When I was seven, my mother gave me a book about Troy and its discovery. The hero of the book was Heinrich Schliemann, a German businessman and amateur archaeologist. Convinced that Homer’s Iliad was based on history and that Troy did indeed exist, he used his wealth to excavate Pinarbasi, a municipality in Turkey. There he found the remnants of a city which he claimed to be Troy. An iconic photograph of the find is the photo of his wife wearing “Trojan” jewels. Later archaeologist criticised him for his destructive excavating methods and proved that Pinarbasi could not be Troy.
Unlike the book I was gifted, this introduction does not do credit to Schliemann the man and his discovery, nor the influence it had on me. Courtesy of that book I announced that “when I grew up”, I would become an archaeologist. My mother took me at my word. The reality however is that I imagined archaeological digs as the treasure hunt that always delivered, a bit like scavenging through op. shops.
As we all know, archaeology actually involves backbreaking work, scrupulous documenting of fragmented finds and the reality that the Troys of this world are few and far between. It requires the sort of patience and meticulousness that I have never possessed and never will.
Despite this, by the age of eighteen, I had acquired a healthy collection of books on archaeology and archaeologists and when it came to enrol at University I initially applied for “Archaeology” at Sydney University. Life at home was too comfortable for that adventure, so instead I majored in Latin and Greek at Melbourne University, de rigueur I thought for any aspiring archaeologist.
I was hopeless, and should have been failed, but somehow always scraped through. I sometimes cynically wondered whether it was the shortage of students that saw me plough through. Combined second and third year, honours and pass filled a tiny room. That said, it was a fabulous department, though today I could not read either language to save my life.
Emerging as a graduate with a BA in the classics, teaching seemed the only option, and that option limited to schools like Xavier College and Methodist Ladies College, where I did my teaching rounds.
I was persuaded to finish my Dip. Ed. despite being aware that prostitution was a better option than fronting a classroom. I was no teacher. Clutching my Dip. Ed., I applied for a job at the Presbyterian Bookroom running the children’s section.
I knew nothing about children’s books of course, and I hate to think the mess I left behind. At some stage, I was also given a catalogue of religious books, Schocken Books, and in one glorious afternoon blew the budget of the theology section. They were very forgiving. My year at the Presbyterian Bookroom is one that I remember with great fondness.
I resigned from the Bookroom because my father, horrified at the thought that I would spend my life as a shop assistant, offered to pay for me to do a Dip. Lib. He would also support me for the year. My parents were by then well and truly divorced. My father had remarried and living in Canada. I suspect that the angst was father’s and the solution his wife’s. For this I am eternally grateful as my Dip. Lib gave me a dream life: getting paid to work with books. Nor could I have done my two bookshops without my background in librarianship.
However, I have no idea how my father felt when I gave up librarianship to become a bookseller.
So here we have it. Had it not been for the book on Schliemann, I would never have chosen to study the classics at university. Who knows what subjects I would have selected instead and where they would have led.
Delfina Manor
February ‘25
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heinrich_Schliemann
Project Gutenberg link to E-Book - 'Troy and Its Remains: A narrative of researches and discoveries made on the site of Ilium, and in the Trojan Plain. By Dr Henry Schliemann. Translated with the Author's Sanction'.accessed 16 Feb 2025
Unlike the book I was gifted, this introduction does not do credit to Schliemann the man and his discovery, nor the influence it had on me. Courtesy of that book I announced that “when I grew up”, I would become an archaeologist. My mother took me at my word. The reality however is that I imagined archaeological digs as the treasure hunt that always delivered, a bit like scavenging through op. shops.
As we all know, archaeology actually involves backbreaking work, scrupulous documenting of fragmented finds and the reality that the Troys of this world are few and far between. It requires the sort of patience and meticulousness that I have never possessed and never will.
Despite this, by the age of eighteen, I had acquired a healthy collection of books on archaeology and archaeologists and when it came to enrol at University I initially applied for “Archaeology” at Sydney University. Life at home was too comfortable for that adventure, so instead I majored in Latin and Greek at Melbourne University, de rigueur I thought for any aspiring archaeologist.
I was hopeless, and should have been failed, but somehow always scraped through. I sometimes cynically wondered whether it was the shortage of students that saw me plough through. Combined second and third year, honours and pass filled a tiny room. That said, it was a fabulous department, though today I could not read either language to save my life.
Emerging as a graduate with a BA in the classics, teaching seemed the only option, and that option limited to schools like Xavier College and Methodist Ladies College, where I did my teaching rounds.
I was persuaded to finish my Dip. Ed. despite being aware that prostitution was a better option than fronting a classroom. I was no teacher. Clutching my Dip. Ed., I applied for a job at the Presbyterian Bookroom running the children’s section.
I knew nothing about children’s books of course, and I hate to think the mess I left behind. At some stage, I was also given a catalogue of religious books, Schocken Books, and in one glorious afternoon blew the budget of the theology section. They were very forgiving. My year at the Presbyterian Bookroom is one that I remember with great fondness.
I resigned from the Bookroom because my father, horrified at the thought that I would spend my life as a shop assistant, offered to pay for me to do a Dip. Lib. He would also support me for the year. My parents were by then well and truly divorced. My father had remarried and living in Canada. I suspect that the angst was father’s and the solution his wife’s. For this I am eternally grateful as my Dip. Lib gave me a dream life: getting paid to work with books. Nor could I have done my two bookshops without my background in librarianship.
However, I have no idea how my father felt when I gave up librarianship to become a bookseller.
So here we have it. Had it not been for the book on Schliemann, I would never have chosen to study the classics at university. Who knows what subjects I would have selected instead and where they would have led.
Delfina Manor
February ‘25
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heinrich_Schliemann
Project Gutenberg link to E-Book - 'Troy and Its Remains: A narrative of researches and discoveries made on the site of Ilium, and in the Trojan Plain. By Dr Henry Schliemann. Translated with the Author's Sanction'.accessed 16 Feb 2025
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