Don Murphy was a large, rambunctious man, probably more knowledgeable about rare operas on disc than anybody I know.  He worked as a volunteer at the Archive for several years… he often made a jocular reference to himself as an ‘unpaid worker’. One wet November morning, Don suffered an infected toe that put him in hospital, and while there he began chatting in his usual affable way to the blokes around him.  I visited every few days and on one visit he asked if we had any books about castrati in the NFSA library. There were two or three. ‘Would you mind bringing me one of them’ he asked with a smirk. ‘These buggers don’t know what a castrato is!! Bring me a book and I’ll educate them.’ The book was delivered at my next visit and the men’s surgical ward at Canberra Hospital was duly and probably a little uncomfortably educated. Don died a couple of days later.