Volume 1 of Ruth Park’s autobiography, A fence around the cuckoo, covers the period of her life up to when she lands in Australia to marry D’Arcy Niland. Not being sure, perhaps, that there’d be a sequel, Park concludes with:
We lived together for twenty-five years less five weeks. We had many fiery disagreements but no quarrels, a great deal of shared and companionable literary work, and much love and constancy. Most of all I like to remember laughter.
That autobiography was published in 1992. The drums go bang, written collaboratively by Park and Niland, was published in 1956 and covers the first five or so of these years to just after the publication in 1947 of The harp in the south.
The first thing that struck me was its point of view: it slips astonishingly between third person and first person plural, sometimes in the middle of a paragraph. And then the penny dropped, its collaborative nature. When they are talking about one of them, Tiger (Ruth’s nickname) or Evans (D’Arcy’s), third person is used, but when they are talking about them together, first person plural is used. Here is an example about their delayed honeymoon:
We didn’t mind the delay. Tiger was crazy to see Sydney, and besides she wasn’t too keen on going away to the Blue Mountains with a strange man. While Evans was away at the Railway she went around the city on her own …
Once you work out what’s going on, it works very well. However, to understand this particular paragraph, and the “strange man” comment you’ll need to read their story for yourself, as I want to move on to other things. Suffice it to say that this comment, while containing an element of truth, given the way their relationship developed, is also an example of their light, self-deprecating humour. As Park said in her autobiography, “most of all I like to remember laughter”.
The drums go bang is a short and often funny book, but it manages to cover a lot, including their struggles to find accommodation in 1940s Sydney when accommodation was scarce, their decision to go freelance and the resultant struggle to survive, their work in the outback, two pregnancies, their lives in Surry Hills and other Sydney suburbs, and their relationships with a wonderful cast of characters. The aspects which interested me most were of course Surry Hills, because it inspired The harp in the south, the writing life, and the writing itself, which provides such an insight into their skills.
Although they tell it with such humour, Park and Niland are very clear about how difficult the freelance life is. For most of the five years covered by the book they live a hand-to-mouth existence, experiencing poverty at close hand. However, there’s also good advice here for would-be writers. For example, early in the book, Tiger expresses frustration at Evans’s belief that a good story will sell regardless, but even this is told with humour:
He was convinced that if the story were good it must sell. He bailed up an amiable Salvation Army major and tried to persuade him that “The Other Side of Love” was just what was needed for the War Cry. He submitted “The Menace of Money” to the Business Man’s Monthly, and a sentimental animal story to the house magazine at the Abattoirs.
They share their Minor Carta, their manifesto for writers who wish to make a living writing. Its eight articles include some hard learnt truths, such as that you have to “write anything and everything”, you cannot afford to be “snobbish” about your art, and you can’t let rejection slips get you down. They talk about the variability of payment systems for freelance work, unscrupulous writing schools, and the importance of marketing, of needing to “shape it to fit”. They write articles, songs, short stories, radio plays, children’s radio, comedy sketches, and more – anything that might bring in a cheque (and they do it sharing one old typewriter.)
I’d love to share more about their lives, and particularly the characters in it, like Evans’ brother Young Gus, the generous freelance publisher Mr Virtue, and colourful relations like Aunt Nibblestones and Uncle Looshus, but I want to get onto something that is most relevant to Bill’s AWW Gen 3 Week, their time in Surry Hills and how it inspired The harp in the south. Initially scared by “the place, with its brawling, shrieking life”, abusive drunks and fighting prostitutes, Park started to adapt, and
… began to study the people for what they were, and not what they did. Their true kindness, their generosity and charity filled her with shame. They were so much more genuinely loveable than she had given them credit for being, and she began to understand how the incredible congestion of their lives, the rabbit-warren houses, the inescapable dirt of an area which is built around the big factory chimneys all contributed to their innately lawless, conventionless attitude towards life. She began to understand that in such a place dirt ceases to become important, morals are often impracticable, and privacy is an impossibility.
As it turned out, though, The harp in the south was written, almost, you could say, accidentally. In New Zealand for some needed R&R after the birth of their second child, they are sent a clipping by Uncle Looshus which announces a Sydney Morning Herald competition for a novel, short story and poem. Park tries to convince Niland to write a novel but he refuses, saying he only writes short stories, and tells her to have a go. So, she does, and of course Surry Hills is her inspiration:
… she felt she understood them. She certainly liked them, mostly because in the midst of all their dirt and poverty and fecklessness they contrived to be happy.
She wrote down a sentence that seemed to sum up their philosophy: “I was thinking of how lucky we are”.
That sentence, the last line in the book, was the key that opened the door. From then on the story grew by itself.
This book, published serially in 1947 to both acclaim and vituperation, has become a classic of Australian social realism, albeit, as Paul Genoni says, “tempered with romanticism”. The same could be said of this delightful memoir.
Ruth Park and D’Arcy Niland
The drums go bang!
Illustrated by Phil Taylor
Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1956
195pp.
ISBN: None
Whispering Gums 
Great review! You have taken me back to 1983 when a colleague recommended that I read this book – it was genuinely exhilarating – and yes, Ruth Park’s estimation of the value and worth of her Surry Hills neighbours was for me the winning feature.
Thanks Jim … exhilarating is a wonderful word for it.
The Drums Go Bang has been one of my favourite books forever. I lent my original hardback – you don’t mention all Park’s marvellous illustrations – to a friend in northern NSW where the three went shearing and travelling, and never saw it again.
Without thinking about it, I instinctively understood it to be written by a couple, hence the use of ‘we’ and ‘she’ in the same line, as you do when you’re talking about something you’ve both done or only one of you has done. Strangely, I remember her autobiographies as tedious and self-serving.
I was lying in bed tonight Bill thinking I hadn’t even credited thee illustrations. I will add that now, but yes, the illustrations are marvellous. It is a marvellous work all told. What a shame you’ve “lost” your copy. Mine is the on Mum gave Dad in 1957.
I enjoyed the autobiographies too, but I read them a long time ago now, but I thought they had that similar sense of humour.
Er, yes. Your copy was given to your father by your mother in 1957! Most of us are not blessed with parents of such foresight, knowing our infant daughter will want to review this book in 62 years. I was intrigued by your review, and worried by the publication date. When I Googled it, I found an online edition, fittingly enough at Google Books. Alas, while I could search this edition, and found 83 occurrences of “Tiger”, I couldn’t download it for free or money. Trove showed me what libraries had it, mainly universities, so not much use. Going second hand for a goodly sum from America. Finally tracked down a second hand copy from Sydney, for a reasonable $30 plus postage. By now I’d lost interest, so I downloaded The harp in the south, which I’ve never read, instead. (I used to really enjoy The Muddleheaded Wombat on the ABC’S Children’s Hour.)
Haha Neil. And they kept it, until downsizing three years ago saw it comevto me.
I love your dedication, but you’ve made a good decision choosing The harp in the south. I hope you like it.
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Oh, they were wonderful, those two ..
They sure were weren’t they, M-R. They made such a life together. So tough for her when he died – but you know about that.
I have to read this! Can’t believe they shared one typewriter!
I know, it’s impressive isn’t it. Such cooperation was needed. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.
And I thought sharing a study was an achievement!
Haha Angela. Impressive, isn’t it. They talk about one writing by hand while the other typed.
They must have a good system or a huge amount of tolerance…
A bit of both is what seems to come across Rose
I think this book should be compulsory reading in creative writing schools!
Good suggestion Lisa. It has a lot to offer as a work itself and in terms of the advice it provides, doesn’t it.
Interesting post, Sue. Have forwarded to my partner Andrew Nette, whose PhD thesis on the history of Australian pulp publishing touched on Park and Niland and their freelance existence.
Interesting post, Sue. Have forwarded to my partner Andrew Nette, whose PhD thesis on the history of Australian pulp publishing touched on Park and Niland and their freelance existence.
Oh good, Angela. If he hasn’t read it, let me know because they do say a little about their pulp fiction writing and what it taught them. I could do a post just on that excerpt in fact.
What a great review! You’ve totally convinced my to add this one to the TBR pile. And I’ll go back to The Harp in the South, too. Is there a Melbourne equivalent (same milieu, same era) that you know of?
Oh that’s the best response a post can have Michelle, ie that it convinces someone to read the book. I can’t imagine you’d be disappointed.
As for Melbourne, I couldn’t think of any, but emelbourne.net.au says this “Creative writers in this era tended to focus on the bush rather than exploit the wealth of subject material in the city. However, there are several works that depict the city in the grip of the depression. Set in the 1930s, Leonard Mann’s The go-getter (1942) recounts the story of returned World War I soldier, Chris Gibbons, attempting to reassert his underlying decency. Marjorie McLeod’s one-act play, A shillingsworth (1931), and Glen Tomasetti’s Thoroughly decent people (1976), focus on the struggles of families. Alan Marshall used his experience to write both novels and autobiographies providing vivid depictions of Melbourne in the 1930s: How beautiful are thy feet (1949) and This is the grass (1962). Vance Palmer’s The Swayne family (1934), his only novel with an urban setting, includes a chapter set during a cricket match at the Melbourne Cricket Ground.” Nothing quite like Park. I think Sydney was more the centre of creative writing from the 1930s to 1950s in particular. I have heard of Leonard Mann, and Palmer and Marshall. I think there’s more historical fiction than there is fiction of the time?
So helpful! I really appreciate these leads. I have a very vague idea about one day writing something that will at least partially be set in Melbourne, in the first half of the twentieth century, hence my interest. But I have another book-length project to finish first…
I love that you have ideas piled up Michelle.
Hi Sue, I loved the Ruth Park and D’Arcy Niland books. My mother introduced them to me. I introduced both to my daughter. Her first introduction was to Ruth Park children’s novels, and she then progressed to the adult novels. Park and Niland were a powerful couple, and wrote novels in the social realist tradition. (I hope I used the correct term). I lent my Ruth Park’s autobiography A Fence around the Cuckoo (that my mother gave me), to a friend and like Bill’s experience, it was never returned – urgh!
Thanks Meg, like you I read several of HER books in particular when I was young, and, luckily, I still have both volumes of her autobiography. And, yes, I think you have used the correct term!! I’m ashamed to say that I’ve never read The shiralee. But I will!
This book has been recommended to me a few times. I was obsessed by D’arcy Niland after reading the Shiralee and managed to locate all his novels secondhand online, bought them and added them to my bookshelves but alas never got around to reading any (too many books, not enough time)!
I know the feeling, kimbofo – strangely!
This sounds like a lively memoir. I like the idea of having fiery disagreements but not quarreling.
I would read A Fence Around the Cuckoo first.
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