Danny, of course, would never have dreamed of telling her that he couldn’t imagine a stampede of Australian news photographers, flashbulbs popping, storming the front door, closely followed by a mob of reporters clamouring for an interview. But he nevertheless loved his wife’s enthusiasm, and was grateful that Helen had always supported him. He was more than happy to pay the price of having to hear about a bandaged arm found in a crevice in the wall of a tomb at a place called Abydos by a bloke named Petrie, which she firmly believed was an early example of mummification and which, in addition, she now believed she could prove belonged to Egyptian royalty.
He could almost recite her argument, having heard it a dozen times over the years since her return from her first archaeological dig. ‘Listen to this, darling. Emery contends that because Abydos is about 250 miles south of Memphis, the capital of Ancient Egypt, and because there was no mummification at the time of the First Dynasty, no royals could have been buried there – the bodies would have decayed long before they arrived by boat. On the other hand Saqqara is close to Memphis and so it’s the logical place for royal burials! And quite apart from that, what about the hundreds of young men and women and priests sacrificed and buried around the tomb at Abydos?’
Oh gawd, here we go, Danny would think to himself. Here comes the dreaded arm. ‘But if they knew about mummification at the time, then there’d no problems, eh? Is that what you’re saying?’ It was time to concentrate.
‘I’m convinced the Arm of Djer is the earliest evidence of mummification and that it was royal. And, yes, you’re right. If they were mummified in Memphis, then transporting them that distance wouldn’t have been a problem. When Petrie partially unwrapped the bandages he found four fabulous bracelets of gold, amethyst, lapis lazuli and turquoise, bearing the cartouche of the pharaoh arranged on the forearm. It, the arm, must have belonged to King Djer himself,’ Helen said fervently.
‘Well, surely anyone examining the arm and the bandages would be able to tell? Wait on: if it was a royal tomb, what happened to the body? The pharaoh?’
‘The tomb robbers got there long before Petrie. They’d broken up the body, knowing that they’d find a king’s ransom among the bandages – jewellery and the like. Then they set fire to the burial chamber.’
‘So how come this Petrie fellow found the arm?’
Helen shrugged. ‘Who knows? Perhaps one of the robbers meant to come back for it later without his mates knowing.’
‘So the arm is all that’s left of the pharaoh?’
Helen sighed. ‘I wish.’
‘Hang on! You just said this bloke Petrie found it in a crevice.’
‘He did, and then he photographed it and delivered it to the Boulaq Museum in Cairo, where the bracelets were removed for display.’
‘Yeah, but there’s still the arm?’
‘No.’
‘What? They threw it away?’
‘Well it disappeared, but you’re probably right.’
‘Jesus!’
Helen laughed. ‘I guess they figured they had dozens of mummified bodies. An extra arm here or there didn’t much matter.’
‘Well, with no arm, you’re up shit creek without a paddle, aren’t you?’
‘You have such a charming turn of phrase, darling . . . but no. Have a look at this.’ Helen turned to a green leather-bound tome that lay on her desk and opened it to show a black-and-white photograph of the arm with the bracelets hand-coloured occupying an entire page. ‘See, if you look carefully, there’s a stain on the inside layers of the wrappings.’
‘Yeah, probably the result of damp, and being stuck in that crevice.’
‘But what if it isn’t? What if the stains are resin and other embalming agents?’
‘Helen, how can you possibly tell from a photograph?’
‘Don’t be such a spoilsport, Danny Dunn. Of course I’m not basing my thesis on a single photograph. Flinders Petrie must have taken samples of linen from the Arm of Djer. They must still exist, somewhere.’
‘Where? I mean, where do you think?’
‘I don’t know. Cairo, perhaps; the Kasr-el-Aini Medical School, where they unwrapped and studied the mummies? The Museum?’
‘The selfsame that lost the royal bloody arm? Don’t like your chances, babe.’
Helen sighed. ‘I’d so love to prove them all wrong. Emery, in particular. He’s a stubborn old coot. Besides, wearing culottes in that heat was ridiculous! He wouldn’t touch the local food, and his poor wife, Molly, ran out of recipes for bully beef and rice . . . and tinned beetroot! He loved it, so we had it with every meal.’
‘You mean you’d travel to Cairo in the hope of finding a piece of ancient bandage to examine for possible resin marks?’ Something in his voice must have betrayed his incredulity, because Helen’s tone changed.
‘Now, listen to me, Mr Big-shot Lawyer! If you were prosecuting a murder and a crucial clue involved a potential wild goose chase to some faraway place, would you ignore it?’ Helen didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Of course you wouldn’t! And that’s what an archaeologist does – follows clues hidden in history.’ She tossed her handsome head. ‘Anyway, it’s clearly not possible.’
‘What isn’t possible?’
‘Going to Cairo.’
‘Oh, I dunno,’ Danny replied.
‘Danny, what do you mean?’ Helen cried, clutching his arm. She was suddenly excited, her eyes shining.
The law partnership was prospering, and they were well past their early financial problems. ‘We can manage it. I’ll talk to Franz.’ But Danny couldn’t resist adding, ‘I must say, it’s a bloody long way to go to look for a stained bandage that could have been tossed in the rubbish bin sixty years ago.’
‘Well then I won’t go,’ Helen said, her voice flat, as if the air had suddenly been squeezed out of her. Then, not wanting to show her disappointment, she said firmly, ‘I probably need to be around. Sam seems a little distracted at present, and Gabrielle wants to start music lessons, or so she says.’
‘Sam distracted – what’s that mean?’
‘Her teacher says she’s not paying attention in class.’
Danny frowned. ‘Have you spoken to her?’
‘Of course.’
‘What did she say?’
Helen chuckled. ‘She said she was concentrating on the 1968 Olympics.’
Danny was forced to laugh. ‘But that’s years away!’
‘I pointed that out to her, but she said Dawn Fraser had visited her school and told them you have to plan a long way ahead if you want to win gold.’
‘Funny little thing. Sam has always been the more competitive of the two. When we’re rowing I often have to slow her down. It’s a bit of a worry really.’
‘What is?’
‘That she’s outstripping Gabby already.’
‘Gabby has other things on her mind,’ Helen added, a trifle acerbically. ‘She wants to play the violin, she tells me.’
‘What – at this age she knows already?’ Danny said, mimicking Franz mimicking his mother.
‘Some kids from the Sydney Conservatorium came to the school to play for them. They demonstrated all the instruments, and Gabby apparently fell in love with the violin. Or perhaps it was with the violinist,’ Helen said dryly. ‘Anyway, she came home and said, “Mummy, can I have a violin for my birthday?” Then she added, “I’ve fallen in love and I’m going to play in the Sydney Symphony Orchestra . . . or maybe I’ll be a soloist – I haven’t made up my mind yet.”’ Helen paused. ‘So, you see, it’s an important stage in their development. Best I stay home and concentrate on the living.’
‘Mum says she wants to spend less time in the pub,’ Danny said suddenly.
‘Yes, she told me.’
‘Told you what?’
‘She’d like more time with her grandchildren.’
‘Yeah, she’s had forty years in pubs, so you can’t really blame her. And Dad can probably do the actual day-to-day running of the Hero. She’d still do the books, the orders, supervise the cleaners. Now she’s driving, she can take the twins to school and pick them up, and I daresay she’d be happy to supervise their homework and give them their tea, either at the pub or here.’
‘What are you trying to tell me, Danny?’
‘That you’re going to Egypt to find your stained bandage.’ Danny laughed. ‘After all, if you’re right, it’ll knock the socks off your supervisor.’
‘Darling, I know I’m right; I just need the evidence – the proof,’ Helen insisted, ‘and if I’m right, it’ll knock the socks off the entire world of archaeology.’
‘Be careful, sweetheart. One of the partners at Stephen James & Stapleton had a favourite saying: “There’s many a slip between mug and lip.” Don’t make a right fool of yourself in front of your university colleagues. As Pineapple Joe would say, “Keep schtum until maybe you got double proof.”’
Helen was not to be outdone. ‘Or, as Sammy says, “A certainty is a dog that usually comes last at Harold Park.” You’re right, of course. But there are two things I am absolutely certain of – my husband and my mother-in-law. Thank you, darling.’ Helen rose from her desk, walked over to the small leather couch and perched on Danny’s lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck she kissed him deeply, then drew back and said, ‘Which reminds me, Daniel Corrib Dunn. You haven’t done your French homework for four days. Your teacher is getting anxious!’ She grinned, looking at him lovingly. ‘I’ll call Brenda in the morning and talk to her. How lucky am I, to have the mother I’ve always wanted in Brenda, and the man I’ve always wanted in you. You know, I really think I could have been a great publican’s daughter. I like a good pub: the atmosphere, the noise, the camaraderie – it’s pretty fundamental.’
‘Whatever that means,’ Danny replied, unimpressed. ‘It’s the pot where people come to get pissed, the pisspot. I guess that’s pretty basic. Getting back to your trip, how would you like to fly to Egypt?’
‘What? By aeroplane?’ Helen asked, surprised.
‘I know you’re a positive angel, darling, but yes. I looked into it a while ago, when you first started talking about Cairo in that special tone of voice you have.’ He smiled. ‘I think, from memory, Qantas flies to Tehran, then Iranian Airways would take you to Cairo. It’ll take you a day or two, but it’s a damn sight better than two weeks by P&O and another two weeks home. It’ll mean you’ll spend less time away from us, yet still have more time for research.’
‘Oh, how exciting! I’ve never been in an aeroplane.’
‘You’ll be the first in the family to take an overseas flight, not counting the twin-engine Dakota that took us from Bangkok to the hospital in Rangoon.’ Danny laughed. ‘Flying costs the same as a first-class berth on P&O. The posh people all prefer to fly these days, my dear.’
‘In that event, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb,’ Helen grinned.
During her time away they received an airmail letter from Helen every week, the single sheet of blue paper crammed with her smallest writing, full of funny stories that made the twins giggle, featuring her adventures with four major characters in the Cairo museum, where she was attempting to establish the whereabouts of the samples of the bandage that once covered the long-ago discarded arm of King Djer.
There was Ben Bin Bandage, the mummy restorer, who went to great lengths to show Helen all the wrong bandages. ‘But madam mustn’t be so fussy pot. I can find you bandage nearly, exactly, almost identical, the same, only one thousand years the difference!’ Dr Abdul ‘My Goodness’ No, who was responsible for unwinding mummies, whose first reaction to any of her requests was, ‘My goodness no, madam! These bandages, they are for the unwinding of, not for the taking of and using of and finding old resins maybe on the inside of that which was never seen before and I think is the poppycock and nonsense of!” Fatima Frankincense, the mummy-stuffing herb expert: ‘We are mixing secret spices for the pharaohs and also for madam’s very delicious dinner tonight! Madam is having dreams after eating. She is beautiful Cleopatra on royal barge sailing with very, very important Roman soldier, Mark Antonia, friend of Julie Caesar, down the Nile and hiding sometimes in papyrus. And very nice things they are happening inside there indeed! And lastly, Mohammed the Mummy Minder: ‘Madam, if you want I can find you whole arm with bandage complete, not shitty small piece. They are having plenty resin, very cheap, genuine pharaoh, every satisfaction guaranteed! Goodwill to all mens!’
But reading between the lines of Helen’s letters it was apparent to Danny, Brenda and Half Dunn that all was not going well in the search for the elusive resin-stained bandage. Then a month after she arrived Danny received a cable from Cairo sent directly to his office.
NO LUCK BANDAGE CAIRO STOP
GOING TO LONDON FURTHER SEARCH STOP
SEND SEVENTY POUNDS C/O EGYPTOLOGY DEPARTMENT
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON STOP
LOVE HELEN
For three weeks Helen continued her search in the Petrie Museum at University College London without success. With her money rapidly running out she knew she would soon be forced to come home. Then she came across an entry in the register that simply read ‘Linen, Abydos, Dynasty 1’. Within an hour she had located the ancient samples, which were stored together with a swatch of the finest modern Irish linen, put there by Flinders Petrie as a comparison. Included was a note in his handwriting comparing the quality of First Dynasty linen with the best modern cloth, exactly as she’d read in the green book. Within a day she examined the Egyptian linen under a microscope and identified what she thought were minute traces of resin. Not long after, a university archaeological chemist verified the resin content, as well as the presence of two additional agents required in the mummification process. Helen was jubilant! She now had the indisputable evidence to support a groundbreaking piece of original research. The snip of a girl from Australia would have to be taken seriously in the clubrooms of the Athenaeum in Piccadilly and the hallowed halls of international academe.
On Helen’s return to Australia, Danny and the twins, Brenda and Half Dunn waited excitedly at Sydney Airport terminal for her to emerge from customs. The twins held a handmade placard that read: WELL DUNN, MUM! and Danny another that said, YOU HAVE EVERY RESIN TO BE PROUD!
Now, in January 1960, Helen handed Danny a bound copy of her dissertation. Twelve copies had been printed and bound by the University of Sydney Press. He opened it to the title page:
ROYAL TOMB OR CENOTAPH?
Reassessing the Evidence from
First Dynasty Saqqara and Umm el-Qa’ab, Abydos,
with
Special Reference to the Arm of King Djer
****
Thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy
by
Helen Brown, B. A. (Hons), M.A., University of Sydney
January 1960
It would take at least a year, maybe more, for Helen’s dissertation to be read and marked, and in the meantime life marched on at a steady pace, much as usual. Danny was getting nowhere with the council or the police over the noise and overcrowded tenancies in Brokendown Street, as it had become known to one and all.
Tommy O’Hearn, the ex-soap-factory shop steward, Half Dunn’s nemesis, he of the water-polo and scuffed patent-leather shoe incident, was now the state member for Balmain, his seat won uncontested in the recent election of the Cahill Labor government. Danny had watched as O’Hearn soap-boxed in all the pubs with a swagger and a smug smile that he was aching to wipe off his fat face. The bad back that had prevented O’Hearn joining up had miraculously come good after the war was over. Funny that.
Danny had discussed with Half Dunn the prospect of taking the council to court over the blatant
violation of the Landlord and Tenant Act but his father was quick to put the kibosh on the idea.
‘Danny, this isn’t just a few councillors getting a backhander from a local developer – they’re simply the small fry. Tommy O’Hearn’s not a lot bigger. This goes all the way to the Premier’s Department and the Police Commissioner. Too many windmills to tilt at, Don “Nifty” Quixote. Take my advice: bide your time, son. I haven’t spent thirty years on a bar stool at the Hero without learning that every dog has his day; sooner or later these bastards will get what’s coming to them. Something will happen, just you wait and see, mate.’
‘Jesus, Dad, how long does a man have to wait? I used to think we were the salt of the earth here in Balmain – tough, strong, independent, working class and proud of it. I believed that there are only two kinds of people: those who come from Balmain and those who wish they did. But now I realise it’s all bullshit. It’s the place where the Labor Party was born, but what good has that ever done us?’
‘Fair go, Danny —’
‘The bloody coal depot, the power station belching smoke into the air so that most Balmain kids can be heard coughing half a block away! The soap factories, chemical factories and any form of dirty industry nobody else wanted were all welcome in Balmain, right along the harbour’s edge. The Balmain part of the harbour has more effluent and crap poured into it each day than anywhere else in Sydney, Dad. I should know. Some mornings when the twins and I go out on the harbour it’s like rowing in a cesspool.’
The Story of Danny Dunn Page 37