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| ISBN-13: | 9781742242866 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | NewSouth |
| Publication date: | 09/13/2017 |
| Sold by: | INDEPENDENT PUB GROUP - EPUB - EBKS |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 256 |
| File size: | 522 KB |
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CHAPTER 1
Finding the man?
Stephen Ellis
I began my research on Charles Bean, Australia's first official historian, for my master's degree in 1966 at the obvious place, the telephone book. In a short telephone conversation, his wife Mrs EC Bean directed me to Angus MacLachlan, then Managing Director of the Sydney Morning Herald.
I did not know what to expect as I entered the imposing Herald building from its Broadway entrance on a warm day in May 1966. Alighting from the elevator on something like the 25th floor I was shown into a rectangular office which stretched the whole width of the building to a large window overlooking the view to the city and the harbour. The long wood-panelled office with its parquetry floor was sparsely furnished. At the window stood a large timber desk, in front of which two straight-backed chairs were placed at angles to each other. Behind the desk sat a well-dressed thickset gentleman with dominant forehead and greying hair. There was nothing on the desk except a large black Bakelite telephone and an intercom. MacLachlan's diary entry for 18 May 1966, describes our encounter briefly:
Had a visit from Stephen Ellis, young graduate of New England University who is doing thesis on CEWB for his master's degree. Gave him 90 minutes & enjoyed it. Dined alone at the office and home by 9:30 pm.
The interview began with MacLachlan interrogating me, rather than me him. Why was I interested in studying Dr Bean? What did I know about him? Was I the schoolboy who had contacted him or visited him a couple of years ago? (I was not).
The real reason I found myself in MacLachlan's office was that I was interested in one of the central questions of Australian history at that time – the origins of a 'national character'. As MacLachlan noted, I had come to this as a recently minted student of Australian history.
A year earlier, I had told our family's Methodist minister that I was to study Australian history in my honours year. He, an Englishman, who had come to Australia via the mission field in Rhodesia, laughed at me and said 'How can you do that? Australia has no history!' This view was not uncommon at that time – many others asked me if there was really much more to know about explorers. I would like to think that I made some suave response such as 'Well I guess I will find out', but I know that I spluttered indignantly 'Well we've been here for over 150 years, there must be something to study!' I would not have claimed anything about 40,000 years of prehistory in Australia. At that time the researches of John Mulvaney, Isabel McBryde and others into Australian indigenous prehistory were still in gestation or locked in the fastness of learned journals. The impacts of frontier conflicts and racial preconceptions, rediscovered in the next decade by Henry Reynolds, Noel Loos and other scholars, were still locked in much earlier primary sources and the works of ethnographers and anthropologists. In my honours research, I had read the original 'Wallabadah Manuscript', with its reference to 'the war on the McIntyre', but I had not seen its significance. Women's history in Australia was still waiting on the bombshells from Germaine Greer, Miriam Dixson and Anne Summers.
The same clergyman told me he had found Russel Ward's The Australian Legend 'the most depressing and pessimistic' book he had ever read. I did not get the chance to clarify his reasons for this judgment on what I found then to be a convincingly argued thesis. I think on reflection that he found its central thesis – that the most highly valued and distinctive features of the national character probably came from its lowest social strata – an entirely repugnant proposition.
I did not come to Bean with an interest in the details of military actions in the Great War. Although almost every adult I knew had some connection to the Second World War, I knew no-one connected to the First. I had read my father's copy of The Gallant Company, because the 56th had been his battalion when he was a cadet from the late 1920s. But most of my reading about wars had been focused on the Second World War, particularly the experiences of prisoners of war. I had read many of the escape sagas of the European theatre, Rohan Rivett's Behind Bamboo, and the works of Lord Russell on the Nuremburg and Tokyo war-crimes trials. My Australian history honours course spent little time on the Great War, apart from the conscription referenda and their party-political consequences.
The common pitfall for any novice entering a field of history is to believe that what is new to him or her, is new, unknown or 'forgotten' to everyone else. I quickly observed how many people of my parents' age and older knew of Bean, even if few had actually read him. Many people said 'Ah yes, the official historian' when I told them the subject of my research. The mother of one of my high school friends had lived near him in Lindfield as a child and remembered him as 'more like a kindly farmer than a distinguished scholar' – obviously having preconceived notions of how both should look. My maternal Uncle Bill had met him in the 1930s when, as a young militia officer, he had been sent to Victoria Barracks to begin work on the history of his battalion. Confronted by Bean with a large table piled high with the necessary documents, my uncle's courage failed him and he fled. He later redeemed himself at Bardia.
Just as there is more to Australian history than the exploits of explorers, there is more than the exploits of Australian servicemen and -women. But the inescapable fact remains that, with the possible exception of the convict experience of transportation in the early colonial period, the world wars were events in which an overwhelming proportion of the nation shared common experiences which weighed heavily on their lives. Beyond the fundamentally existential significance of war for the nation, the war experience demanded to be accounted for in the national narrative of those generations. It appears that Bean was acutely aware of this from the very beginning of his appointment as Official War Correspondent.
The 'digger tradition', however, was becoming contentious in the 1960s. The controversy created by Alan Seymour's play The One Day of the Year in 1961 and the anti-Vietnam War and anti-conscription movements, in which I became involved myself from the mid-1960s, raised questions about the military traditions of the nation.
In 1965 Meanjin Quarterly had published an important series of articles by Ken Inglis, Geoffrey Serle and Michael Roe on the significance of the 'Anzac tradition' for the Australian national character. These articles opened up the discussion of this subject for the first time in Australian scholarly historical discourse. For my academic mentor, Russel Ward, and for me, they also brought focus on an apparent conundrum about the influences affecting Australians' perceptions of themselves across the generations in the period roughly from 1880 to 1920. How did a socially progressive, generally collectivist and politically 'liberal' milieu at the beginning of the twentieth century come, after the war, to be characterised by a more socially and politically conservative emphasis, with stronger imperialist sympathies. I still have the small slip of paper with a diagram drawn by Russel when we discussed how the middle class appeared to have slid into a collaboration of values with the working class over this period (see Figure 1).
There is much to quibble with in the premises of this historical interpretation but there can be little doubt that the evidence indicates that the war wrought vast changes in Australian attitudes and beliefs, as well as in class relationships and their political implications. In a letter to Gavin Long, the official historian of the Second World War in April 1966, I summarised my intentions:
in general terms I am studying the works of Dr Bean in order to find out what his underlying assumptions were about society, people and politics. This enquiry also obliges me to try to gauge how far these assumptions influenced his writing of the Official history and whether they are ones which would be normally acceptable now or before World War I. This brings in the change in Australian character, or 'ethos', wrought by the war. Before 1914 this was marked by radicalism and anti-imperial sentiment, but after the war there was a swing to the right and 'mateship' was no longer a tradition peculiar to the bushman alone. As you can see, the ramifications of the topic are many.
So I came to meet Angus MacLachlan, who had close links with Bean and was in effect his literary executor. MacLachlan had visited Bean in Concord Repatriation Hospital the day before we met. In preparing for this meeting I had devised questions focusing on Bean's character as a person, because I suspected that I would find this out more easily from his acquaintances than from his writings. I had read an article on the emerging technique of oral history which recommended not taking notes during the interview but writing them afterwards. Consequently my notes are somewhat cryptic in places:
1. [MacLachlan] First met Bean when working for the Department of Information with Keith Murdoch [during the Second World War].
2. [Bean was] A very warm but quiet man, said little but to the point, very good listener; capable however of becoming angry and upset over injustices; very conscientious, worried a great deal about his responsibilities (especially on the Appeals Board of the ABC – concerned to do the right thing). Could be hurt (as he was by criticism from the troops resulting from misunderstanding about his letter explaining the repatriation of malefactors from Egypt in 1915); held firmly but quietly to his convictions, disliked few people but rarely made this obvious (disliked Evatt, critical of Menzies).
3. Wife very unlike CEW – small education, interests not in his work; however very devoted couple, worshipped each other, had no children, very disappointed as liked children very much, one adopted daughter; CEW very interested in the education of his wife's nephews and nieces. Kidney removed after WW1, not of robust health but tall, thin, wiry, played tennis till very old, interested in cricket. Very interested in music and art, did some drawing and a little watercolour work; read history, biography, travel, never heard discussing a novel, nor works of Lawson or other Australian writers.
4. Always left of centre in politics; pro-Curtin in 1941 elections. Did not believe that honours such as knighthoods were suited to a new country like Australia (refused a knighthood at end of WWII), however very honoured by LLD from ANU [1959]. War Aims written very quickly, does not do him justice – especially shows his naïveté; tended always to see men as better than they were – on the other hand he always seemed to inspire men to be better; an 'innately good' man, never swore or told risqué jokes, but not condemnatory of swearers, similarly he could take a drink but did not condemn drunks. He usually inspired hero-worship so that few people could see him critically. He greatly admired his parents and would attribute any good in himself to them.
5. Very friendly, got on well with all classes of troops, gained confidence and trust of senior officers and the ranks, completely trustworthy. Very modest, would claim no ability for himself (however told McLachlan he had to re-write Scott's volume [of the Official History] as [it was] so messy); got on well with Cutlack (a most difficult man), believed Gullett's to be the best volume [of the History]. (Gullett and Brudenell White his best friends killed in air crash) [Canberra 1940]. Did not seem to have very great respect for the RSL, no close connection with same; clashed in the press during WWII, especially on attitudes towards aliens, enemies etc.
6. Personal belief in 'Christian ethic', would have described self as 'Christian agnostic', not connected with any church. Overwhelming belief in importance of education.
7. Greatest impact on him was made by Wool Track experiences [his travels in western New South Wales which led to his book On the Wool Track, republished in multiple editions from 1910 to the 1960s].
8. Steadfastly refused any form of censorship [of the Official History] (pressure from Hughes, Pearce, Keith Murdoch). Prolific letter writer to SMH [Sydney Morning Herald].
9. [MacLachlan told a few illustrative anecdotes] About
a. Keith Murdoch asking to see the manuscript of the ANZAC volume.
b. Murdoch criticising Curtin's policy speech, Bean remaining quiet but later saying conversationally 'I thought that was a very good policy speech last night'.
c. CEWB politely refusing a knighthood after WWII.
d. having to re-write Scott's volume.
e. Tucker striking out all of his 'purple patches'.
f. [Bean] regretting having conspired to have White Army Corps Commander instead of Monash.
MacLachlan told me Bean's personal papers were closed and were intended to remain so until 30 years after his death, whenever that might occur. So it was pretty clear that my research would have to be based on his published work. Later in the year MacLachlan authorised me to consult the card index held in the Herald's library. This saved me weeks of work and greatly simplified finding Bean's many contributions to public debate through the pages of the Sydney Morning Herald.
Early in my research I also corresponded with Arthur Bazley, Bean's long-time assistant, and Gavin Long, his successor as official historian. When I interviewed them later in May 1966, both corroborated MacLachlan's assessment of Bean's personal character. I met Bazley in the library of the Australian War Memorial, which in those days was located in the apse of the basement of the Memorial, at the end of a long gallery displaying weapons of various vintages, behind doors intimidatingly marked 'Staff Only'. As with the Herald, the layout of this library was severely practical. Metal multi-tiered shelves lined the walls, the upper shelves reached by staircases to a mezzanine level. The desks of the library staff occupied the main floor space; the few researchers were accommodated at a large table in the corner.
Books and manuscripts were brought to us by Miss Vera Blackburn, who had once been Bean's typist. On one occasion, when I requested access to the manuscript of Jose's volume on the Australian Navy, Miss Blackburn found that it was located in 'the strongroom'. Taking an enormous key and saying I would have to help her open the heavy door, Miss Blackburn led me around to the strongroom where we found the manuscript wrapped up in brown paper and twine, sealed with red wax with instructions written on the packaging in red ink indicating it was not to be opened for 25 years after a certain date in September 1936. After a short moment's thought, Miss Blackburn calculated that we were well past the 25 years and, saying 'This is exciting', proceeded to open the package for my perusal. Several years later when I asked to see the manuscript again, the packaging, which showed how seriously its contents had been regarded so long ago, had been discarded.
While I had been trained in taking notes for research purposes, I was not well prepared for interviewing people. In my second interview with Bazley late in 1966, my questions lacked subtlety. I had by then gained a better grasp of Bean's work and was dealing with his involvement in the 'intrigue' to prevent Monash's appointment to the command of the Australian Corps. My notes succinctly list Bazley's responses:
Did Bean influence Murdoch on the situation at ANZAC in 1915? – NO – Ashmead Bartlett.
Did Bean support conscription or not? NO GO
Why did Bean dislike Monash? NO GO
NO GO is my shorthand for the 20 minute explosions I provoked from Bazley. He unquestionably fell into the group whom MacLachlan had described as Bean's 'hero-worshippers'. On my part, I had no clue about how to gain a person's confidence and lead them gently towards sharing confidences. Which raises I suppose what predilections I myself brought to this study.
As a student of history I was attracted to the 19th-century idea that it was a scientific pursuit in which analysis of relevant evidence would reveal 'what really happened'. In the controversy raging in the journals in the mid1-960s over the rise of the English gentry, the distinguished historian RH Tawney had observed that 'an erring colleague is not an Amalekite to be smitten hip and thigh'. I, however, was for smiting the Amalekites, mistakenly believing you could change people's minds by 'winning' arguments. As honours students, we had been exposed to the philosophy of history pantheon of Herodotus, Vico, Hegel, Marx and Collingwood, but I was never conscious of trying to apply any theoretical approaches in my own research, other than the basic contextual analysis of documents. To me, the nativist thesis about the rural origins of Australian national character common to Bean and Ward seemed valid. However, coming from a background closer to the lower end of the social spectrum than theirs, I was less inclined to overlook or discount the significance of thevulgarity, violence and anti-intellectual traits which I perceived to be part and parcel of that milieu.
(Continues…)
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