Wellington

Given the state of the world at the time of this writing, I’d much rather be doing an exhibition of frayed knots or whatever. But on the other hand, I guess there’s no time like the present to remember that war is absolute bullshit. And anyway, this exhibit is pretty great and very well done.

Te Papa, the national museum of New Zealand, will definitely get its own entry eventually. It’s very large and hosts pretty grand temporary exhibitions. The Scale of Our War is technically not permanent, but it is still a few years from the end of its run (2015 to 2025) and it is very grand. The figures that anchor each section are 2.4 times life size and were created by local prop maker Weta Workshop. Maybe you’ve heard of them.

The history of World War I is complicated and brutal and well worth reading about, especially if you’re looking to really trace how exactly a conflict that resulted in so much devastation and death could feel both entirely preventable and wholly inevitable. It was a blood-soaked baptism into the modern age. There are many horrific parts to the whole thing–Ypres, the Somme, the Argonne, etc etc etc–but for New Zealand and Australia, Gallipoli looms largest.

I won’t try to lay out the ebbs and flows of the campaign, because it was eight months of hell spent in service of trying to knock the Ottoman Empire out of the war, and it absolutely did not work. It started with a bad landing, continued with failed offensives, and ended in an evacuation when command decided there were better positions to die for in Europe. The Allies lost 44,000 lives. The Ottoman Empire lost 87,000. It made little difference to the wider war–but it helped shape the national identities of Australia, New Zealand, and Turkey.

The exhibit includes overviews of the campaign as well as the stories of eight New Zealanders, who are depicted by those very large statues. It’s an effective way to hook the audience into a dense topic. You start with Lt. Spencer Westmacott.

Westmacott would land at Gallipoli on April 25, sustain wounds that would cost him his right arm, and be evacuated that night. His feelings about his experience there reminded me of the narrations in They Shall Not Grow Old, where many soldiers spoke fairly warmly of their time at the front.

The space of the exhibit is laid out pretty well, in my opinion. You follow the line, which not only helps the flow of traffic but also guides you through with a sense of how time was passing during the campaign.

As I mentioned, I’m not going to go through the details of story here–for one thing, this post has been in drafts for some months and I currently have covid; for another, I’ve already linked to one good overview–but I have a lot of admiration for a history-based museum exhibition that does a solid job of engaging the patron. History can be tough for engagement, as it tends to be text-dense, rely on not-immediately-eye-catching artifacts, and generally has taken place somewhere else, leaving a museum-goer without even a bare spatial context within which to imagine the action. Gallipoli tries hard to give some of that context, with 3D maps, models, first-person accounts, footage and photos (some rendered in 3D) and interactive elements.

Artifacts are often positioned within the walking space, which I think helps them be noticeable among the flashier visual elements.

One of the most effective features is a screen that demonstrates the effect of various weapons on the human body. The viewer selects which one and the skeleton takes the hit.

The interactive parts are very well done, and of course there isn’t much in the way of emotional relief throughout the space. While all of the various types of elements are represented throughout the viewer’s walk, the experience is anchored in the statues of the people whose stories make up the narrative of the exhibit, and really, those statues are extraordinary in their detail.

*I had a lot of problems photographing the statues, and it’s now driving me crazy*

Conditions at Gallipoli were absolutely awful in just about every way. How awful? This awful:

And finally, as you leave, there is one more figure–surrounded by paper poppies left by other visitors–that serves as a stark reminder that this campaign was early in the war and many other hells awaited.

Again, the subject matter of Gallipoli: The Scale of Our War cannot be uplifting. I have always had some trouble with writing up exhibits that document the worst of humanity (long-time visitors to this blog might have noticed that I never did write about the ESMA in Buenos Aires). Regardless, Gallipoli is remarkably well done. It is well worth the visit to Te Papa, which is itself a wonderful museum. The exhibition is free (as is entry into Te Papa), and open every day except Christmas.

It’s the first Cemetery Series entry outside of Argentina!

*Like most of the Wellington area, it could be described as “frequently windswept”*

I’d like to start by thanking the Friends of Karori Cemetery, who (in addition to researching its history) organize tours of cemetery, and led us around during our visit. That visit occurred on Suffrage Day, so the tour was focused on a few of the women who in life signed the 1893 women’s suffrage petition. You can read more about how New Zealand was the first self-governing nation to grant women the right to vote, if you want to get deep in your feels about the deficiency of your own home country, a depth I think many of us have some solid recent experience with. But I digress.

Karori Cemetery was opened in 1891, following the stuffing-to-the-seams of the cemeteries closer to the center of the town. Karori at the time was still rural, and so the first burial, that of premature infant Frederick Fish, remained alone on a windy, bare hill for six months, when the next burial took place.

*Freddie didn’t have a marker until the Friends got him one, but he does have a lot of neighbors now.*

Karori Cemetery is the second largest in the country, and has about 83000 burials (and counting). Being so big, I didn’t see all, or even most, of it–but broadly, the big sections are the Catholic, Anglican, Jewish, and public sections.

*I happened to park near the Jewish section, near the cemetery shelter.*

There is also a Servicemen’s cemetery (established in 1916 for obvious reasons), as well as a few dozen victims of the SS Penguin shipwreck. The dead of the 1918 Influenza pandemic are marked with white crosses. Boy, the 20th century sure was something!

Naturally, as I took photos, I assumed that I would remember at least the basics of the people mentioned. I assume this every time I take photos on a tour, and I am wrong 100% of the time, but hope springs eternal, along with wildly unearned optimism.

*Annie Liez was a widow who signed the petition and lived to 94.*

*Christina Archibald was a signer, one of thousands of women who were asserting to the government what they already knew–a penis is not required.*

*Susan Hoar signed the petition, but did not live long enough to participate in an election.*

Let’s take a look at some of the grave symbolism, a thing that modern graves are often woefully short on (although I did not upload any photos of stones inscribed with the disconcerting euphemism of “fell asleep on” such-and-such date).

*Broken chain, symbolizing the broken chain of life. This headstone has been professionally cleaned, which makes a crazy difference.*

*The anchor refers to the man’s profession.*

I haven’t been in New Zealand long enough to know much about Maori symbolism, but here’s a couple of graves I passed that include some.

*The koru symbolizes new beginnings, as in the Maori proverb, “As one fern frond dies – one is born to take it’s place.”*

Let’s look at the inside of the chapel and crematorium, since I did not get a photo of the outside for some reason. It was built in 1909, which you know because that’s the large number chiseled on the wall.

*The walls are lined with…I dunno the term. Ash cubbies?*

The glass windows were commissioned to memorialize members of William Ferguson’s family, including 8-year-old daughter Louisa (I know, but you can’t talk about cemeteries without mentioning some real raging bummers). They came from the Irish workshop An Túr Gloine, world renowned glass artists. “Faith,” shown below, is one of two created by Wilhemina Geddes, noted glass bad-ass.

*This is “Wisdom” by Michael Healy, commemorating William Ferguson himself.*

The windows held to be real gems of stained glass art by those who are into that sort of thing, and having done a tiny bit of stained glass work in my teens, I can vouch for its hardcoreness, in terms of blood shed.

Before wrapping this entry up, let’s have a peek at a couple more gravey vistas.

*Memory garden near the entrance. I’ll be honest; this was a drive-by photographing and I do not have any deets on this one.*

The Karori Cemetery is open every day, and I believe you may go in even at night, although the road gates are closed at dusk. There are a couple of self-guided tours (linked above, for soldiers and the SS Penguin victims), and the Friends offer themed tours on the reg, so consult their page for information.

The Exhibitist

Museums in New Zealand, Argentina, and occasionally elsewhere.

Gallipoli: The Scale of Our War: Te Papa Tongarewa exhibition (Wellington, NZ)

The Cemetery Series: Karori Cemetery (Wellington, NZ)