O Sport, you are Audacity! The meaning of all muscular effort can be summed up in the word ‘dare’. What good are muscles, what is the point of feeling strong and agile, and why work to improve one’s agility and strength, unless it is in order to dare?

But the daring you inspire has nothing in common with the adventurer’s recklessness in staking everything on chance. Yours is a prudent, well-considered audacity.

Awarded a prize in the sports literature competition in the V Olympiad -Stockholm 1912.

Introduction

Though I’ve always been curious my nine lives are still intact. This curiosity has always been with me; I’ve opened things that shouldn’t have been opened and touched things that shouldn’t have been touched. My Dad used to make me walk through shops with my hands in my pockets.

‘Look with your eyes!’ he’d joke.

It all began with the discovery of my Grandfather’s treasure box, an anonymous dented tin box that was kept in his hallstand. I found it one afternoon while on school holidays during one of my snooping sessions. It was hidden beneath some paper and some material offcuts, pushed in the back corner, long forgotten and unloved. It was an old Arnott’s tin, rusty and scratched, the parrot eating his biscuit from his claws. I took it out and sat on the floor, legs crossed. I peered up and down the hall - the coast was clear - so I prized off its tight fitting lid.

The lid came off with the squeak and twang of metal and I looked inside. Newspaper clippings, black and white photographs, badges, old coins, medallions and personal papers littered the box as I fished through. A surge of energy rushed through me as I looked through the clippings, I could feel an instant connection, a spark, a longing for an understanding of what I was looking at and the stories behind each carefully kept piece.

I was totally engrossed and didn’t hear my Pop enter the back door. Usually the typical squeal of the fly screen would alert my attention but I was too engrossed; the musky smell must have mesmerized me. He was at times scary and serious, but had a twinkle in his eyes that told of warmth and wit.

‘Squirt, what are you up to?’

I looked down the hall; Pop was standing there slightly hunched, looking over the top of his spectacles, hands on his hips peering at me.

‘Um, just looking at your… in this…’

‘Come here’

I stood up sheepishly, head bowed, releasing I had invaded his privacy. They were his things. I turned toward him.

‘Grab the box, Squirt’

‘Oh’

Sitting at table in his kitchen he took me through each piece. Telling of his - our, family stories and history. He showed me his war medals and badges as he handled each item like he was tending a baby bird. He looked at me over his glasses, his eye gleaming with pride at my interest, as he pointed out great grand relatives and funny family anecdotes. He was passing on a gauntlet.

I continued my passion as I grew; delving into my family’s past as much as I could. I looked through as many family treasure boxes as I could learning how small items can be a big puzzle piece, how windows are opened to another era. I followed our tree back as far as I could – further than anyone before me had - discovering convicts and highwaymen and all sorts of miscreants, each with their own story to tell. I was hooked.

Eventually and sadly I became the family historian. Pop was no longer with us. I inherited not only his rusty biscuit box but the stories that would’ve been lost, like his ashes, with the wind.

It was only natural that I became a historian and a curator. I can look at things; old things, dusty things, things that are stored away and forgotten about, things that tell stories and of secrets lost.

Now I know that sounds rather clichéd, but that simple childhood story started me on my path in life and down the current winding road, which I creep along, as I try to find the puzzle pieces to my latest discovery that has me scratching my head and keeping me awake at night. I need to find the answers to the questions that have been asked to pull the shroud away from the secrets long lost or purposefully hidden.

Sport is not really my forte, although in a country as young as ours it plays an enormous part of our cultural identity and it is because of this connection, in my role as a curator at the State Library, that I got to play to my forte. I had to tell a story. I had to tell the story - no celebrate the story of Wilhelmina Wylie’s contribution to feminism, equality and sport in Australia. The display I was to put together was to celebrate 100 years since Mina competed at the 1912 Summer Olympics in Stockholm, Sweden as part of the combined Australasian team with New Zealand. Now Mina’s story isn’t as simple as you’d think – it not like a typical swimming story of I trained hard, following the black line back and forth every morning for hours and hours. She competed in the time of the suffragette movement, where Mina and her friend Fanny Durack had to not only fight for the right to compete at the Olympic Games, as there was an ingrained belief that women were unsuited to competitive sports, but had to fight other feminists within the New South Wales Ladies’ Amateur Swimming Associated who felt that a woman’s modesty maybe blighted by the indecency of neck to thigh swimming costumes that may cause arousal and leers of male spectators.

There was plenty of outrage when the Australasian Olympic team was announced only five male swimmers were selected. Women throughout Australia sent letters in protest. The excuse put forward was that it was too expensive and that competitive swimming for women should be for women only – no naughty ogling male spectators!

At the time there was also debate within the International Olympic Committee about the inclusion of women’s sporting events in the 1912 games. Baron Pierre de Coubertin, the President of the Federation, felt that historically the Olympics were a celebration of male athleticism and there was a notion amongst the Olympic committee and other competing nations that it should remain so.

Luckily for Mina and female athletes throughout the world Coubertin was outvoted by members of the Committee and female swimmers were allowed to compete.

In Australia the letters, petitions and rallies organized by women’s organizations and swimming clubs slowly began to have the desired effect. Mina’s close friend Fanny Durack was thought of as most likely to succeed and represent Australian sport in a positive light and this prowess was debated in letters to editors in the major newspapers of the day. The papers even started to raise money to send the swimmers and eventually a public fund was opened. Finally the Board had to succumb to the all the public pressure and allowed Fanny to compete. Mina was a last minute inclusion much to the delight of her father who went along as a chaperone. Henry Wylie had to raise most of the £150 to send Mina to the games which he did through money raised from his baths at Coogee.

Fanny and Mina competed in one race at the Stockholm games - the 100 meters freestyle. Fanny won that race by almost four meters with Mina coming in for a hard fought for second place. An Australian gold and silver medal – the first won by female swimmers at an Olympics. Mina was certainly a pioneer of Australian sport, overcoming many boundaries and it is this story that I have to tell with her things, her carefully kept pieces and mementos of this great achievement.

The Bowen Library at Maroubra, a suburb south of Mina’s Coogee, was putting on an exhibition titled ‘Come in For a Swim: Mina Wylie - Coogee’s own Olympic Champion 1912 -2012’. In the year of the London Olympics and with a female Prime Minister Australia was celebrating the achievements of women. The small community library nestled on the busy Anzac Parade, which snakes its way through Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs, is only a short drive from Henry’s baths. The Baths which were opened in 1907 played a significant role in her childhood and her swimming career and remain a popular fixture in Coogee. The distinctive green and yellow panelling, which mimics Australia’s sporting uniform and perhaps the wattles that take root in the surrounding sandstone walls, sits above the intricate scaffolding holding a boardwalk above the rocky shore and cliff face. The baths remain popular with locals for its privacy, for weddings, for the beautiful views of the Pacific Ocean and Wedding Cake Island and for the odd octopus that calls the baths home. The Library hoped to draw in larger crowds – with the internet - the Library’s patronage had dwindled, hopefully Mina’s story could inspire the next generation of Coogee residents to become interested not only in sport or swimming but in the local history of the area and the history of some of our more colourful characters.

Luckily for us Mina did not marry and when she passed away in 1984 her family kindly donated most of her treasured sporting mementos to the NSW State Library.

I followed the well-worn path to the basement of the library where our vast and climate controlled storeroom sits. The modern lifts and lines of this internal facility contrast with the age and design of this building which was opened in 1910. This library keeps an amazing amount of items of significance to Australia and its people from Captain James Cook’s journal to Kylie Mingoue’s hotpants and everything in between.

I walked through the large aisles, boxes upon boxes carefully catalogued and barcoded. Everything in its place carefully wrapped and preserved and kept; kept to tell their stories.

I rolled the wooden ladder that hooked over a large brass beam and slid it to the area that I needed to reach. The timber groaned as I stepped up the three or four steps to grab the two large cardboard boxes marked ‘Wilhelmina (Mina) Wylie Collection – 1891 -1984’. PXE 1237.12 and PXE 1237.13 was barcoded onto the side.

“These two’ I whispered to myself.

One box was heavier than the other and I placed them on the small hip height trolley that sat to the side of the ladder. I wheeled this trolley to a large cedar desk that has a riveted leather rectangle in the middle. On this I had already gathered copies of the newspaper clippings related to Mina’s life and career in the pool and several advertising posters and tickets for her Father’s pool. In fact I had just read an article where at the age of 5 she joined her father and brother in an aquatic act where she would swim with her hands and feet tied… At 5!

I grabbed my trusty nitrile gloves from my back pocket and snapped them on; they looked like they were more suited to surgery than for working with artifacts. Cotton tended to be abrasive on some materials so gone are the days of the stereotypical white cotton gloves, maybe they are still used for checking for dust in the military. Gently I opened the lid of one of the cardboard boxes and looked inside.

I lifted a white piece of tissue type paper away and inside was Mina’s things. Each item I looked at inquisitively and carefully placed on the desk. I had to think what items would best represent Mina’s achievements.

The first item was a neatly folded green blazer which I unfolded and held up by the collar and inspected it. A gold band wrapped around the cuffs of the sleeves, almost like a naval officer’s stripes, and marked the pockets on either side. On the left breast pocket was another gold stripe above an intricately embroided coat of arms. ‘Australasian Team’ was displayed above the proud standing kangaroo and emu. I set the jacket to the side. The next item was a small blue bound book; ‘Autographs’ was embossed within a black oval. I opened the first page – it was Mina’s book – her name neatly scribed. I gently flicked through the pages, noticing that the first three quarters had signatures and brief messages. I saw the name Fanny Durack signed with the words “Off we go!” written on the second page. I sat the book to the side and thought I would pay this book some more attention and find out who else Mina’s had encountered on her Olympic adventure.

I reached in and found an A5 sized diary. The floral covered book was also Mina’s with her handwriting visible throughout. Several postcards were slipped in the front. Images depicted a ship, some snow-peaked mountains, a waterside swimming pool and what appeared to be the Olympic stadium. I checked the back and they were blank so I set them to the side. I re-looked at the diary and read the first couple of pages. I found that the first entry was at the commencement of her sea voyage across the Indian Ocean enroute to the games. I thought I would read that later as I flicked through the pages and noticed that the last quarter of the diary had pages missing. On closer inspection it appeared that a good quarter of an inch of the book’s pages had been ripped out. I raised an eyebrow quizzically.

‘I wonder why she did that’ I pondered and shrugged as I set it down for later thought.

The final item in the box was one of Mina’s swimsuits. It was navy blue and appeared to be very fine silk. I chuckled and though that maybe old Rose Scott was right. Men at the time might find this a little arousing, even by today’s standards this costume left little to the imagination, every lump and bump would be visible.

‘I’ll use this’ I thought as I gently refolded the suit and placed it on the desk.

I placed the empty cardboard box on the floor and grabbed the second heavier box from the trolley. This box had the same tissue type paper on the top which I also removed. Inside was a single wooden box. This box was about a foot and a half in length and half a foot wide, similar in size to a shoe box. The timber was smooth and a rich honey colour, inlaid down each edge of the lid was a strip of deep mahogany type timber which loops in a square on each corner. A delicate gold latch kept the box shut. I rubbed my hands over the box, feeling the texture of the grain, and turned it in my hands. Burnt into the bottom were the words “Happy 16th Birthday Mina, Love Dad” in a wobbly font surrounded by an equally wobbly love heart.

‘Nice work Henry’ I thought as I opened the clasp and looked into the box. Inside was a stack of black and white photographs. I flipped through the photographs. There were some of who I thought was Mina as a child, with her father and brothers poolside and at family outings, others of Mina with another woman in a swimsuit which I assumed was Fanny and others of her standing with the same woman both with medals around their necks.

‘Excellent’

I reached in and removed a handful of what appeared to be personal papers and also found a small square jewellery box, which I grabbed. It was a rich red colour that had a gold border, inside this was a Greek style head with the writing “OLYMPISKA SPELEN I STOCKHOLM 1912” embossed around the outside. Below this “I PRIS LAGTÄVLAN” was printed.

‘Jackpot!’ I exclaimed as a smile fell upon my face.

I flicked the small button on the edge and opened the box. The small silver medal lay nested in the red felt packing. I pulled this out and cupped the medal in my hands. It was lighter than I expected, I ran my finger over the raised images on either side; both of which were Greek inspired. One side had what appeared to be a heralder with his trumpet in his left hand and a raised scroll in the other. The flip side was a naked man, perhaps an ancient champion of the games, being adorned with a laurel wreath by two seated and typically topless women. It was quite beautiful and the obvious centrepiece to the exhibition.

I placed the medal back into its container and snapped the lid shut. I looked in the wooden box and it was empty. I looked at the desk and at the items upon it. I thought that I would be able to make a great little exhibition using all the photos, the newspaper clippings, and mementos but particularly the swimsuit and the medal. I closed the lid of the timber box and placed it upon the desk. There was a slight rattle as I put it down. I re-looked in the box which was empty, so I gave it a little sideway shake and something rattled inside. I felt inside as I looked and noticed the timber was a different colour and texture than the rest on the box. I looked closely and felt around the bottom. I noticed that one corner had a small cut out, the size of the end of a match stick. My curiosity gene kicked in and I felt a rush of excitement shoot up my body which, I’m sure, was adrenalin. This is why I got into history and curating in the first place.

I found a small paper clip on some of my paper work. I removed this and straightened an edge, then bent that edge into a small hook. I reached into the corner of the box with my small fashioned hook; holding my breath as I placed it into the small gap hooking the thin timber. After a couple of small yanks it came free with a small scrape of timber. I breathed again as I placed the board down on the desk and looked inside. A folded piece of paper was on the top and I grabbed it. There were a couple of pieces of paper which were folded into thirds. As I turned towards the desk something fell from between the paper and fell to the floor. It was a photograph.

I grabbed the photograph and sat in the leather chair before the desk.

‘What’s this?’ I thought out loud.

The sepia toned photo contained five standing men, with another kneeling in the front row next to who appeared to be a seated Mina. I turned it over and nothing was written on the backside. The photo appeared to be taken on the bow of a ship with bollards and large hawsers in the foreground and the large bulkhead of the bridge in the back.

I looked at Mina, her eyes were smiling, although her mouth remained stern as was typical of photography of the era. But she appeared to be glowing - in fact they all appeared to be glowing. Particularly the chap who was kneeling beside her who had a large smile on his face. He had darker skin than the rest – perhaps he was of Indian origin – with a large forehead and broad nose. He had dark hair which was fluffed back and he had broad, muscular shoulders. His eyes were warm and you could tell he was a larrikin. Behind Mina was a man with hard set eyes and a square jaw and movie star cheekbones, he too had broad shoulders. He stood with his arms crossed at his chest and seemed fairly humourless. Next to him was a slightly taller man, who was quite dashing. He had neatly combed hair which was parted on his left side and a broody expression. He stood with his arms held at his crotch; his strong forearms looked like those of a builder. Next along stood a man of equal height but of slimmer build. This man had high widow’s peaks and a slim jawline. He had thinking eyes which beamed intelligence and sported a wry smile. An older man with a long white beard stood next. This man wore a bowler hat which perched above his large forward facing ears. He held a rifle by the barrel, like a hiking stick, at his middle where his jacket pulled taught around his comfortable middle. He was much older than the other people in this photo – maybe thirty years. He looked wise, but maybe that was just his wizard’s beard, and had piercing eyes. Lastly stood a lanky proud man who was wearing a long jacket and a scarf that was neatly tucked in. His light coloured hair was slicked back above a thin and serious face – yet he too was glowing.

I thought that this was certainly a strange menagerie of people – clearly different ages and nationalities. Why were they all together in this picture and why was it hidden away?

I looked at the photo again and noticed that each was wearing a medal around their neck. The elder gentleman’s medal was mostly hidden by his flowing beard but it was there. Naturally I assumed that they we wearing a medal that they had won in the Olympics, but these were different – they were stars. The medals were not normal stars they were twin peaked on each of one of four axis. It was hard to make out any detail but there appeared to be a circle in the middle that had a cross or a ‘T’ on the inside. I upturned my mouthed quizzically, wondering what they were.

‘Maybe the papers explain it’ I thought and reached for the two folded pieces I had placed on the desk.

The pieces of paper were of a high quality which I could feel - it was thick, I rubbed the texture between my fingertips. It was like parchment. I unfolded both pieces and noticed both had symbols on top. I looked at one that appeared to have neatly hand drawn and coloured Olympic rings – but not how we know them today – they were linked in a single line. Beneath, printed in Latin were the terms “CITIUS – ALTIUS – FORTIUS” which if my memory serves me correctly was the Olympic motto – ‘Faster – Higher – Stronger’.

It was a letter of appreciation addressed to Mina.

To Wilhelmina Wylie,

Your service to the Olympic cause was above and beyond

INSERT TEXT OF LETTER from Baron Coubertin HERE!!

The letter got me thinking. What did she do other than swim? I knew that Coubertin wasn’t overly supportive of women competing at the games so this letter was unusual. He spoke glowingly – like she had saved the games somehow. I looked at the second piece of paper. It appeared to be a certificate – it was adorned with a fancy coat of arms at the top. A red curtain or robe was being drawn, behind which was two crowned gold lion-like creatures which were holding a blue shield. A large ornate crown adorned the top of the image. This certificate looked very official, but unfortunately it wasn’t in English. I assumed it was in Swedish. I noticed that the signature at the bottom appeared to read “Gustaf”. From my research I knew that Gustaf V was the King of Sweden at the time of the Stockholm Games. Could this be a letter from the King of Sweden? In larger writing in the middle was the text “Kungliga Seraimerorden”. This must have been the subject of the letter. I sat it down and took my phone from my pocket. I unclocked the screen with a flick and clicked to my translation app. I typed in the mystery text and waited as I watched the little circle spin around and around, much like my thoughts in my head, as the answer was drawn from thin air.

“Royal Order of the Seraphim” appeared on the screen.

‘Whoa!’

I had no idea what it meant but I was impressed. Mina had certainly done better than expected at the games than winning silver. Why would she hide these two pieces of paper? They seemed very significant to me and something she shouldn’t have hidden away. There must be a reason for it.

I suddenly remembered that the box rattled. Two pieces of paper wouldn’t make the box rattle. I looked in and there was an object that had a sky blue ribbon crudely wrapped around it. I grabbed it and quickly yet carefully unwrapped the ribbon. It was the medallion that was hanging around each person’s neck in the photograph. On closer inspection it was silver and had delicate detail spreading out from the middle to each point of the star – little bulbs in a line in ascending order. Four angelic cupid-esque faces with small wings looked up at me, their chubby cheeks reflecting the fluorescent light above; they lay at the junction where the star’s peaks reached the centre. The centre was iridescent blue enamel that had three small crowns, a cross – Christian in nature and the letters “I H S” in cream enamel. It was beautiful.

It was clear that this medallion was something special, something that wouldn’t be given from the normal great achievement of winning an event at the Olympics. A million questions ricocheted around my head and I needed some time to process my thoughts. As I gently placed the newspaper clippings and other papers into my file I thought about the reasons that Mina had kept these items secret. I felt I had a responsibility to honour her secret until I could explain what these items meant; what story they told. So I placed her items carefully back in their resting place, gently closing them off to the world by sliding the piece of board into place. I had some research to do so I could tell her whole story. In the mean time I still had a job to do, I still had to tell Mina’s sporting story and that is what I did.

But growing inside of me, like a caterpillar in its pupae stage, was Mina’s secret. It kept me awake at night as I thought what story her hidden items told. Hopefully when time is right I can crack her secret form its cocoon and reveal its beautiful wings to the world.

Someone wrote once “the truth is a snare: you cannot have it, without being caught”.