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 histories and place of the Chinese temples that served the northern New South Wales tin mining towns of Emmaville and Tingha provide insights into the role of temples as an integral part of Chinese diasporic communities: they tell of items, beliefs, practices and rituals brought from China, and they hint at support networks and organisations.They also indicate the complex and changing place of the temples and, implicitly, the Chinese as integral parts of their local Australian communities – as exotic, as exciting, as sometimes threatening and also as familiar. This article identifies the variety of sources that have emerged to document these histories and, drawing on the insights offered through recent work on the history and heritage of the Chinese in Australia, adds to our understanding of the complexities of the history of the Chinese in Australia. By focusing on historic sites in regional New South Wales it also honours the significant work done by Barry McGowan.

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.

The thesis examines a selected number of women's voluntary organisations in New South Wales, Australia, to find what learning takes place in them, and how their members learn from the organisations and from each other. It uses the framework of conventional adult learning theory to establish whether the way women learn in the environment of a voluntary organisation complies with those conventions or deviates from them. As well, it uses a feminist approach that adopts multiple methods of amassing relevant information. Organisations examined include creative guilds and service organisations, the Country Women's Association and a number of church organisations. Research was carried out through the use of recorded interviews with members, informal conversations and attendance at meetings of the organisations, some of which the researcher joined or already held membership in. In addition, primary records, newsletters and histories published by the organisations were consulted, as were sources such as women's magazines within the sphere of interest of the organisations. Theorists in the field of adult education have only quite recently begun to look more deeply at the way learning occurs outside educational institutions, and whether this learning is of significant value to the individual and society. This scrutiny has been particularly neglected in the case of women's learning in social situations such as women's voluntary organisations. This research addresses this void.

When I stumbled into the beginnings of my life as an oral historian in the late 1970s, in Australia, oral history was primarily an activity that happened outside universities. When pursued within universities, it was considered a fairly unsophisticated method for research projects. My own initiation came as a research assistant on a project to record the experiences of European refugees who had made their way to Australia in the years immediately preceding and following the Second World War. I went to my first interview armed with a tape recorder, some background on the topic, and no specific training in oral history. That initiation was not unusual since at the time there was limited, if any, oral history training offered at universities in Australia. There was also a deep skepticism directed at oral history by some academic historians. For those who did venture into the field, it was often with the belief that oral history interviewing was simply about asking questions and recording answers. It was seen as, after all, "just common sense." The skepticism - though now both more refined and more filtered - and the commonsense view can still he found within universities. However, the growth in university oral history courses, research projects, archives and other activities, their diversity and innovative nature, and the burgeoning literature on the teaching of oral history in tertiary institutions all suggest that oral history has moved from the margins to the mainstream, and that it is recognized as grounded in complex and sophisticated theories and methods. There is now a richness of oral history in universities, in Australia and elsewhere, that deserves exploring: its different practices and approaches adopted across disciplines, its literature, and its impact on students, staff, and on the relations between universities and their surrounding communities. In considering the role of oral history in universities past, present, and future, this survey makes no claims to be exhaustive or comprehensive and is limited by a focus primarily on English-language literature and on the programs, networks, and examples with which I am familiar, including my own teaching and learning practices. It aims, however, to provide an overview of key achievements, issues, strategies, and challenges, and to provoke thinking about ongoing and future issues, strategies, and concerns.

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.