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The Weekend Australian - Review - - CONTENTS - To be con­sid­ered for pub­li­ca­tion, let­ters must con­tain an ad­dress and tele­phone num­ber for ver­i­fi­ca­tion. Let­ters may be edited for length and clar­ity.

WHEN I open The Week­end

Aus­tralian my first ac­tion is to see whether there is an ar­ti­cle by Jane Fraser in Re­view. No doubt Jane is years younger than I am, but I so en­joy what she writes with such be­guil­ing hu­mour, about ev­ery­day sub­jects for which I have a fel­low feel­ing. Bless her for of­ten launch­ing my Satur­day so well. Ann Shevill Ken­more Hills, Queens­land. RE­VIEW is a ma­jor rea­son The

Week­end Aus­tralian is now the only news­pa­per to which I still sub­scribe. In par­tic­u­lar, the mu­sic re­views are ex­cel­lent. You are the only news­pa­per I know of that treats world mu­sic se­ri­ously. And thank you for your ex­cel­lent com­men­tary on Reuben Mor­gan and his new CD (Spin Doc­tor, June 30-July 1). It is rare for a main­stream Aus­tralian jour­nal­ist to write about the Hill­song Church without sneering. Martin Roth Mel­bourne A FEW years ago I pur­chased at the Gallery of Mod­ern Art in Bris­bane a card fea­tur­ing a striking pho­to­graph of priests whirling in the snow by Mario Gi­a­comelli. I was par­tic­u­larly touched by the thought con­tained in its ti­tle. I wrote to the gallery at the time, point­ing out that the Ital­ian ti­tle is not Lo non ho mani che mi ac­carezzino il volto but Io non ho mani . . . — ‘‘I have no hands to ca­ress my face’’, a sim­ple dif­fer­ence be­tween an I and an L).

I re­ceived a cour­te­ous ac­knowl­edg­ment of my let­ter from the direc­tor. I was there­fore very sad to see that this mis­take has been per­pet­u­ated in the ti­tle of the ex­hi­bi­tion of Gi­a­comelli’s pho­to­graphs re­viewed by Bron­wyn Wat­son (Pub­lic Works, June 30-July 1). Surely such an im­por­tant cul­tural institution should re­spect it­self enough to en­sure that when it em­ploys a lan­guage other than English it gets it right! Anne Di Lauro The Gap, Queens­land THANK you, Rose­mary Neill, for your in­tel­li­gent and thought­ful pre­sen­ta­tion of the story of the tor­tured soul, Jim Mc­Neil (‘‘Inside job’’, June 23-24). In the 1980s I was teach­ing a mar­vel­lous bunch of young peo­ple in an English Higher School Cer­tifi­cate class. We read a cou­ple of Mc­Neil’s plays and made a trip to Syd­ney to see a per­for­mance one mid-week evening. It was pow­er­ful the­atre. Shortly there­after one of my stu­dents was in­volved with a mate in a silly break-in to the school li­brary. It was not ma­li­cious nor was anything stolen or dam­aged that I recall. Nev­er­the­less the po­lice be­came in­volved and the lads were charged. I had a brother then work­ing as a youth of­fi­cer at Tamworth, a fa­cil­ity for boys con­victed of mur­ders. Ac­cord­ing to him it was a dread­ful place where the bosses skimmed off money to build week­enders at the coast, the boys were bribed with cig­a­rettes and porno­graphic videos and given pre­cisely the kind of food that might pump them up. So, given the re­al­ity of Mc­Neil’s writ­ing and my brother’s story, and imag­in­ing the pos­si­ble fate for my stu­dent, I wrote a let­ter of sup­port for him to be pre­sented to the court for com­pas­sion­ate treat­ment of the boys. Af­ter all th­ese years I can’t be sure of his penalty, but I know he sat his HSC with us. Jim Kable Caves Beach, NSW

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