Word: sturt
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...interview, "I thought it was a soccer scholarship," says Hlomela, who managed to talk his way into the position based on his vague memory of a couple of snippets of games he'd seen on television. Hlomela proved to be a natural and played for the Sturt Football Club under-19s in the South Australian Football League...
...Barbara Sturt, of the Jaru, sits beneath a tree in the yard of Halls Creek's Yarliyil Arts Centre and points to her dazzlingly bright canvas. "Here are the Rainbow Snakes," she says shyly, tying her tale to a myth that features in almost all Aboriginal cosmology. "They go in here, and everywhere they come up they make a creek or billabong." The snakes are believed responsible for much of Australia's topography, moving under the ground, carving waterways, coiled and sleeping under hills and mountains...
...Water is precious in this country, and knowing where to find it allowed Sturt's nomadic ancestors to flourish for tens of thousands of years in an environment so hostile it might have been some divine practical joke. While her painting is not a map in any conventional sense, Geoff Vivian, community development officer for the shire of Halls Creek, speculates as to its provenance. "I think scientists will one day find," he says, that there's "sophisticated hydrographic knowledge" embedded in Aboriginal myth. Maggie Long, another Jaru painter, has popped into the arts center to chat to manager...
...Tempting, but foolish. Marvel at the emptiness of the desert plain, but remember, Barbara Sturt and her people can find waterholes and billabongs here in a landscape that could kill the rest of us in hours. That kind of knowledge, you suspect, takes more than one lifetime to acquire...
...Magda Lupescu among hotels-old and slightly raddled . . . waiting patiently for the chosen few who could afford its haughty hospitality." The raffish oddballs who people the Dennis-Erskine hotel are pretty special, and would have raised Krafft-Ebing's interest if not his eyebrows. There is T. J. Sturt III, a millionaire alcoholic who wears a pink girdle and phones random city fire departments to announce blazes of mysterious origin. There is seventyish L. Harvey Crull Jr., who puts under doors pamphlets announcing the Second Coming and chases upstairs maids into enclosed fire escapes. The hotel manager himself...