Light That Time Has Made
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LIGHTthat TIME has MADE Paul HASLUCK LIGHT THAT TIME HAS MADE by PAUL HASLUCK with an introduction and postscript by Nicholas Hasluck National Library of Australia 1995 Cover: Sir Paul Hasluck, Sydney, 1990 Photograph by Peter Rae; reproduced courtesy of Fairfax Photo Library © Nicholas Hasluck National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Hasluck, Paul, Sir, 1905-1993. Light that time has made. ISBN 0 642 10652 5. 1. Australians—Attitudes. 2. Public opinion—Australia. 3. Politicians—Australia—Biography. 4. Australia—Social conditions—20th century. 5. Australia—Politics and government—20th century. 6. Australia—History—20th century. 1. Hasluck, Nicholas, 1942- . II. National Library of Australia. III. Title. 994.04 Publisher's editor: Julie Stokes Designer: Andrew Rankine Printed by Goanna Print, Canberra CONTENTS Introduction by Nicholas Hasluck v BOOK I AUSTRALIA THEN AND NOW 2 Goggling 7 Gambling 13 Talking 19 Privacy Thrift 28 Universities 32 The Public Service 40 Aborigines 47 Heritage 53 Religion 57 The Nation State 62 National Identity 64 Tomorrow 71 History 78 iii BOOK 2 REFLECTIONS Walter Murdoch 86 The Rebel Judge 90 Kings' Men 95 The Casey/Bruce Letters 98 Intellectuals in Politics 105 P.R. 'Inky' Stephensen 109 Douglas Stewart 114 John Curtin 116 H.V. Evatt 121 Robert Menzies 134 Bunting's View 138 The Howson Diaries 143 The Gorton Experiment 146 The Whitlam Government 159 Foreign Affairs 165 Aboriginal Australians 170 Republican Pie 175 Tangled in the Harness 182 POSTSCRIPT by Nicholas Hasluck Postscript 191 Paul Hasluck—A Farewell Message 193 The Garter Box Goes Back to England 198 Alexandra Hasluck 212 IV INTRODUCTION y father, Sir Paul Hasluck (1905-1993), died at the age of 87 after a long Mcareer in public life, and having had an even longer innings as a writer. He started off as a journalist on the West Australian in the 1920s and the training he received served him well. Thereafter, he wrote fluently on a wide variety of subjects, as a journalist, a poet, a drama critic, a social observer, a historian and as a participant in public affairs. The fruits of his pen are to be found in many places, ranging from two volumes of the official war history covering political and social events in Australia during the 1939-45 war-perhaps his finest achievement-to doggerel circulated at Cabinet meetings, not always to the amusement of his colleagues. His last publication, a small book of verse called Crude Impieties, included 'A Lullaby for Legislators' and 'The Poet's Guide to Social Hypocrisy', proof that the independent spirit which is a feature of his work continued to the end. It is the sense that one is hearing an independent voice which makes the publication of this further book worthwhile. We seem to be moving into a new age in Australia in which, increasingly, many opinions sound the same, too often shaped by orthodoxies originating overseas, dogmas that reach our shores couched in quasi- academic jargon or chanted as a mantra. That being so, it scarcely matters whether one shares the views expressed in this volume of reflections. The general reader will find pleasure in responding to clearly expressed insights drawn from many areas of Australian life as the twentieth century unfolded. My father's account of how he became interested in the essay as a literary form is worth repeating for it casts light on the contents of this book. One evening in winter, as a boy aged 11, he was sitting in the kitchen of the Aged Men's Retreat at Guildford in the Swan Valley run by his Salvation Army parents. The evening meal had been cleared away and most of the others in the household had gone to bed early, so my father was free to finish the book he was reading near the warmth of the big stove. When the kitchen man came in to lay the fire ready for the morning he noticed that the book was Thackeray's Henry Esmond and asked my father if he had read the leading article in the Saturday edition of the West Australian. It was on the historical novel. The kitchen man gave his view that The Cloister and the Hearth and Vanity Fair were the two greatest historical novels, and encouraged my father to say a few words in favour of Thackeray. Fascinated by the encounter, at having been treated as a grown-up, my father tracked down the newspaper article and soon afterwards acquired the two novels recommended by the kitchen man. It came as a revelation to my father that not only could books be read but also one could discuss their merits, and commune about the V INTRODUCTION insights they contained, with like-minded readers, taking into account the views expressed by critics in the local newspaper. This was his introduction to literary criticism and the discursive essay. My father refers to this incident in his autobiography, Mucking About. He says there that the kitchen man was an educated fellow who had fallen on hard times, part-inmate and part-employee, but one who had retained an interest in the world of learning. My father goes on to say that a number of the inmates at the Aged Men's Retreat had convict antecedents, although the one he got to know best, a man who had been transported to Western Australia in the 1860s, seemed to have no resentments, nor any memory of ill-treatment. He thought that being transported to the Swan River Colony was one of the best things that had happened to him. Unlike the kitchen man, these others had little schooling and were not always able to sum up the nature of their experiences. My father's autobiography is rich with odd encounters of this kind, vignettes which vividly recapture the taste and feel of the era. If readers wish to find out more about the personality of Paul Hasluck, the life and times of a young Perth-based journalist during the between-wars period, or if they wish to be reminded of the amusing minutiae of Australian life 75 years ago—the mangle wheels, the dunnies, the milk pails, the penny dreadfuls, the school picnics, the black bloomers, the grubby inkwell monitor and the Christmas pudding suspended from the rafters— the snippets we hunger for and have come to expect when a writer looks back, Mucking About is the place to begin. It recreates a bygone day with verve, and with affection. This book, however, is of a different kind. In many of the pieces that follow, the author starts with details but goes on to relate them to a broader picture, looking at the way in which habits have changed—the nature of social transformation. It is a summing-up. To echo T.S. Eliot, I see this further work not as an expression of the author's personality, but as an escape from personality: a companion piece to a number of his earlier works which were predominantly autobiographical. In that category I include not only Mucking About but also Shades of Darkness, which refers to my father's long involvement in the field of Aboriginal affairs, and Diplomatic Witness, which describes his career in the Department of External Affairs during the war years. In the present volume, in a manner reminiscent of Montaigne, a writer once active in the world of affairs, who has already recorded what he did elsewhere, moves on and ruminates in more general terms about the Australian way of life. The encounter with the kitchen man seems to have been the beginning of a life-long habit, the process of appraisal, of reflecting on events in the belief that this will be of interest to others. When I try to conjure up an image of that meeting in the kitchen between the small boy and the old-timer, I rather imagine that the VI INTRODUCTION exchange, although intensely experienced, was in a quiet tone of voice. A degree of detachment is almost inevitable when one is trying to work out what one thinks, and this is apparent as my father looks at the various issues he raises for discussion. The same tone is apparent later when he talks about the personalities of some prominent Australians. He finds in them traits which are visible in the national character. One does not have to be strident, or denounce an opponent, in order to make a point; and indeed, for most of us, what we think eventually is more likely to be influenced by the quietly reasoned manner of a respected confidant than by a diatribe delivered on the hustings or flung into our living rooms by some beleaguered politician on television. Restraint is often a sign of strength. I find support for these comments in my father's papers. On a fragment in a file where several of the pieces included in this volume were found, referring to his work in helping to establish the Royal Historical Society of Western Australia, he said this: Over 60 years ago, in the early days of the century, I used to do part of my duty as honorary research secretary by interviewing old colonists to hear their stories of the early days. It was most rewarding to meet old-timers in their mid-eighties and still in full possession of their faculties and to be told what life was like in 1850. I yarned with one or two who could recall what it was like in the 1840s. Now, having passed the age of 85 and having a reasonably clear memory, I thought I ought to interview myself and, before I forget, tell a few yarns about what life was like about the time of the First World War, 75 years ago.