminal milieu in Sydney following the Great War. I shall consider the roles played by the prison system, and the police, judges, politicians and criminals themselves, in the making of this underworld subculture in an attempt to understand why the milieu developed as it did. The study investigates why and how the underworld evolved to the point where authorities felt its threat was serious enough to introduce draconian legislation to deal with it. My thesis will suggest that while state legislation had a crucial effect on the development of the milieu, criminals and their associates exercised a degree of individual and collective agency that also influenced the progress towards a culture of organised crime. I shall also look at some of the legal, social and political consequences of the consorting law to determine whether this legislation did, in fact, have the effect for which it was claimed to have been framed. The press played a critical, although indirect, part in the formation of a criminal milieu. While the various media appeared to act with autonomy, many of those, on both sides of the law, who engaged in conflict and the exercise of power and control in and around the underworld, sought to use them as a tool to achieve their various aims. The thesis explores the role of the tabloid and broadsheet newspapers and also their use by police and other authorities in the creation of a moral panic during the 1920s in relation to the prevalence of firearms, razor attacks, prostitution, drugs and gang battles. I shall then consider whether the passage of harsh legislation was justified by the actual level of criminal activity in Sydney, or whether it was simply a 'knee-jerk' reaction by politicians, fuelled by a moral panic initiated by police and the media.

I am a great admirer of Alistair Thomson's work. I particularly appreciate his ability to travel to and through different encounters with the past and, each time, add significant insights into our understanding of memory, interviewing, interview relationships, and the complementary place of oral history interviews as one source among many. In 'Anzac Memories' he got us thinking about the clashing and convergence of individual and public memory; in 'Ten Pound Poms' (with Jim Hammerton) he got us experiencing the emotions and daily lives of British migrants; and in his many articles and other writings, he has immersed us in the changes, challenges and richness of oral history scholarship and practice. Now, with 'Moving Stories', he explores the ways in which different sources, including oral history interviews, fold into the telling of women's lives and migration experiences. 'Moving Stories' addresses multiple themes. It lures us to engage with the transnational nature of migration through the going and coming, going and coming of migration and return migration. It invites us to empathise with the ties that bind and the ties that tear: the fraught connections to family and place that so often mark moving between countries and cultures. It encourages us to contemplate the transitional roles experienced by women in the post World War Two years in England and in Australia with their tensions between expectations about marriage and motherhood and the possibilities of greater independence and other forms of fulfilment. It immerses us in the power and richness of life stories, and also in the power and richness of the ways in which memories, letters and photographs offer different and complementary perspectives on the exploration and construction of life stories. It also invites us to contemplate the challenges and depths of close collaborative authorship.

Australian local history had its origins as a documentation and, yes, celebration of European discovery, pioneering, and development in the nineteenth century. The first echoes rested with European settlers who provided personal stories of achievement in what was perceived as the alien and challenging Australian environment and who sought to memorialize pioneer communities. Anglo-centric, male, and conservative, the tone and themes they set shaped Australian local histories well into the twentieth century, and were reflected in the foundation and early years of the increasing number of local history societies and activities that emerged following the Second World War. The growth is attributed to social and economic changes that were threatening to transform or even destroy local communities, and the arrival of the sesquicentenaries and centenaries of towns and local institutions and an accompanying desire to create commemorative histories.

The value of material objects in stimulating memory is profound. Yet, as this article argues, where the role of objects is recognised at all, their use can be too readily confined to discussion of photographs or memorabilia, or can focus myopically on those objects most readily available. In an insightful revisiting of some of her own interviewing practices and situations, the author of this piece shows how objects can sometimes serve to drive interviews in the wrong direction, but can also be used more productively as a tool for exposing deeper layers of memory and meaning. Through a series of interviews with her mother, the author explores the possibilities of acknowledging the role of objects in memory while recognising the significance of context, and avoiding the pitfalls inherent in making the objects themselves, as material traces and remains, too central a focus of the interview process.

I have a passion and respect for the work done by local and regional museums as cultural institutions that survive on small budgets and the assistance of committed volunteers. I am fascinated by the memories they hold - in their collections and through their volunteers - and those that are absent. I am intrigued by the ways in which they interpret their collections: the sometimes apparently muddled over-collections that are left to speak for themselves; the themes selected; the strategies used; the connections - and disconnections - to community and to community memories. In my talk in an MA symposium on Museums, 'Memory and Ethics' in May, I focused on two strands: the ways in which oral history scholarship provides insight into the silences and mistakes that are encountered in museums; and the power of what I refer to as memory exhibitions. I have written about mistakes, silences and remembering in local museums elsewhere. Here I focus on memory exhibitions and, in particular, one memory exhibition.

This thesis is the first major study to explore Australia's military nursing contribution to the Korean War. Detailing the work and experiences of Royal Australian Air Force Nursing Service (RAAFNS) and Royal Australian Army Nursing Corps (RAANC) nurses, including their service in Japan and the post-armistice period, the thesis highlights the full extent of the Australian military nursing contribution to the war. The study traces the work and experiences of these nurses in Japan and Korea, ending with the diversity and complexity of their return to, and recognition, in Australia. In examining the Korean War from the military nursing perspective, the thesis broadens the boundaries of the conflict revealing new insights into the history of Australian military nursing and the involvement of Australian forces in the Korean War. The significance of Japan as a site of war work and the contributions of Australian forces following the armistice are highlighted as major themes. The opportunities for cultural interaction are also explored through the relationships between Australian nurses and their British Commonwealth medical colleagues, United States and United Nations personnel, and the Japanese and Korean civilians with whom they had contact. Finally, the thesis reveals the Korean War era as a period of continuity and transition in the culture of military nursing. The RAAFNS and RAANC both developed as more career-orientated organisations during this period. Yet despite these changes strong connections with past military nursing traditions remained. These transitions and continuities are explored throughout the thesis.

Golden threads tells the story of the Chinese people who came to and sometimes settled in NSW from the first arrivals in the early 19th century, through the turbulent goldrush years and into the 20th century. Through their compelling and largely previously unpublished stories, the book explores their experiences, working lives, hopes and beliefs, and the attitudes of a white Australia which viewed the Chinese at one extreme as a menacing threat and at the other an exotic presence.

Dreyfus's surprise - 'I was absolutely startled' (25) - at her discovery of the Weintraubs Syncopators' connection to Australia, mirrors my own surprise as I began my Dreyfus-led journey through the Weintraubs' experiences. I knew about other refugee-based additions to Australia's cultural scene - Richard Goldner and Musica Viva, Felix Werder, Borovansky Ballet, and many more. However, I had not previously encountered this group with its memorable name that so appropriately evokes different beats and rhythms - appropriate both for the music and acts performed by the group, and for the content and structure of the book.