COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS
No sooner had I joined Currie Hall Council than I was invited to become a Resident Fellow. I uprooted my family and replanted it in a totally new environment: An environment of partly completed buildings surrounded by acres of sand; Of 150 young men of whom many were from South East Asia. I also found myself in a partly hostile environment as the resident students wanted to govern themselves and objected to being subject to a "Master", with whom communication had broken down. My initial task was to act as a "go-between" to bring the disputing parties together. I may have read much about the theory of education of the whole person, and I may have read much about the idea of a university community, but putting these ideas into practice and learning as I went along, were exacting and exciting tasks.
- I
On 8 November 1966 I received a brief note from Stanley Prescott, the Vice-Chancellor, asking me to act as his nominee on the Currie Hall Council, and foreshadowing a Council meeting on 23 November. George Bartlett had lost no time in conveying my verbal acceptance to him. I knew very little about Currie Hall, so rang Dr. Gray to ask if I could visit him. If I were to be an effective member of the Council, I thought it important to fill the many gaps in my knowledge.
I knew that the Hall had grown out of the University Hostel, which occupied ramshackle buildings directly opposite the main entrance to the University. I had often driven past and seen two new, four-storey buildings and a central dining room rising to take their place, but had never taken much notice. Now I had a personal interest and, as I walked across the sedate and beautiful campus heading for Stirling Highway, I wondered what kind of person I would discover in Robin Gray.
Currie Hall occupied almost five acres of land on the corner of Winthrop Avenue and Mounts Bay Road. On its eastern side there was the Catholic St. Thomas More College, with its pleasant chapel, and then the well-established Anglican St. George's College, looking as though it had been plucked from ancient Oxford or Cambridge. St. George's College had been founded in March 1931 and residents of Currie Hall considered that it catered for the well-heeled establishment. Its Warden known to all as "Josh" - was John Reynolds, the doyen of the College scene. He had a hand in the establishment of the other Colleges and had served on the Committee of Management of the University Hostel. On the other side of Winthrop Avenue stood St. Catherine's College for women. Then came a vacant lot reserved for the future St. Columba College, and finally the Methodist Kingswood College. St. Catherine's College had grown out of the Women's College, which, for many years, shared the temporary wartime buildings of the University Hostel.
With care, I walked across Mounts Bay Road to the leafy site of Currie Hall. The road was becoming ever busier with traffic and, in future years, would become the scene of student sit-ins as they demonstrated for the construction of an underpass tunnel. A row of tall bushes sheltered the old "hostel" buildings, which ran parallel with the road. Built of weatherboard with a wide veranda on one side, and shadowed by trees, the roofing was of ageing corrugated asbestos sheeting. I walked
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up the wide, wooden steps to the veranda and then looked for the Master's office. Robin greeted me affably. He was a tall, lean man. His slightly weather-beaten face bespoke an outdoor upbringing on a farm in northern New South Wales, and years of playing cricket. He waved me to a seat.
‘Welcome to Currie Hall,’ he said formally, ‘I'm very glad to have you on Council. During this difficult time of transition, we need someone who has a close association with students.’
‘Will the new buildings be ready for occupation by next February?’ From his window I could see the scaffolding around one of the four-storey accommodation blocks. I had already noted a distinctive Dining Hall block that was far from complete.
‘Yes, I hope so. At least the two accommodation wings, A and B houses, should be ready. The dining Hall won't be completed until later in the year, but we will continue using the present dining and amenity rooms in these old buildings until the new ones are ready. We will get by, provided the builders finish in time for us to have the new furniture delivered to the bedrooms before the students move in.’
‘I have heard rumours that some residents are not very happy with the change.’
‘That's putting it mildly.’ A frown appeared on his face. ‘The old hostel was an egalitarian place, largely self-governed by the residents. Now that the Senate has acquired Commonwealth funding for the new buildings - worth almost a million dollars - one of the conditions is that it be under Senate control. As Master, I am responsible directly to the Senate for running the new Hall, and many residents object to their loss of autonomy. Mind you, some behaviour of the student body has been pretty unacceptable. They are supposed to have a discipline committee, but it is ineffective. Maybe in the early days, immediately postwar, when most residents were experienced ex-servicemen, self-control worked well enough. Now that the students come straight from school, most do not have the personal strength to exercise restraint either on themselves or on others, and so behaviour very easily sinks to that of the lowest common denominator. A few rowdy elements can rule the place. I think we must impose some order if we want to raise the atmosphere of the Hall. I want to build it to a community, of which everyone can be proud.’ Robin had a determined, slightly terse manner. I could see that some students might consider him an authoritarian, with a strict, almost moralistic outlook. He could be stern and severe and uncompromising in his approach. This would not go over well with young students.
For sixteen years before his appointment as Master, Robin had nurtured the University Department of Physical Education, at a time when, outside the United States of America, such departments were considered inappropriate for a university. From 1961 he had gained the use of the old 1927 Engineering Hall1 as a gymnasium, while small teaching and research laboratories were housed in an adjacent temporary building. The University starved him of funds.
Not only was Robin a former ‘A’-grade cricketer, but he coached the University cricket team. He was the inaugural president of the Australian Physical Education Association, an active member of the National Fitness Council, and a foundation member of the Western Australian branch of the Australian Sports Medicine Association.
With a background in training young people in competitive sports, and in training those who would, in their future careers, undertake this work, he had acquired a dedication and a manner that demanded discipline: if a coach demanded that something be done, then it must be done.
1 See page 86. It was in this Hall that I was initiated into the Engineers' Club. After the Education Department ceased to use it, it became the Guild tavern.
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Such an approach did not translate easily into controlling a body of much less dedicated young people who had left home, were anxious to flex their muscles, and demonstrate independence from parents or from anyone else who wanted to wield authority.
Robin had been invited to join the Currie Hall Council at the beginning of 1963 as the Vice-Chancellor's nominee. He was therefore well aware of the way the students prized their autonomy and, while wanting changes, wished to maintain as much student control as possible in the new Hall but the students did not see it this way.
Shortly after my introduction to Robin, I approached one of my engineering students who lived in the Hall and asked if I could visit him. He welcomed me into his bed-study room and another engineering student joined us. I knew them both well, and wanted informality, so dossed myself down, full length, on the bed. ‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘what is really going on in the Hall?’
‘The whole Hall is cheesed-off2 with the Master. He acts as though he can dictate to us and, predictably, many of us have jacked-up3 on him. When he put up a notice recently, someone tore it down and replaced it with one stating the exact opposite.’
‘That's nothing,’ said the other fellow, with broad grin. ‘Dr Gray made an announcement objecting to the amount of alcohol in the place. So some fellows banded together and scoured the neighbourhood for empty bottles. When Dr Gray arrived next morning he couldn't get into his office because there were over five-hundred empty beer bottles standing, edge to edge around the entrance.’ He smiled at the fun of such an endeavour. ‘But, then, someone went too far and poured treacle over the driver's seat of his car.’
Obviously the students were responding actively to what they perceived as the heavy hand of the Master.
- II
In 1943, when I was fifteen years of age, the US Navy established a seaplane base on the Swan
4
River at Matilda Bay . The University agreed to the erection of rather unsightly and roughly constructed bachelor officer quarters on the east side of Winthrop Avenue, with the understanding
5
that the University would get the buildings at minimal cost after the war . The architect, a friend of the then Vice-Chancellor, Dr Currie, probably kept the ultimate use as a student residence in mind when designing the wooden huts with 130 bedrooms, dining and lounge rooms, communal ablution and toilet blocks. When the US Navy vacated the premises in September 1945 at the end of the war, the buildings were used as a student residence, partly as a hostel under control of the student Guild of Undergraduates and partly as temporary quarters for the Women's College. At the end of 1960, when St. Catherine's College was built, the women vacated their "temporary" quarters.
2 Tired of and disgruntled 3 banded together and refused to go along with 4 See page 74
5
Much of the material for this section has been taken from Alexander, F., Campus at Crawley, Cheshire, 1963
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The Guild felt strongly that the hostel should be self-governing and free from University staff or Senate control. One hundred and thirty students were admitted to residence in March 1946 at "The Hostel", including 34 to the Women's College. Unlike the Hostel, the Women's College instituted tutorials. Miss Devine was appointed to manage the Hostel, to be succeeded by Gus Haye and eventually by Mr McEwen. A Committee of Management controlled overall policy.
While the students of the 1960's spoke vehemently of the autonomy of the old Hostel, this is not borne out by the constitution of the Committee of Management. In the mid 1950's meetings were usually chaired by the Vice-Chancellor; Josh Reynolds was a permanent member, as was Miss Wood, the Warden of the Women's College. As well as resident student members, there were the Hostel Manager, Mr McEwen, and a representative from the Guild of Undergraduates. The nonresident members of the committee raised many of the matters discussed and contributed strongly to their resolution. At most, it could be regarded as a joint decision making body of resident students and senior officers of the University. In the important matter of readmitting students in a following year, or of admitting new students, the Selection Committee was weighted evenly between residents
6
and others .
The students might make a greater claim to autonomy over the matter of discipline. The Discipline Committee comprised members of the student body but, if the matter was serious in nature, the Hostel Manager or Josh Reynolds would expect to take part, while Miss Wood insisted on being involved if the matter concerned the Women's College. She complained whenever she was overlooked.
The inevitable need for change in the structure of the Hostel soon became obvious to the University Senate. The University was growing in size and an increasing number of overseas students principally from South-East Asia - applied for University admission. One problem was their accommodation. The private Church-run Colleges usually admitted little more than five percent of their residents from overseas. From the outset, about 30% of Hostel membership was Asian. In 1952
7
Bob Hawke , then Guild President, launched an appeal for an International House8 but this was disbanded in 1960 because of insufficient financial response. There were other changes taking place. When the Hostel was first formed in 1946, many of its residents were experienced, mature ex-servicemen. As each year went by, this group declined until new residents came directly from school. It became more difficult for residents to run their affairs responsibly. In its early years the University remained small enough for a certain degree of staff-student relationship to persist outside classrooms but, by the early 1960's, this was wearing thin. There was greater need for smaller communities within the University that would link undergraduates informally with University staff. The Hostel buildings were becoming ever more dilapidated, it was essential that they be replaced with new buildings, but there was no money for this unless the Commonwealth Government could be persuaded to pay for them. The Commonwealth supported university-controlled Halls of Residence, so it was inevitable that the Hostel should be reconstituted as a Hall, in order to attract funds.
In November 1959 the Senate resolved that the Men's Hostel be developed into a full University Hall of Residence as from 1 January 1961 and that every effort be made to preserve the continuity of the corporate spirit built up during the Hostel years. They considered appointing a Warden but, following protracted argument and negotiation, this was changed to the lesser position of Senior Fellow.
6
For example, in 1957, the committee comprised Mr Reynolds, Mr McEwen, Miss Wood with the President and Vice-present of the Hostel Men's Club and one other student.
7 In 1983 Hawke became Prime Minister of Australia
8 See page 116. Kay and I met at the University International House Square Dance Club, which was one of the means for raising money.
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PLANS FOR A HALL OF RESIDENCE RESIDENTS' FEAR OF LOSS OF AUTONOMY
9
Bob Flecker , the Head of the University Guidance Office, was seconded from this position to take up the post of Senior Fellow, which he held until 1966. Bob introduced tutorials to the Hall, but it was difficult to persuade tutors to reside in the substandard buildings.
In late 1957 Mr McEwen resigned as manager, as the constant demand on him had become too taxing, and recommended that a younger man be appointed. John Leader took up the appointment and remained with the Hostel and Hall until his death in 1969. In 1960, when the Hostel became
10
Currie Hall , the manager became known as the Bursar.
In 1965 The Men's Club produced their first issue of what they hoped would become an annual magazine. They chose the names of the books of the Old Testament of the Bible for each successive volume. Thus, in 1965, they titled it Genesis. In 1966, Exodus seemed an appropriate name as everyone would be leaving the old buildings for the new. The next year, with the coming of the Master, they thought it highly appropriate to call it Leviticus, as 1967 would signal the imposition of “The Law”. Hall residents lent me copies of Genesis and of Exodus and, not unnaturally, I found much within them debating the nature of the change about to take place, and the problem of being subject to a Master.
The editorial of Genesis started:
You don't think we should have a Master. The Senate seem s to think we should have one and as we have or cannot do anything about it we seem destined to the control of a Master. . . .
and several articles debated the proposed changes to the Hall. The following year, the Men's Club President reported in Exodus:
Above us in the University hierarchy is the trinity of Vice-Chancellor, Senate and Master, Council having died in m ysterious circum stances. To sim ply resent this authority is m erely futile, negative and nihilistic, and we must ask ourselves if it is a capable, adequate and enlightened authority. Unfortunately m any m em bers believe that age does not apparently bring wisdom, and academic prowess m ay still be accompanied by an appalling lack of knowledge of students' problem s and attitudes. . .
There are pressures within the University to move from the concept of autonomy begun with the University Hostel towards a typical College system. Undoubtedly various people associated with the Crawley Colleges, particularly Dr Reynolds, have done a great deal towards the building of the new Currie Hall. . .
W e know that the Wise Fathers in this University have acted in such a way as to ensure that in tim e Currie Hall will have lost all that made it once unique and will finish with something between our present system and those of our neighbours. . .
9
This was the same Bob Flecker that I encountered during my Sensitivity Training Workshop in 1966 (See page 273). After leaving Currie Hall, Bob returned to his position as head of the Guidance Office.
10 Named in recognition of the work of Dr Currie, Vice-Chancellor 1940 - 1952
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A very pertinent m anifestation of this “College Culture” can be found in a Master who spends about a m onth living in Colleges and Halls of Residence in other universities gathering all sorts of minutiae but has never spent a night or weekend in Currie Hall and has barely read the Club constitution. .
I believe the intellectual life of Currie H all in its very broadest sense is its greatest single virtue. . . I am speaking of the awareness of other people, the insight into people's different cultures, religions and backgrounds and the degree of understanding, tolerance and compassion rarely equalled elsewhere in the University. The presence of m any students from other countries, and m any students who are poor, have done m uch to engender these attitudes. W e m ust rem em ber that social values are m uch m ore valuable than social graces and fight against any m oves to raise fees above what is an absolute basic level. There are three, and soon to be four, colleges where one can learn “Gracious Living” at a price: Let us strive for an ethos where life's m ore im portant values guide our actions. . .
I discovered that during 1966 there had been much dissension within the Hall on the merits of the change. At the end of 1965, Bob Flecker had left when Robin Gray's appointment was confirmed. However, Robin did not take up duty until July. John Leader and Collin O'Brien, the University Statistics Officer, administered the Hall until that time. To make way for construction, some older buildings were demolished. The Hall could only accommodate 95 students but, because living conditions were poor, the year started with twenty vacancies. Few people wanted to live on a building site.
The dissension in the Hall grew worse as some sided with the Master and some against. There were three Presidents of the Men's Club during the year - Peter Wearne, then Viv Robinson - who favoured the Master - and finally Robin Waterhouse who wanted to preserve student autonomy. As I came to understand the situation, I realised that Robin Gray's manner and lack of sensitivity had not helped matters. He saw some militants as disruptive elements. The Hall would be a better place without them, and he let this be understood. He was prepared to tough it out.
I made a habit of often visiting Robin at lunch time to discuss his problems, because he had reached an impasse with the Men's Club and wanted someone with whom he could sound out his ideas. He told me that when he had served in World War II he was once in the North West of the State taking part in the dive-bombing training of young pilots. Each plane came over the practice target in turn and dive-bombed it. One young pilot did not pull out in time and crashed nose-first into the red earth.
‘Come on, young Gray,’ said the commanding officer, ‘Let's go and look at this.’
They drove over to the wreckage of the plane and the mangled body of the pilot. The commanding officer surveyed the scene calmly, turned to Robin and said, nonchalantly,
‘Oh well, you can't make cakes without cracking eggs!’ and strode back to the car.
Robin was shocked at the apparent callousness, but later realised that he was right.
‘I have never forgotten that incident,’ said Robin. ‘If I am to get Currie Hall to be the kind of place it should be, I may have to crack a few eggs. As time passes and new residents come and the old residents go, the present dissension will pass. Everyone will then judge the Hall by the quality of lifestyle achieved.’
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1966 STUDENT DISSENSION IN THE HALL I BECOME A RESIDENT FELLOW
- III
It was during one of our lunchtime discussions in November that Robin put a proposition to me. ‘On the ground floor of one of our new buildings I have a substantial flat: three bedrooms, a good sized lounge and dining room, a study, kitchen, bathroom and laundry. Is there any way that I could persuade you to occupy it as a Resident Fellow? You can see that we need a team to resolve this situation. No matter what I do, I will be seen as the authority, the big bogeyman to be opposed. The residents and, in particular, some officers of the Men's Club, have cast me in this role, and I am saddled with it. I need someone without authority, without portfolio, who understands students and can get on with them. If you could get alongside them and act as a “go-between”, it might help to resolve the impasse.’
‘That would mean uprooting my whole family, so I would first need to discuss it with them.’ ‘Yes, of course, but you need live here only for a year. We should resolve the problem within that time. I've talked it over with George Bartlett, and he thinks it a practical way to handle the situation. Come, let's walk over and look at the flat.’
So we walked over to B-house, which ran north-south alongside St. Thomas More College. The flat was on the northern end, beneath a set of metal fire escapes. It was spacious and, if suitably furnished, could accommodate us comfortably.
‘When complete, it will have a floor covering of linoleum tiles. That's all we can afford throughout the Hall at this stage. Later, we hope to lay carpet throughout. We can supply student beds for your two children and give you a small capital sum to buy other furnishings of your choice. You could occupy the flat rent-free and take as many meals in the dining hall as you wished, free of charge. If your wife or children dined in the Hall, there would be a small, nominal charge. Think about it, John. If you want to follow it up, bring the family over to look at it.’
From the porch of the flat we could look into Kings park. It would be pleasant to live near to it. On the rise between the flat and the park stood a small domestic cottage. ‘That was built for Bob Flecker. First he lived in a flat at the front of the Women's College but, when he remarried, the cottage was built for him.’ Robin had noted my gaze. ‘We are pulling it down to build a Master's residence. As you will soon discover, I have great difficulty with Gordon Stephenson. Not only is he a senior member of our Council and so takes part in all major decisions, but he is also the Principal Architect for these buildings. He stands over Cameron, Chisholm and Nichol, the architectural firm who did the detailed work. Gordon - as the City planner and consultant for the City of Perth, and as Professor of Architecture in the University, has great sway. He dominates most situations, and few will oppose him. Cameron, Chisholm and Nichol are afraid to challenge him, so they only put their junior architects on the job. No senior in the firm wanted to play second-fiddle to Gordon. His attitude both with them and with the Council is that he is infallible. It has caused me no end of trouble.’
Later, I discovered that Gordon, although strong, was enthusiastic for the new Hall and for democratic student input into the design. However, he and Robin had crossed swords, and this coloured Robin's view of him.
‘Gordon did not want a separate, detached Master's residence,’ Robin continued. ‘He wanted the Master to live in the flat I've just shown you. I wouldn't have it. All the other Colleges have a Master's or Warden's residence, and I insisted that we have the same. Gordon and I fought a great battle and, eventually, I won. Because of this, the Master's residence was not in the original planning. It will not start until the other buildings are completed, and I may not get into it until well into 1968. Until that time I will live at home and commute every day. Because of the battle, I could not possibly live initially in the B-house flat. That is another reason I want someone like you living on the site.’
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Kay was uncertain. We had not long been in our Como house, and she liked it there. What would we do with the children's schooling? Move them to Nedlands or keep them at South Perth? We went over and inspected the flat. Kay saw my enthusiasm for being an integral part of the student community and agreed to the change. We decided that, as we were possibly going only for one year, we would leave Peter and Judith at their South Perth schools, and they would commute from Nedlands. They would be in a strange and new environment in the Hall; At least, by staying at their current schools, they would maintain their school friends. As often as possible they could invite their friends to the flat.
I looked at the financial implications: We could rent our Como house for the year. There would be no electricity, gas or water bills. My University salary of $7,600 per annum would effectively increase to $9,900 per annum. So, I said yes to Robin and, by the middle of January, the Vice-Chancellor had formally confirmed my appointment. The Hall gave us $600 to furnish the flat; with this we bought a refrigerator, dining room table and chairs, two lounge chairs, an occasional table for the lounge and a double bed. We brought along several of our own items of furniture, including the old Thurmer piano on which I had practised in Yarloop11, which my mother had given to me.
We took up residence in February 1967, only a few days before beds, desks and study chairs were delivered to the 160 bed-study rooms in the Hall. This was only a week before the arrival of students for the beginning of the University year. Robin felt very relieved when the deadline was met.
- IV
In that last week, the Hall domestic staff were especially busy stocking linen cupboards, making up beds, fitting curtains, polishing desks, mirrors, built-in furnishings and linoleum floors. They worked hard, and wanted the Hall spick and span. Alan Cornes, the head of the domestic staff, had already served the Hall for six years and knew the students better than anyone, as he and his staff dealt with them daily.
Alan commanded the loyalty of his staff but, as an ex-Navy man, believed in strong discipline. I found him an aggressive, outspoken man, at times bull-headed and prejudiced in his views. Over his six-years in the Hall he had developed an “us-them” mentality and appeared to have little time for the students. I discovered that he also had a dry sense of humour and that his loyalty extended not only to those who worked for him, but to the Master and Bursar, for whom he worked. He might be outspoken in his complaints, but his Navy discipline had instilled in him the need to uphold the instructions of those to whom he was responsible. I liked Alan, but sometimes found him a little prickly and difficult to deal with.
Late in February, when the students had just moved in, he came to me and told me that he was unhappy that in the “Handbook” distributed to all students the names of the academic staff had been included, but not those of the domestic staff.
11 See page 42
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‘Dr. Gray should realise,’ he complained, ‘that the domestic staff have much contact with the students, and should have been included.’ He then launched into a criticism of the students: ‘The bloody students will run this place just as they want to, not the academic staff. These kids need a swift kick up the backside. Some are turning up to the dining room without shoes. Some are wearing shorts so brief that they are indecent. The standards are well below anything that my kitchen staff would tolerate with their own children in their own homes. It's not fair on them.’
He was put-out by an order from the Master that he and the domestic staff were not to interfere in the management of students' behaviour. In the past there had been no resident academic staff and, by default, he and his staff had enforced certain standards. He did not realise that Robin Gray saw that his aggressive "us-them" attitude contributed to the poor relationships in the Hall. Robin wanted to replace this direct, aggressive confrontation with an agreement on standards hammered out between himself and the students, but was not about to step in until this had been achieved.
At my first meeting of Council in November 1966, a decision was made to appoint up to eight academic staff, either as Resident Fellows or Resident Tutors. Tutors would normally be graduates or junior members of the University Academic Staff. Fellows would be more senior and experienced. In addition to myself, Graham Pearman and Collin O'Brien became fellows. Graham and his wife Irene occupied the A-House flat and took overall responsibility for students in that house. Collin, who was single, occupied a visitor's suite on the ground floor of B-House and took responsibility for students in that block12. Robin asked me to have a roving commission, giving attention to anything that he and I thought was needed. He also asked me to organise a tutorial program for the Hall and to accept a counselling role. Bruce Allender and Moorthi Krishnasamy were appointed at Tutor level.
We held our first staff meeting in mid-February and spent our time clarifying the objectives of the Hall beyond those of providing board and lodging and encouraging academic success. We agreed that the Hall should be a community, but asked whether it was more than an hotel. Collin O'Brien had lived in the old Hall. In his experience, most Colleges were not communities: every man was out for himself. The idea of a community was good, he said, but the facts were otherwise. Nonetheless we should strive to make the Hall a community.
What was unique about the old Hall? We made a list of supposed qualities:
| # | Mutual concern between residents expressed by | |
|---|---|---|
| # | Loyalty between residents; | |
| # | Mutual self-help; | |
| # | Strong student participation in government: a sense of responsibility | |
| among senior residents in the past had made autonomy possible; | ||
| # | A sense of egalitarianism. | |
It was also a tradition of the Hall that we should cater for those who could not afford the other colleges. The Hall had always kept its fees as low as possible, and should continue to do so.
12 At the end of the year, Collin went overseas to study. He eventually became a lecturer in the English Department of UWA.
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Robin stressed that it was most important that we all relate closely and informally to the students so that we became known for what we were, and were not regarded as symbols of a resented authority. We should all be seen as engaged in a common enterprise, working together for a common purpose.
In January I had written a statement of my philosophy for a Hall of Residence13. Later, I was to modify my ideas in the light of practical experience but, at this stage, it reflected my reading, and was typical of the idealistic models that I created as targets for myself. It stressed education of the whole person, personal fulfilment, the need to develop a wide understanding and breadth of outlook, and a growth in the acceptance of responsibility as a consequence of having freedom. It recognised that most students had a more narrow view, seeing the University as the way to obtain qualifications for a job. Their outlook was a mirror of society generally; a society that wanted the young fitted for a useful life, trained to give immediate useful service, and trained not to “rock the boat” but to maintain the status quo.
I had much sympathy with the President's report in Exodus where he wrote about understanding, tolerance and compassion14, and wanted to encourage those qualities in the Hall. The last thing I wanted was confrontation.
Initially, confrontation was what emerged. In February, Robin had asked Council to set up a Hall Committee to deal with the day-to-day administrative affairs of the Hall. This was to comprise seven “us” (staff) and six “them” (students)15. Its purpose was to encourage cooperative effort in developing the Hall. It met for the first time in late February and produced such a clash of wills between Robin Gray and the Men's Club that it was twice adjourned, and did not complete its agenda until 8 March. The students saw the meeting as stacked against them. Among the student members was the graduate resident on Council, nominated by the Master. Whereas Robin saw this person as an independent member, representing neither “side”, the students considered him a “yes” man to the Master. They saw the Hall committee as stacked eight to five against them.
Soon after the inaugural meeting opened, Robin introduced the subject of Hall discipline. Ideally, he said, it should be a joint staff-student activity, but with final responsibility in the hands of the staff.
‘No way!’ Shouted the students. They were not naughty pupils in Headmaster Gray's school. Traditionally they were responsible for their own discipline and were not about to give way on such a basic and important issue.
Robin said that past evidence showed that they were not always able to meet this disciplinary role in a responsible way. There had been past members of the discipline committee who had themselves breached the rules of the Hall. The argument flew back and forth until late in the evening.
13 See Appendix E, page 715
14 See page 292
15
This comprised on the "us" side, the Master, Bursar, two fellows and three other academic staff. On the "them" side, drawn from the Men's Club, the president, vice-president, secretary, treasurer, immediate past president (or, if not available, a member nominated by the club), and the graduate student of Council (nominated by the Master).
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CONFRONTATION AT THE INAUGURAL MEETING OF THE HALL COMMITTEE
Finally we found a compromise: The members of the Men's Club16 Disciplinary Committee would accept primary responsibility and initiative for action. Staff would back them up, encouraging and supporting disciplinary action when needed, and even acting on their own where it seemed necessary. Robin expressed the hope that fellows and tutors would eventually work alongside the student committee in an atmosphere of cooperation, for the good of everyone in the Hall. We were all exhausted, and adjourned for two days.
Between meetings, I met informally at night with several student members, particularly with Dave Parks, a second-year Dental Science student and with Selvarajah who was in third year Chemistry. I never related well to the club president, Robin Waterhouse, in fifth-year Medicine. He was so strongly opposed to anything that Robin Gray said or did that he eventually left the Hall. It was then that Selvarajah became President. Dave Parks was the Club nominee on the Council.
Later, I described this period of numerous, informal meetings with the “opposition” as my “Cloak and Dagger” days. My object was to let them see me as I was really, and to gain their confidence and trust. We realised that Robin Gray was in a difficult position. Any resident could leave the Hall at any time, thereby absolving himself from any outstanding Hall problem. The Master was answerable directly to the University Senate for everything that happened in the Hall. He could not vacate his position, so, in the last resort, responsibility for discipline rested with him. If some major disaster occurred, he could not offer the Senate the lame excuse that he had “left it in the hands of the residents.”
We agreed that while this might be the formal position, the Men's Club should see that it never became necessary for the Master to intervene. If they were the responsible group that they claimed, then their first task was to foster an atmosphere in the Hall that minimised the need for discipline. A real community, where members knew and valued each other, would show mutual consideration. We should put effort into this. Perhaps we should also review the rules of the Hall to make certain that we agreed with them as sensible restrictions that gave real support to the community.
We all knew that breaches of discipline would occur from time to time and that residents were often unwilling to take action against others. Surely, senior residents, such as themselves, should nip minor problems in the bud, before they reached a level of serious complaint. If a tutor thought that some disciplinary action was required, should he not alert a disciplinary committee member, and then support him in his action?
When we reconvened the Hall Committee, Robin wanted to impose formality on the dining arrangements. Again, the students said ‘No Way!’ We settled down to a four-and-a-half hour heated debate. Again we adjourned, exhausted - this time for a week, and I resumed my “cloak and dagger” activities.
16
The name "Men's Club" originated from the pre-1961 hostel days when there had been both a women's hostel and a men's hostel. They had separate living quarters but dined communally. Each group had its own club - the "Men's Club" and the "Women's Club". When the Hall became coeducational in 1971, the name was changed to "The Residents' Club."
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Robin saw the dining room as the focal point where students met and talked. It symbolised, he said, our communal character. It should not be a cafeteria where students hurriedly grabbed their meal and then went their individual way. Visitors, either resident or nonresident, would judge the standard of the Hall by the dining room. He wanted gracious living at which the entire Hall dined together and took coffee afterwards in the common room.
The students' imagined picture of the procedure at traditional colleges was of students assembled, standing, and waiting for the arrival of the Master and his entourage of guests. When he sat, they sat, and the meal commenced. They envisioned the Master at the “High Table” remote and distant from his minions, with whom he did not fraternise. They disagreed that friendships and worthwhile discussion developed from the artificial structure of formal dining; rather, friendships formed through casual communal interaction around Hall. The past egalitarian nature of the Hall had encouraged discussion -most of which took place at night in students' rooms. If students were friends, then they would dine together. Students were not necessarily friends just because they were forced to dine together. The Master's desire for a formalised structure showed just how out of touch he was with the real character of the Hall: How could he be otherwise when he had never spent time mixing with students in the old Hall?
Rumour spread quickly around the Hall and general resentment against the Master rose to a high pitch. I would not have been surprised had a serious revolt broken out. As the Vice-Chancellor's nominee on Council, I quietly paid him a visit and related the state of affairs. Robin Gray, I said, felt that the whole University was watching him, and that he had to impose his will on the residents to be seen to be successful.
‘Well, then,’ said Prescott, ‘you must work quietly in the Hall to deflect him from his course of action. If there is a riot, it will do the University no good, and, anyway, it seems unnecessary. I don't want to be seen to intervene, but your job is clear. Continue working with the students and continue discussion with Robin Gray so that some mutual good sense prevails.’
I now had a brief to support my cloak and dagger activities. Eventually we reached a reluctant compromise. Breakfast and luncheons were cafeteria style. In the evening, tureens of food were delivered to tables as they filled, but individual plated meals were reserved for latecomers. Monday would be a formal dinner with everyone seated by 6.00 pm, when the meal would be served to tables, in tureens. Everyone agreed that residents should always be dressed neatly at meals with shirt, trousers and footwear. However, there was long and heated discussion on Robin's insistence that at weekday evening meals everyone should wear jacket and tie.
The Hall lived with an uneasy truce. No one was very happy about the dining arrangements. Early in June, I raised with Bruce Allender and some students the desirability of producing a fortnightly broadsheet to distribute to everyone's rooms. This was to be a means of communication under the control of a few residents. It was not to be a bulletin from the "hierarchy", although cooperative tutor involvement would be welcome. Neither would it be under the control of the Residents' Club committee. Bruce was very enthusiastic and, with the help of Dave Parks and Kim Farrell, produced the first broadsheet, with the dreadful title: G N U . They ran a competition with a $2 prize for a permanent name. Paul Woodley, a first-year Arts student submitted the winning entry. Thus, HALLMARK was born. I worked closely with the editors and when one or two editions had
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DINING PROBLEMS THE `HALLMARK' NEWSLETTER HALL COMPOSITION
come off the press, found a highly appropriate cartoon, which I thought might take pressure off the tension of enforced wearing of coat and tie at dinner. The next issue showed a scruffy looking tramp in baggy trousers being refused entry to a classy restaurant by the doorman. The caption read: But I am wearing a tie. Looking carefully at the cartoon, it was obvious that the tramp's trousers were held up by an old tie, knotted around his waist. It was well received; even Dr Gray smiled.
By July, Robin Waterhouse had left the Hall and Selvarajah had become President. All tutors now had a good working relationship with the Men's Club committee. Rajah asked that a special meeting of the Hall committee be called to discuss meal arrangements. Following this, the Hall residents were much happier. We still had a single formal meal on Monday, but all other dinners were casual except Wednesday, which remained a “semi-formal” evening, with meals served to the tables as they filled. Jacket and tie were now required only once a week on Mondays.
- V
What was this Hall to which I was so ardently and fervently committed? Many students were very young, and every second face seemed Asian. In 1966 there were only 95 students in residence and some did not seek readmission in 1967. The new Hall had 156 places, so many were necessarily new students. Half the residents were in first-year, fresh from school. Most were the first in their family to go on to tertiary studies. They did not know what to expect. The largest contingent - almost one third of the residents - came from West Australian country districts, and many were the sons of farmers. Over 40 percent came from twelve overseas countries, the largest group being from Malaysia. Almost all these were ethnically Chinese. Many of our first-year overseas students were in a strange country, with cultural patterns and eating habits different to their own, and were away from home for the first time. Council wanted to reduce the overseas student numbers to no more than 25%, as it did not want them to form a strong, separate clique group. By 1969 their
numbers were reduced to 36%, but it was 1972 before we met the 25% target. It was 1969 before we brought the number of first year students back to about one third of the hall population. Slowly we built up the number of senior and postgraduate residents.
The problem was how to make this melting pot of different peoples, with different backgrounds and different aspirations, a strongly interacting community. Currie Hall had a tradition of being an egalitarian society: First-year and graduate students had equal rights in the community. This was unlike a traditional college society - such as St. George's - where senior residents kept the “freshers” in their place. At the beginning of each year, they required the newcomers to perform menial tasks. The better rooms were occupied by seniors, first-year residents often being housed together in a block. The argument was that the first-years were immature and noisy and so had to be kept away from the more mature seniors.
Our decision was to “sprinkle” junior and senior students uniformly through the accommodation areas. We applied the same principle to overseas students: we spread them amongst the Australians. The two major blocks were constructed on a “ship” principle. The ground floor of each house provided a tutor's flat, a small common-room, two visitor's suites and six student rooms, while each of the three floors above had the floor plan shown below:
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******* *******
* 201 * 202 * 203 * 204 * 205 * 206 ** 207 * 208 * 209 * 210 * 211 * 212 * FIRE
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/))1[ * /))1 5 BATHROOM R /))1\ T
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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)
BALCONY * /)))Q S0)))Q S0)))Q S0))Q S)0)))Q S0)))Q S0)))))))0)))Q S0)))Q S0)))Q S0)))Q S0)))Q S0)))Q S1 /))1
*******R*** ****/))1
*******T * .))))1 * * ** * SENIOR STUDENT * ** **** ROOMS *
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* * * * * / )))2))- ****** FIRE
* 224 * 223 * 222 * 221 * 220 * 219 ** 218 * 217 * 216 * 215 * 214 * 213 * ESCAPE **************
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The twenty-four rooms on each floor were divided into four groups of six, with central communal bathrooms. One room on either side was a “double-room” - a separate bedroom and sitting room. We eventually allocated one of these on each floor to a tutor and the other to a committee member of the Men's Club. All other rooms were identical, so there was little to favour one over another. The rooms were small, each being 9 feet by 12 feet (2.75m x 3.7m) but had been carefully tested before building. Gordon Stephenson had a room of this size built on campus, and fitted it with the proposed furniture. A senior student then lived in it for ten days and commented on desirable changes before the final plans were settled.
It was becoming the practice in Eastern State colleges to install a washbasin in each room - mainly to attract conference visitors during university recess. We could not afford this, so everyone made use of the communal bathrooms. I thought this an advantage. A shy student could spend much of his time locked away in his bedroom but, if he had to clean his teeth standing next to another resident, there was a good chance that interaction would occur. Low-level interaction seemed a better way to initiate relationship than any contrived situation. We had a melting pot - what we needed were many ways to stir the ingredients together.
The interaction between Hall academic staff and the residents was one way. Robin Gray had asked me to organise tutorials within the Hall for first-year students, but it took me some time to clarify their purpose. Were they not provided already in the University? Would we be adding no more than a coaching service that might prolong dependence? I visited Bob Flecker to discuss this. We agreed that, while we might hold lofty ideals about the greater purpose of a University in its broad educative aim of developing, expanding and freeing the individual, we had to recognise that this was a slow process. Many first-year students were immature and needed time to develop. That development might take three years. If the student failed his exams in the first year, he would never become a third-year student. Our initial aim must therefore be to make our first-year students academically successful.
The first difference between Hall and University tutorials was that Hall groups were generally smaller; they could be less formal and more intimate. Secondly, interaction other than in the tutorial room could help establish a close relationship between the tutor and student. This was rarely possible in the University. The weekly group tutorial class was the tutor's “visiting card”. It gave legitimacy to a relationship. If that developed informally, then tutor and student could visit each other in their rooms to discuss academic matters; As trust grew, this could sometimes develop to a discussion of wider personal concerns. A tutor could then help the student develop a general attitude to study and to tackling any problem. He could encourage the student to confront his problems, and to develop an enquiring mind, not only about his subject but about life.
I and the other tutors made much personal and informal contact with students and came to know many of them well. Sometimes we achieved more for them than we realised. For example, there was one young Chinese student from Malaysia, Wong Thin. He was homesick, lonely and had trouble studying. He was dissatisfied with his poor exam results. Eventually he graduated, finally marrying and migrating to Melbourne. Over the years, we kept in contact. In 1996, almost thirty years later, he wrote to me:
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CREATING A COMMUNITY TUTORIALS AND THE ROLE OF ACADEMIC STAFF
I still remember very clearly that I used to feel very insecure and afraid of not completing my studies at UWA. This thought still manifests itself occasionally in my dreams. These feelings were the result of:
1 Being new in Perth and feeling totally unprepared for the task of completing university studies;
2 It was my parents' desire for me to study in Australia, although the cost was very great; in those days the exchange rate was almost 3.5 Malaysian dollars to the Australian dollar. My father had to work on several jobs to support me.
3 My pre-university preparation in Malaysia was insufficient for me to undertake university studies.
It was a miracle in my life that I completed my studies successfully. I attribute that success largely to meeting you in Currie Hall. Since the time you invited me into your flat and imparted to me the technique of studying effectively, I started to pass my exams with ease.
Wong Thin's field of study was not my own, but study techniques are similar in most fields, and nothing quite equals a little personal interest and concern when a person is far from home and lonely.
Sometimes, lack of study produced more serious outcomes. After I had been in the Hall several years there was a pounding on my door one night.
‘Come quickly! Come quickly! We have just found Stephen in his room; he's out to it on the floor and there's an empty whisky bottle beside him.’
I rushed to his room. Stephen was a Chinese student. He appeared lifeless, but was breathing. He seemed more than just drunk. The others told me that he was not a known, heavy drinker. I returned to my flat and rang the University medical officer.
‘Take him straight to hospital and get a stomach pump on him. With that much liquor he may have alcohol poisoning.’
We decided to take him by car, and carried his lifeless body down the fire-escape. When we tried to put him in the car, he suddenly became alive, flailing his arms and legs so violently that we could not get him into the vehicle. We wrapped him in a blanket and put him on the porch of my flat, while Judith and Peter, peeped at him through the window. This was one of their many “growingup” experiences while in the Hall. We called an ambulance and, duly strapped to a stretcher, he was taken to hospital.
When Stephen returned to the Hall, I visited him. Although he was now in the final year of his course, he had squandered his father's money by gambling; Twice he had failed a year at the University through lack of study. On the day of his drinking bout, he had received a letter from his father telling him that, because he had squandered the family's money, his younger brother would now be denied a university education. The family could no longer afford it. Stephen, filled with remorse, emptied the whisky bottle.
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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)
Robin Gray and I used our staff meetings to raise the awareness of tutors to the full nature of their task. It would have been wonderful to have had, in 1967, a greater proportion of well-motivated, mature, senior students to provide a model for the younger ones as I believed firmly in the maxim that:
The way to make a man critical in all aspects of education is to expose him to the first-rate until the inferior ceases to attract.
Unfortunately we did not have a mature community; we had to build it over a period of years. In 1967 we were understaffed, but rectified that in 1968. Fortunately Graham Pearman, Bruce Allender and Moorthi Krishnasamy were very sensible, mature and lively people who provided
excellent models.
Towards the end of 1967 I drew up a list of possible activities that might contribute to the stirring of the melting pot. Some, such as sport and term socials, were well-established traditions of the old Hall.
As far back as 1946, the first Hostel President, Keith Nicholson, had donated a cup for inter-college sporting competition. In those days the Hostel vied with St. George's College as the only other residence. By 1967, Kingswood and St. Thomas More Colleges had joined the inter-college sporting association; All competed for the “Nic Cup”, but Currie Hall rarely won it.
One difficulty was that almost half our community came from overseas countries. They did not play our sports of cricket, tennis, hockey, football or rugby. Their game was soccer and this was not introduced to inter-college sport for some years. Very few took part in swimming, basketball or athletics. Sport was not usually an effective way of encouraging interaction between Australian and Asian residents - except table tennis, at which they excelled.
Most of our Australians came from country state schools where there was little tradition of competitive sport, compared with the private metropolitan schools such as Hale School, Aquinas College or Scotch College. Many residents at the University Church-based colleges came from these schools, and there was often a schoolboy champion among them.
Nonetheless, the 1966 magazine, Exodus, concluded its sporting section with the epitaph:
Laugh ye Colleges, laugh ye well,
For tomorrow will give a different story to tell.
With new buildings comes new fame,
Winning the Cup will be our aim.
This illusion we must clear up
You can wave goodbye to that Nicho Cup.
We did not win it in 1967, or in 1968, or in 1969, or . . . .
Traditionally, a beer party celebrated the conclusion of each sport. Problems of discipline often centred on resultant drunkenness. The parties were held at different Colleges in turn, and no college Head wanted the football keg-party, in particular, held in his Co l l e g e . H i g h -spir it ed, drunken adolescents were de st ru ctive b ei ng s particularly when at someone else's college.
Excessive drinking and ocker17 behaviour was always a problem for a small minority. Robin Gray imposed strict limits on the amount of liquor available at Hall functions.
17
Boorish, uncouth, chauvinistic or aggressive
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CREATING A COMMUNITY TUTORIALS AND THE ROLE OF ACADEMIC STAFF
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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)
18
This was based on average consumption per head , but the Club committee always pressed for more - usually without success. Many students did not drink, while others consumed much more than the average. Officially, the Vice-Chancellor had to approve all liquor used on the campus but, for Hall events, he privately delegated this authority to the Master. Robin did not let this be known, and always insisted on ten-days' written notice for the official processing of liquor requests.
In 1967, no one could vote until they reached the age of twenty-one. It took the conscription of young men to serve in the Vietnam war for the voting age to be reduced to eighteen years because, it was argued, if you could fight and die for your country, then you had the right to vote for it and to be treated as an adult in all respects. Until this change took place, many of our first-year students were below the legal drinking age, and fines could be imposed for supplying liquor to them at a public gathering. We always insisted that the Men's Club provide sufficient soft drink, and we tried, rather unsuccessfully, to reduce the Australian peer-group notion that, unless you
19
drank heavily, you were not a man. When we held a first-term Buck's party , it was common for two members of the police force to arrive during the evening to look for underage drinkers. Their main concern was that the gathering was under control, and that soft drink was available. They did not look too hard for the underage drinkers. Robin Gray or I usually attended these gatherings and chatted with the police.
There were always a few students who drank too much. This also occurred at Engineer's Club and other student “shows” on campus. At least at Currie Hall, there was always someone to take charge of the person who had drunk to excess and put him to bed. There was not the dangerous task of driving home in an inebriated state. Whenever I saw a new first-year student become drunk, I hoped that he would wake up next morning with a most dreadful hangover and say, ‘Never again!’ Many did learn to control their drink through such practical experience, but there were always a few who did not.
Another related problem was the consumption of liquor in students' rooms. This took place in all the Colleges. Kingswood, being a Methodist college, had to ban alcohol officially but Leigh Cook, the Master, knew that he could not enforce this. He once said to me, in jocular fashion:
‘It is amazing how many young men in my College enjoy a cold cup of tea with a head on it. And, of course, I always tell my housemaids that they are not to look in cupboards. What a young gentleman keeps in his cupboard is none of their business.’
Theoretically, alcohol was not allowed on campus without approval. But, like most things of that nature, it was impossible to police. If we prevented drinking in the rooms, we would not stop the drinking: the students would simply drive over to “Steve's”20 and drink there. Then there would be the added risk of them being involved in a road accident on the way home. It was better to allow drinking on the premises provided it did not cause problems either for the community or for the individual. If consumption became excessive, then the noise level would rise. The community eventually established rules regarding noise, and took action if it became too high - either by diverting the noisy group to the “party room” that we eventually established, or, in severe cases, by intervening as a disciplinary measure. When an individual often drank to excess, either Robin or I would intervene in a counselling role. Sometimes there was an underlying personal problem.
18 About 750 millilitres, or 1 bottle per head. 19 A male-only party 20 The Nedlands Park Hotel - the University "watering-hole"
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CREATING A COMMUNITY: SPORT, SOCIAL FUNCTIONS & ALCOHOL.
When Robin and I first became associated with Currie Hall, we were concerned with the level of drinking. For those that drank, there was a certain camaraderie established that often led to firm friendships. However, this group alienated itself from the more sober members of the Hall particularly the Asian students who looked askance at the uncouth behaviour of some Australian youth. We needed to balance the Hall with other activities that would, in time, take the emphasis away from alcohol. Fortunately there were no other drugs fashionable at the time.
Many of our young men lacked social skills. It was not uncommon at a Buck's party, or when drinking with others, for them to boast of their sexual exploits with women - often imagined. However, when in the company of women, they were usually socially inept. It was a tradition of the male colleges to arrange “swap” dinners with St. Catherine's College. Half the men of Currie Hall would dine at St. Catherine's, and half the women of St. Catherine's would dine at the Hall.
Early in 1967, Kay and I attended our first swap dinner. All the tables were filled, half with Hall men and half with St. Catherine's women. The conversation level was lower than usual, and most men seemed to gulp down their meal and leave as soon as possible, leaving the women to fend for themselves. Kay and I found our table soon deserted apart from the women visitors. It was not until the Hall became co-educational in 1971 that men and women learnt how to live, work and socialise in a community. The Hall then became more civilised and relaxed.
- VI
The Hall was to change remarkably over the following years. In 1983, when Robin Gray had retired and I had taken his position, and lived in the Hall for sixteen years, I was asked to give four short weekly talks on the University radio station about university education and the colleges. After
21
some introductory remarks recounting how I found myself to be living in a residential college , this is, in part, what I said:
The College experience is the experience of the melting pot. In my residence there are 240 people: students from 16 to 45 years of age. While 30% may be in their first-year, over 20% are taking honours or doing postgraduate work. There are country people, city people and those from interstate. There are many from overseas countries. Some are interested in the arts, others in law or medicine. There are those studying commerce or engineering, science or social work. There are Christians, Buddhists, Moslems, and those who have found no religion or philosophy as satisfactory or necessary. There are quiet people, and there are extroverts. There are those whose lives are sailing smoothly forward: Their futures are well charted. There are others, faced with the task of resolving and surmounting problems. How very different is this rich and educating interaction from my own narrow undergraduate commuter experience when almost all my associates were fellow engineers. . .
True education is a drawing forth of a person's capabilities, expanding their horizons of understanding. A university has failed if it trains a person for an occupation or profession but does no more. It must, at least, help its members to obtain better and sharper minds so that they can apply reason to any life situation - not just to the job situation; It must help them to develop wide interests; To become self-disciplined, and to have the rudiments of a satisfying personal philosophy.
It is important to have aspirations and goals in all areas of life, even if they can never be reached, so it is not surprising that I have aspirations for a residential college.
21
The talk was about the colleges as a group, so I used this generic term rather than "Hall". However, my examples were taken from the life of Currie Hall.
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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)
Above all, I see a college as a real community of interacting people: Not so small that it has danger of conformity to a single pattern; Not so large that it has the danger of impersonality.
I see it as a very personal place set within the environment of a much larger and
necessarily impersonal university;
I see it as a home that has some measure of coherence; A place where there is a
sense of belonging, and a place where high standards are set.
I take it for granted that university studies should be at the highest intellectual level and that the College should assist the University by encouraging its members to strive for excellence of being and excellence of personal development in both scholastic and social ways. I also take it for granted that we should strive for high ethical standards of truth and of behaviour, and in reaching for understanding.
Our residential community should concern itself with fostering personal identity, individuality and growth in all its members and with fostering an environment in which young people can explore and expand their capabilities and powers until they find themselves, removing, as far as possible, any prejudices that initially bound them.
Residential life should encourage the growth of maturity and the acceptance of responsibility as a necessary consequence of freedom; in all areas we need to encourage both initiative and commitment. . .
When students leave school and home to come to the University, most have a properly developed sense of maturity. However, there are always some who lack this maturity and thus cannot responsibly handle their new-found freedom. If you treat such a person as an immature schoolboy, you simply prolong the period of immaturity. If you treat him as an adult - as though he were already mature - then you help him to grow towards it22.
Most of the young people coming up to the University have little or no knowledge of what the university stands for. Most are first-generation tertiary students. Many are leaving home for the first time, and doing so at an age when they are still trying to discover themselves as individuals, and are anxious to establish some independence from their parents.
I remember asking one first-year girl what was the best thing about being in the Hall. She replied that, for the first time in her life, she could decide something for herself without first saying: `Please Mum. . .' Another girl said that it was `being able to do something, and nobody knows about it, except me.'
Establishing some measure of independence is writ large on the slate of things to do.
For many, the university is exotic: a place one has heard of, but a place shrouded in mystery. Most of our young people have come from small communities; They have come from schools with comparatively small classes and with personal student-teacher relations. Some have strong goals, having decided long ago what they want to achieve. Others have not yet grasped the nettle of deciding their own future and are just drifting along: Because their matriculation aggregate was high enough, and because their friends were coming to the University, so they, too, came along. With few job prospects, the alternative was the dole.
22
See the quotation from Goethe on page 268; See also the maxim on page 301.
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MY 1983 RADIO TALK ON UNIVERSITY EDUCATION AND THE ROLE OF COLLEGES
One American educator described the university as the minimum security detention centre for the young - a place where they came while they worked out who they really were and what they wanted out of life.
Some come to the University already able to study and learn for themselves. Others still work best when external pressure is applied, and they find it very easy to let things slide. . .
What do students find when they come to the University?
# They find a large and impersonal institution;
# Although some school friends came to the University, they are doing different courses and are rarely seen.
# They find that they know very little about the courses in which they have enrolled.
Someone interested in people might enrol in Psychology 100. With between 600 and 800 students enrolled in this unit and with class size measured in hundreds, the lecturer is a remote figure in a large auditorium. Then the student discovers that first-year psychology has very little to do with what he or she had in mind.
Under these circumstances it is very easy to go through the university experience with negative feelings; it is possible to become disenchanted and to lose motivation.
It is in this very area that the residential college life has much to offer.
To understand the student's problems of transition from school to university, we must first understand more clearly the real purposes of a university. A university combines the performance of several unique functions and strives to attain excellence in each. These are the discovery of knowledge, the dissemination of knowledge, and a concern for the use of knowledge. These functions require balance, integration and interaction: Without teaching, the institution would be a research foundation -like the CSIRO23. Without research, it would be a high school. Expanding and disseminating knowledge go hand in hand.
From the days of Socrates, academic freedom to think what you like and to say what you think, without penalty, has been essential.
The real university is concerned about values, truths and ideas wherever they may lead. Of course, the exercise of such privilege depends on following rigorously the guidelines of intellectual honesty. University members must learn the importance of clear expression, of the search for truth and honesty of thought, and the rational approach of the scientific method. They must strive to develop their creative, innovative and intellectual capacities and develop the capacity for wise judgment. In short, they must be guided by this University's motto: Seek Wisdom.
This is the aspiration: If our university achieved all this then, truly, it would be a great university. Its real achievement is far less than this.
23 Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation
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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)
Students often seek advice on their choice of subjects. While it is obvious that a medical man must have some skills in medical practice, and the accountant should know the rudiments of accounting, both these are but the skills of a technician. As such, they are not essentially what a university education is about. The content and the subject matter are necessary and important, but they are the medium not the message.
For example, the field of engineering technology is expanding so rapidly that it is quite impossible for anyone to learn all that there is to know. Indeed, there is little point in teaching the student the hardware of today, if it is to become the junkware of tomorrow. The subject-matter does have relevance for its immediate use but, what is more important, it is the coat-hanger on which we hang the educational coat.
The university should encourage students to learn how to learn for themselves. It should encourage them to study in depth by themselves. It should encourage them to sift the important from the unimportant and to separate the known from the not-so-well known.
It should encourage them not to depend on teachers. It should encourage them to
think logically for themselves and to have the courage of their convictions and the
strength of character to admit error.
Above all, it should encourage truthfulness and intellectual honesty.
Although there are vocational courses, the university is not primarily a vocational institution. Although it pays some heed to the marketplace, its primary aim is not to provide its students with a meal ticket. Rather, its purpose is to prepare young men and women to take their place in society as educated people, able to turn their minds and abilities in many directions.
When young people move from school to university, two changes are taking place:
# They are entering a new and very different learning climate;
# Along with others in their age-group, they are entering a more advanced life-stage in their personal development.
For many students, the university experience comes as something of a shock. A study in Melbourne University in 1980 showed that 42% of those surveyed felt that their schools had done little or nothing to prepare them for university studies. One student said:
School prepared m e to gain entry to Uni., but not for Uni. studies. The sam e stud y skills don't work at Uni. Inform ation is presented in a totally different way at school and there's m uch less of it. We were told what to study, but nothing about how we learn.
The same problem occurs within the university. Most lecturers assume that their students have been prepared by their high schools. If students cannot adapt to the demands of their course, then this is the students' problem. Most university lecturers do not discuss the problem of how to learn.
Many students, of course, do cope, but may achieve much less than their capacity, and many may plod along without being set ablaze with enthusiasm and the success of high achievement.
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The 1980 Melbourne University study group prepared two case studies24 of Sharon and Greg, both of which illustrated the interaction between university studies and life problems:
CASE 1: SHARON - A SCIENCE STUDENT LIVING AT HOME
Sharon was eighteen years old and a first-year student studying Chemistry, Physics, Biology and Computer Science. She had been delighted - and so had her teachers with her high matriculation average: she achieved a score well above the entry requirements of the faculty. She had no background in computer science but had embarked on it as her major because people said `I'd be sure of employment later'. Nor had she studied biology at school.
She struck problems early in this latter subject because she had no previous experience in writing scientific essays of the kind required, and had little idea of how to go about it. Computer science presented further problems. She had not anticipated the difficulties of gaining access to computer terminals and seriously underestimated the time that would be involved. She fell behind in submitting laboratory reports in chemistry and physics.
Sharon spent long hours in rewriting lecture notes because, during lectures, she did not understand what was being said, and her notes were `messy and disjointed'. She had been trying to rote-learn everything and, despite foregoing all recreation, she dropped further behind while becoming increasingly demoralised. She was so apprehensive about the impending first-term exams that she considered withdrawing. Sharon felt that she did not have the “brains” to succeed at university.
Her boyfriend of longstanding (who had become a clerk in the State Public Service after leaving school) had ‘dumped’ her because she was ‘always working’. She was deeply distressed by this event as she regarded him as her closest friend as well as being her first sexual partner.
Sharon could not talk about this to anyone, least of all to those in her family. Her parents upheld a strict moral code and would condemn her behaviour, and she was disinclined to face upset and disillusionment. She felt confused enough about her own moral attitudes as it was. She was the first in her family to attend university and her parents did not understand her need to stay on campus in the evenings, or why she was withdrawn and preoccupied when at home.
Sharon had come from a highly structured school, one that prided itself on its matriculation results. Her teachers had instructed and directed the students closely, and had always been available to them. At university, Sharon's teachers seemed to her to be very remote and she did not like to ‘bother’ them. The classes were large and there was no one from her school studying the same subjects.
24 These composite case studies were recounted by Leith Hancock in 1983 at the biennial conference of the Association of Heads of Residential Colleges and Halls of Universities of Australia, held in Melbourne.
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Earlier in the year she had spent time at the weekends with some of her old school friends but, as the work piled up, and she seemed to have less and less in common with her old friends, Sharon stayed more and more at home to ‘study’.
CASE 2: GREG - AN ARTS LAW STUDENT LIVING IN A COLLEGE
Greg was a nineteen-year old first-year Arts/Law student at Melbourne University. He had grown up in a large provincial town, as one of a well-known family. His father was the senior partner in a lucrative and respected law firm. Both parents were actively involved in local and civic affairs.
Greg's twenty-six year old brother, Ken, after attending boarding school for six years, had studied medicine at another university, and then moved interstate. His sister, two years older again, had trained as a nurse at the local hospital and remained on its residential staff.
So Greg grew up at home as an only child. He attended the local high school where he had a good record, but repeated his last school year to improve his academic score and because he was thought ‘too young to move to the city’.
His parents were disappointed that Greg had not chosen to follow his father's profession. They looked forward to him doing so and to his return to the family firm. Nor, at this stage, had Greg questioned such a plan, although he was more interested in English and in History than in Legal Studies at school - and his grades reflected this interest. As a concession, however, his parents agreed that he should take the combined degree course.
So everyone was pleased when he was accepted by the University and by the same residential college in which his father had lived during his undergraduate years. At the beginning of the year, Greg enrolled in English, Politics and two Law subjects.
He began college life not knowing anyone. Having lived his whole life in his home town, Greg had previously mixed very little with strangers. From the outset he felt shy and socially awkward, inadequate in the college group, and quite overwhelmed by the size and complexity of the University and the huge metropolis beyond.
As first term progressed, Greg withdrew increasingly from collegiate life, to `work'. This meant spending hours in the libraries and in his room - rereading lecture notes, reading case material and prescribed texts. In the early weeks he concentrated particularly on his law subjects, However, the longer he worked, and the higher the mountain of paper, the less he seemed able to absorb, understand or recall, and the more silent and withdrawn he became. Others around him seemed cheerful, busy and confident.
In the fourth week of term he stopped attending College tutorials in law, because he felt a ‘fool’. He neglected his law studies altogether after a time and concentrated on politics. This was the only subject he felt able to handle. He read widely on the subject and followed current affairs keenly. These he discussed occasionally with Colin, one of the College residential tutors with whom he felt more relaxed.
By the sixth week of term, despite his early concentration on law, Greg was hopelessly behind in all his studies and assignment papers - with the exception of his first politics essay. This he had completed and handed in on time. At the same time Greg was thinking more and more about withdrawing from study altogether, but dreaded raising the matter with his parents. The crunch came for him when he received only a bare pass in the politics essay in which he had invested all his energies.
Colin noticed Greg's absence from meals and sought him out. Greg poured out the whole unhappy story and, with the tutor's guidance and support, gradually regained
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a sufficient measure of confidence and competence to reenter college life and to negotiate course changes.
When these two case studies were shown to a group of university lecturers, they were generally regarded as exaggerations, while a group of residential-college Heads all recognised immediately the Sharons and the Gregs they had known. There was more than just a problem of acquiring study skills involved in these two cases. In addition, there were the problems of developing as a young adult.
All parents worry about their children, particularly when they are ready to make the break away from home:
If Karen comes up from the country to share a flat, or to live in a college while studying, how will she cope? Will she feed herself and look after herself properly? Will she get into bad company? What if she forms an undesirable relationship? What if she becomes pregnant? And what of Bob? He is so easily led by others, is often rebellious and has developed a taste for beer. What if he starts drinking too much and fails his exams? I've heard all sorts of stories about drugs on campus. Are they true?
These are very real and legitimate concerns. At the life-stage of late adolescence all young people are faced with developmental tasks to be mastered. These include: Achieving independent living; making independent initial career choices; perhaps entering into the initial experiences of sustained intimacy with others.
They are developing their powers of objective thinking and improving their communication skills with individuals and with groups. They are also beginning to clarify and internalise their personal values, establishing their own codes in material, intellectual, emotional, sexual and spiritual spheres.
They are building up specific skills which include not only the living skills of cooking, washing, budgeting and maintaining health, but also the self-management skills of goal-setting, organising time, solving problems, making decisions and taking risks.
In the university-age group almost all these tasks relate to establishing personal independence of thought and action and, of course, it is a worrying time for parents because overt offers of help are so often rejected, and yet young people will become independent learners all the more quickly if they operate within a supportive background environment of parents, teachers, friends and peer groups. In such an environment it is much easier to muster the courage to take the step into the unknown.
Many a time, I -or someone else in a residential college - have stood alongside and encouraged a person to take a forward step or face up to a personal, but feared, responsibility. Not that anything in particular was done but at least an e n viron m ent w as established where the student knew that if things went wrong there was someone they could turn to on a personal basis without the risk of being rejected.
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Many times someone, having taken such a step forward, has come to me later and said “Thank you”, when I was not aware that I had done anything in particular. Two years ago a second-year student said to me:
I wish the tutors in the Hall could work with second-year students like they do with the first-years. Last year I really worked for my psychology tutor; he really got me through.
When I mentioned this to the tutor, he was amazed:
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But I hardly ever saw Peter. I only stopped and chatted with him now and again and asked
him how things were going.
In a large, remote university, even a small level of interest, understanding and caring by one who has been through it, and knows the problems, can be a big help.
Ideally, interaction and support should be on a one-to-one basis but, with the total numbers within the University, this is hardly possible until one reaches postgraduate level. However, residential colleges are well placed to help. Within this setting, young students can discover more quickly how to learn for themselves and how to cope with their problems both through interaction with resident tutors and with more senior students. This is why it is important for a college to strive for a careful balance between the number of first-year and senior students, and between the number of academically strong and the not-so-strong. This is why it is important to establish an egalitarian society where residents in all groups can come to know one another better as authentic people. It is then that the attitudes and values of the senior students or tutors rub-off onto the younger student.
Many former Hall residents, when reminiscing, say that they enjoyed and valued most the long and seemingly fruitless discussions held over coffee - or something stronger into the small hours of the night, when the problems of the world were solved.
In such sessions, not only do we enjoy the company and comradeship of others, but we also learn to put our own point of view and to adopt a tentative attitude without fear of the consequences. We can test our emerging values against those of others, and we can learn tolerance - understanding more deeply our fellow human beings.
From such interactions, other exchanges may take place: Third and fourth-year students may discuss their own problems of deciding what to do; They may discuss personal dilemmas in choosing courses, discovering what learning was about, or how they coped with interpersonal problems. The younger student learns from this. Not that any of this happens in an overt, structured way but, nonetheless, it does happen in a roundabout way, with an eventual educative effect.
I have always maintained that the most successful of my tutors were not those who were no more than expert in the knowledge of their academic subject -it is not the job of a tutor to “teach” by giving answers. Rather, good tutors were good because, beyond their academic achievement, they were real people, full of the zest for living: Living life to the full, demanding much of themselves and giving much to others. They were people who had faced personal problems and had resolved them. They were people who understood themselves and cared enough about other people to be concerned to help them discover themselves.
Recently I interviewed a prospective tutor and she talked about the tremendous hurdle she encountered in trying to become brave enough to use the huge University library, to search for and to take out books, and to ask for help when she did not know.
We all face problems. Successful tutors can relate their own experiences to those of the new student standing on the doorstep.
In Currie Hall, as in most colleges, there are many social events including dinner-dances at the end of each term. Recently we held our end-of-year dinner at which we said farewell to those departing. I could not help but reflect on what a fine bunch of young
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people we had. There was the conviviality of established friendships; there was dancing and, of course, there was drinking. However, at the end of the night, not all the beer had been used and there was no out-of-hand, rowdy behaviour. Many fell-to to help clean up for the next day so that the burden would not fall on the domestic staff when they arrived in the morning to set up breakfast.
My mind went back to the beginning of the year when some young men had behaved like puppy dogs, off the leash for the first time. At the beginning of the year a few young people had not discovered the meaning of freedom and thought it meant that you could do whatever you liked. Off they went to the pub in the first week of term to return drunk, rowdy, and inconsiderate of others.
Parents sometimes fear that their youngsters will not handle well the freedom given to them and that, being at a rebellious age, will throw off all the values that their parents have given them. There is the story of the Anglican Archbishop whose son went up to Oxford.
A friend asked: ‘How is he getting on?’
‘Oh, magnificently,’ replied the Archbishop, ‘right now he is a rampant atheist.’
He knew that only by throwing off what had been externally imposed would his son discover finally what values really mattered in life, and these he would then internalise as his own.
Meanwhile, most parent worry.
The idea of confirming things for oneself is central to the university attitude. That is why rote-learning is wrong except in the most mundane circumstances. We must each make our knowledge and understanding very personal. That is why students must learn to depend on themselves and to trust their own judgment. That is why they must discover not to believe everything they read in books or in what their teachers say. They must be bound only by the authority of what they discover to be true. However, depending on oneself brings each person face-to-face with the problem of freedom.
When students must depend on themselves and make judgments for themselves, they must choose between alternatives. Every young person wants this freedom of choice, but it brings with it an awesome responsibility. When confronted with several alternatives, each will have its consequences - and no one can foresee completely the possible outcome.
When a decision is made, it can never be unmade. We can never discover what would have been the outcome had a different choice been made. So we fear making decisions, but cannot escape the responsibility of doing so.
There is another, quite different aspect of freedom. On three separate occasions the late international concert pianist, André Tchaikowsky, lived for a term in Currie Hall and became very popular with the residents. On his last visit as an Artist in Residence at the University, he played the complete set of Mozart piano concertos.
‘How I wish that I could play as you do,’ I once said to him. André winked at me, and replied: ‘And so you could, John, if you were prepared to practice at least five hours a day, for seven days a week, for many years.’
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Of course, there is more to greatness than this but self discipline and the mastery of skills is an essential part of it. For mastery sets us free. Because of his mastery, André had the freedom to create at the keyboard what I could not.
Education increases our freedom and our ability to respond to its demands. If, when faced with a problem, we can envisage only one possible course of action, then we possess relatively little freedom. Greater knowledge and greater understanding bring greater awareness of possible choices and so give us more freedom of action. Disciplined thought also helps reveal our prejudices, and clarifies for us possible outcomes. We can then use our freedom with greater certainty and confidence.
However, knowledge alone does not enable us to use our freedom wisely. A responsible person is one who is free to act, but does so with consideration of the circumstances and for matters of principle - which are the values on which we base our living.
For example, a resident in the Hall may wish to play his stereo at loud volume at two o'clock in the morning. A possible outcome of his decision to use his freedom in this way might be that an aggressive, disturbed neighbour beats him up - verbally, if not physically. As a matter of principle the resident may realise that by exercising his freedom to make much noise he thereby takes away the freedom of others to enjoy their sleep.
A responsible decision must always be based on value judgments.
Much education, in a very general sense, can be achieved in a residential setting, provided it truly gives the experience of the ‘melting pot’ with opportunities for people of widely different backgrounds, aspirations and circumstances to mix freely and so to learn from each other. Unless Currie Hall creates a real community it will fail in its objectives.
How, then, is community achieved?
All residents are treated as adults and as equals. Most respond well to this egalitarian approach. The community is largely self-governing and self-controlling. Early in each year an orientation committee of students, tutors and Principal25 plan a program to introduce new residents to the Hall and to the University.
Gone are the days when Colleges held initiation ceremonies26. Our new students arrive on the Wednesday of the week before first-term commences. Senior students
25 When Robin Gray retired at the end of 1977, the University changed to title of the Head of Hall from `Master' to `Principal'.
26
These were never a tradition in Currie Hall because its background sprang from mature ex-servicemen in the Hostel days. However, Hall residents sometimes responded to the initiation antics of other Colleges where they impinged on the Hall.
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volunteer27 to come into residence early so that they can take new first-year students on faculty-based tours of the University to see the lecture rooms, laboratories and libraries with which they must become familiar. Informally they may talk about practical tasks, such as note-taking.
The committee finds many ways to create interaction with games designed to break down barriers and help people relax, and so come to know one another. There are barbecues on the lawns to overcome the daunting experience for some of fronting up to a large dining hall where they feel they know no-one. There are discussions about life in the Hall. By the beginning of term, most new residents go off to their first lectures with friends.
When new students first arrive at the Hall, a member of the orientation committee takes them to their rooms and settles them in. Over the next few weeks, these committee members take responsibility for keeping an eye on those whom they first met in this way. They help sort out minor problems, while resident tutors on each floor get to know the new people who live nearby. They also visit all new residents for whom they will be a tutor.
The tutorial program starts in the second week of term and, although attendance is voluntary, we urge the students to take part so they can come to know the tutors better, and judge for themselves whether the tutorials are of benefit. Many students later prefer to approach tutors individually to sort out such problems as work organisation or particular academic difficulties. Before the beginning of the year, we hold an orientation program for the tutors, followed by regular fortnightly meetings so that they may bring the objectives of the Hall into focus, recognise and share possible problems and ways to resolve them. Our women tutors may meet the first-year women to discuss particular problems that could arise for them in a co-educational setting.
In any community there will always be occasional difficulties, but I have always been impressed by the good common-sense values that abound, and by the weight of peer-group pressure to help maintain a positive society. The most common nitty-gritty problems concern rules and freedom. Of course, every community must have some rules but, in the Hall these, in essence, come down to:
Don't be inconsiderate of others, and don't act foolishly so far as you yourself are concerned.
There are no petty rules such as “lights-out”. A resident can come home at three in the morning and sleep until noon. However, if someone returns at that hour, drunk and disorderly, they will offend against the rule in both respects, and peer-group pressure would bear upon them. If the pattern continued, the Principal, or someone else, would try to establish why this pattern of behaviour had developed and what could be done about it.
In the early weeks of first-term there is always much socialising, not enough study, and too much noise. It takes time for the community to settle down. There is much individual variation in noise tolerance. The Hall is both a place to study and sleep, and a place in which to live. Some students like to hear the sound of life around them, others like no noise at all, so we ask students what kind of environment they prefer before allocating rooms. Nonetheless we always have a few inconsiderate offenders.
27
As an incentive and in appreciation of their efforts, they are given free board and accommodation for the week.
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Periodically, the residents discuss the problems of noise in an open forum and draw up guidelines for noise control. This approach has always worked better than imposing rigid rules from above. We adopt the same approach to the use of alcohol. Members of the community learn to cooperate and to be considerate of others. Very rarely, we may ask someone to leave because they cannot fit in.
My predecessor, Robin Gray, said that if you pointed out truths to people when they were not yet ready to learn, nothing would be achieved. You had to wait for the “teachable moment”. We have to wait until some time early in first-term before people realise that they must settle down to work. If we told them on the first day of the academic year how they should tackle their university work, we would achieve nothing. We must wait for that teachable moment when they begin to realise just how much they have on their plate and that they must start organising themselves. A few don't reach this point until it is too late, but the academic performance in the Hall has usually been higher than that of the University as a whole.
Students, on graduation, often ask me to act as a referee; when a prospective employer rings me, he is rarely interested in academic grades. He wants to know what I can tell him about leadership qualities, personality, the ability to get along with others, initiative and breadth of outlook. Too many students overlook the importance of exercising and developing these qualities. Many need coaxing to gain confidence to speak in groups, to have confidence in themselves, or to make decisions. We encourage them by forming small responsible groups: some may organise a wide range of sporting events; others manage the library. Another group oversees dining hall arrangements and food standards; Others plan social events. Honours and graduate students may give seminars to each other on their research activities.
Sometimes much encouragement and support are needed to help a resident take a step in this direction, until confidence is gained, but the outcome of these small-group activities benefits the whole community. We have a weekly program of seminar dinners in which residents take turns to invite a special guest to dine privately with up to thirty other residents and then conduct a seminar on a topic of common interest. Another group organises the fortnightly newspaper, or the annual magazine; Others arrange darts, chess, volleyball or debating competitions. Special community theme nights are organised around the evening meal, the most chaotic being the annual Professors' Carving Competition in which student groups invite a University lecturer to be their champion to carve a meal in mock competition with others. This traditional event has two major, but unspoken, objectives: Firstly, it relieves tension in the middle of the year; Secondly, through elaborate planning and preparation, it breaks down the barriers that separate academic staff from their students.
I could discuss Hall life at much greater length. Of course there are difficulties at times. Hall life does not suit everyone, and there is always the danger that small clique groups may form which either dominate Hall life, or limit interaction with others. There is always the difficulty of encouraging the right balance between achieving high academic grades and in obtaining a true education. Some can achieve both; Others, neither. There is always much valid criticism that can be made of the whole university system, because there will always be problems and limitations.
I am both enthusiastic about what I see achieved by some people, and always optimistic that many of our young students will not only gain their degrees but also a measure of those qualities of human understanding and caring that make for wisdom.
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- VII
Many of the insights I had in 1983 when the Hall had become a fully developed community, were not available to me in 1967. Our first concerns then were with much more basic issues. Soon after we moved into the B-House flat, Kay woke up one night at 1.00 am and found herself standing in one inch of water. She roused me: The entire flat was covered in water, which was oozing out of the service duct that fed pipes from the bathrooms on the three floors above. I rushed into the building and inspected each bathroom. On the top floor I noticed that there was water on the floor of one toilet cubicle and that someone had placed a cork in a small cistern overflow pipe. An overflow pipe from each cistern discharged its water on to the floor of the bathroom to be drained away by the shower drainage outlets. Later, I discovered that, earlier that evening, a student had noticed water discharging from the pipe and had sought out Alf Hibbert, our pensioner-gardener who still lived on the site.
‘I'll soon fix that.’ said old Alf, and went away to find a cork. This stopped the water flowing on to the bathroom floor but now the cistern overflowed into the service duct and dropped the water three floors below to our flat. I soon became expert at easing myself into narrow service ducts to clean cistern valves blocked by builder's debris in the pipes. That night we spent two hours mopping up the water in our flat, and were thankful that we did not have carpets.
In our first two years in Currie Hall, water was to play a significant role in inter-college pranks. This reached a crescendo in early March 1968. St. George's College and Kingswood College still held initiation ceremonies for their new students. At St. George's College this might start with a written examination, which, among other things, had the serious intent of discovering the talents and areas of interest of the newcomers that might later be put to good use. While the freshers were applying themselves to the written examination, the seniors might apply themselves to another activity, such as raiding the freshers' rooms, collecting all their shoes, and piling them in a large heap. Then all students held a party following which the freshers would be urged to "do over" another college such as Currie Hall.
On 5 March 1968 I went down to the common room in the old buildings at 10.00 pm for communal coffee. This was a custom carried over from the old Hall. Everyone brought their coffee mug while the Hall supplied hot water and coffee for a half hour of mingling before returning to studies. That night Tim Neil wanted to know if there was some place where he could practice his clarinet without disturbing others. Then Desmond David from Penang grinned as he recounted what he had heard about a raid by St. George's on Kingswood the previous night. I went home to bed and thought nothing more about it.
I woke at 1.00 am to hear the roar of an approaching mob as fifty yelling and screaming young men, clad only in black football shorts, descended on the Hall from St. George's College. In strategic spots around our new buildings, there were fire-hoses housed in covered pits. The St. George's men turned these hoses on full-force and aimed them at open windows. Graham Pearman in the A-House flat woke and rushed to his dining room, only to see several students about to turn on and direct a fire-hose at his large plate-glass window.
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‘My God!’ He thought, ‘It will smash the glass.’ He hurried outside to intervene and was doused with water. The raid was impossible to control, and the men were gone as quickly as they had come. It took several hours to clean up the Hall.
Our only cure to this was to removed the nozzles from the fire-hoses for the few critical weeks of the year. This was a dangerous practice as it was illegal, and jeopardised our insurance policy should there be a fire. However, we stored them at strategic spots and made sure that enough people knew of their whereabouts and had access to them. This did not help because on the next night the St. George's College men again raided the Hall. This time they rushed into the two major houses and opened the stopcocks of the fire hoses on each floor, and then fled. Every floor of the buildings was covered with water; it dripped down the stairwells from one floor to another. I, and half the members of the Hall, were up until 3.00 am mopping up. We did not regard this as funny: it was irresponsible and potentially destructive. Meanwhile, Currie Hall men had stolen the Kingswood crest. The College Heads met, read the riot act to their students and banned raids.
The last time that there was a raid on Currie Hall was at the beginning of 1971. That was the year in which we became co-educational. For the first time since the St. Catherine's College women moved to their own buildings, we accommodated both men and women. As usual, the men of St. George's stampeded down to “do us over”. In the past, our men would have poured out of our buildings to engage in a free-for-all battle with the invaders. This year was different. The Currie Hall men locked all ground floor entrances, went to the upper floors and called out from the windows: ‘Go home little boys. We've got better things to do!’
During one year when raids were still in vogue, Kay's mother happened to be staying with us. Nervously she peeped through the window at the semi-naked young men milling around, intent on some destructive “fun”. When she returned to her own home, she said to her neighbours, ‘Living with Kay and John is like living in the middle of Hay Street!’
Rivalry and small forays into enemy territory continued on a small scale from time to time. One year the eight-foot tall, plaster of Paris statue of St. George disappeared from the staircase landing in St. George's College. Rumour had it that the men of Currie Hall were responsible. Josh Reynolds rang every half hour, irate at the purloining of the statue that he had himself procured many years ago. ‘It is a very valuable item,’ he fumed, ‘If it is not returned immediately, I will ring the police.’
I had no idea whether Currie Hall men were involved, but enquiries confirmed my fears: The statue had been taken by a very small group of Hall men, under the noses of the people at St. George's. It could be taken apart into three pieces. Each piece was hidden somewhere off campus, and only one man knew the location of his piece. It was rumoured that our men intended returning it on Friday night during the St. George's College annual ball.
Josh rang me again just before dinner; I told him that I had no idea who was involved, but would make more enquiries and ring him back at 8.00 pm. Not knowing how I would proceed, I left my flat and fell in beside Chris Ridley who was also walking along the covered way connecting the buildings to the dining hall. Chris was a first-year student but older than the others as he had first served in the army.
‘I have a real problem in trying to get a message to the people who took the statue.’ I said. ‘Oh, yes.’ replied Chris in such a noncommittal way that I realised immediately that he knew something about it. What I did not know was that, by chance, I had stumbled across the ringleader. ‘Do you think you could get a message to whoever is concerned?’ I asked. ‘Yes, I might be able to do so.’ To himself, Chris thought, ‘How the hell does John Fall know that I am the one that took the statue?’ He assumed that I knew all about him, but was using polite language.
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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)
I sat with Chris over dinner, told him that I thought it clever to have “borrowed” such a large statue from the lion's den without being detected, but that I feared that the reputation of the perpetrators would be lost if, while returning it on the night of the ball, it was smashed.
‘It's only made of plaster of Paris,’ I said, ‘and if a group of Currie Hallers take it back during the ball, a fight will break out with the St. George's men. It would be very easy for it to be smashed. It's a valuable statue, and the Hall would come off second best. Would it not be better to return it now, intact, and retain the glory?’ Chris agreed and said that he would try to convey my message to those concerned.
At 7.45 pm there was a knock at my front door. There stood Chris, clad in commando gear, with six young first-year students in tow.
‘We've brought you the statue. Do you want St. Thomas More's leopard skin as well?’ ‘I know nothing about a leopard skin.’ ‘Well, we've brought it, so you can have it.’
Within a few moments the men had assembled St. George in my flat and the leopard skin lay spread out on the floor. At 8.00 o'clock I rang Josh Reynolds. ‘I have your statue in my flat, and your men can come and get it any time they like. I also have Tommy More's leopard skin.’ I had no intention of returning the statue. If Josh wanted it, he could collect it.
‘I will send around a pantechnicon to collect it at lunchtime tomorrow,’ said Josh.
Next morning, while Kay was making a cup of tea in the kitchen at 7.00 am, she heard a knock on the window. ‘I believe you have our leopard skin,’ whispered the Rector of St. Thomas More College. Kay handed it over. At lunch time a large furniture removal van -or pantechnicon, in Josh's terms - arrived in our car park, not far from my flat. Currie Hall students formed a guard of honour between the van and my front door. The two furniture removalists were somewhat perplexed as they walked down past the guard of honour, collected the statue, walked back through the guard, and then drove a few hundred metres to St. George's College to return it.
- VIII
In 1967, not only were we faced with building a community, but we had to establish the grounds and the physical facilities. Sand surrounded the new buildings. In July and August we demolished the old accommodation blocks, which had served the Hostel and Hall since 1946, but then had difficulty in extracting payment from the Salvage company. The old dining hall remained in use until 12 May, when we celebrated the opening of the new block with a very successful Annual Dinner. The old dining hall then became a “temporary” amenities block, until the next construction stage in the 1970's gave us a large common-room, games-room, TV room and canteen.
Robin Gray wanted pleasant lawns and gardens, but our pensioner gardener, Alf Hibbert, and Frank Walmsely, the yardman, were not up to the job. Whenever Robin went looking for Frank, he was always “somewhere else”. Progress was so slow that he advertised for a new gardener. He appointed Joe Kainz, a German migrant, originally a bricklayer by trade, who had been working as a groundsman at a local golf course. Joe took one look at the acres of sand and said, ‘There's about a year's work here for me. After that, there won't be enough for me, and I'll be on my way.’
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ESTABLISHING THE BUILDINGS AND THE GROUNDS JOE & TRUDY KAINZ
Joe proved a godsend, worked hard and well without direction, and soon showed that he was also an accomplished handyman. He also took over all minor maintenance work in the Hall, and was in constant demand. When students complained that anyone could open a bed/study room door by sliding a knife behind the door-jamb, Joe overcame the problem by driving a strategically placed nail into the jamb of all 156 doors. He could repair electric kettles, toasters, put up a fence, or build a brick wall. With all this, he maintained a happy countenance. I liked Joe and his wife, Trudy, very much. Eventually they moved into a small supervisor's flat at the back of the new dining hall block, and Trudy took charge of the dining hall staff, being both firm and kindly to the residents. She would not let the students get away with anything but, if she reprimanded someone, she would do so with a twinkle in her eye. Joe stayed many years in the Hall until he and Trudy retired.
The domestic staff, particularly the dining-hall staff and the housemaids, who had direct contact with the students were very important to the well-being of the Hall. In the first few years the housemaids not only cleaned student rooms weekly, but they made their beds daily. When staff became more expensive, the students made their own beds. Most housemaids knew their students well, chivvied them if they were untidy, sometimes listened to their problems, and were always discreet. It was not the housemaids' job to play a disciplinary role, and they were not to carry tales to the administration. However, they often knew much of what went on and would leave certain students' room to last, or knock on the door discreetly, well before cleaning the room, to give time for the second overnight occupant to depart. Many residents gave Christmas presents to the housmaids.
The Master plan of Currie Hall, as envisioned by Gordon Stephenson, comprised five identical four-storey blocks, each housing eighty students. An administration block, library, common-room and amenities areas and the dining hall completed the plan. In 1967, only the first two accommodation blocks and the dining hall were built - and it had a seating capacity and kitchen to suit the final number of 400. Fortunately, this master plan never developed because lifestyles changed. However, our new dining hall measured almost 26 metres square. We used half for dining, and the other half as a common room. The building's roof was shaped like a high, tapered hat. Inside, there was a vaulted ceiling, while a huge southern wall of glass looked out through the greenery to the University beyond, with Winthrop Hall and its clock-tower dominating the scene.
The kitchens were magnificently equipped and the envy of several large hotels. They were the pride and joy of our Bursar, John Leader, and Catering Supervisor, Alan Cornes. Behind, and above the kitchens were live-in maids quarters and a supervisor's flat. When it became no longer fashionable for maids to live on the premises, we converted these to eight student rooms, in what we called "M" Block.
Beneath these rooms was the loading-bay for goods, and a student laundry. Beneath this again, in the bowels of the earth, we had a large hot-water system that circulated water around the buildings. A steam boiler supplied the kitchens. These all had teething troubles, sometimes shutting themselves down, and I became very familiar with their operation. Sometimes at night, or early in the morning, I would find myself restarting pumps or burners. Like Joe Kainz, I became a jack-of-all-trades. Several store rooms led from the boiler house to a suite of rooms at the front of the building that served as general office, tutorial rooms, Senior common-room, bursar's and master's offices.
There was one very poorly designed area in the dining hall complex. A servery area separated the kitchens from the dining hall. Above the servery, looking out to the dining hall, there was a large gallery, ideal for our library, but there was no access to it. Initially the architects had provided stairs, but these were cut out as a cost-saving measure. As early as February 1967, we discussed the need for stairs, but they were not constructed until September. We then moved our small library into this gallery.
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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)
Establishing our library was typical of the many small groups that operated in the Hall. In 1967, the Men's Club appointed Neoh Soon Leong and Bill Fulkerson as librarians, while the Hall committee added two other residents, with me as chairman, to report on how the library should be developed. With the main University library so close by, and with limited resources, we decided that the Currie Hall library should be mainly recreational in nature with a few reference works and periodicals. We set aside a small annual fund for book purchases, and left this in the hands of Neoh and Bill. They placed a notice on a board near the servery on which anyone could make suggestions. They set about classifying the books, arranging new bookshelving and generally putting the place in order. Early in 1968 I contacted Leon Blank of the Marriage Guidance Council and asked him to suggest books on sex education suitable for my children and others suitable for the Currie Hall library. I remembered my own teenage problem of seeking information28, so thought it good to place several books in the library. After one week they had disappeared, so we bought another set, which I kept in my flat, and advertised that they might be borrowed. I had many requests from residents to borrow them “for a friend”, who did not like to come along himself.
Another active group in the Hall was the “Projector” Committee. This was in the days before the advent of video recorders, and the Hall owned an old 16-mm movie projector. Sometimes on Sunday nights the residents screened a film. The most active member of this group in 1967 was Ray Hobbs, who trained six members to become licensed projectionists. Ray was an American, probably studying in Australia to dodge the American draft for the Vietnam war. He was a very accomplished young man, having already gained his flying instructor's licence in the United States at the age of seventeen. He supported himself in Australia partly by teaching country farmers in Western Australia to fly. Eventually, we expanded Ray's “Projector” committee to the “Sunday Entertainment” committee. In 1968, besides film nights, they held a games night, an art appreciation night, and panel discussions on topics such as “Is marriage here to stay?” and “Can South-East Asia survive without communism?” We invited outside people to form the panels29 and these were very successful in stimulating dining room discussion over the next few days.
Food was always a problem as we had a limited budget and found it difficult to cater for individual likes and dislikes. Some wanted steak for every meal, which we could not afford. Others came from homes where their mothers had catered to their special likes and dislikes. Cooking for 150 people was different from cooking for a family, so complaints were common. We wanted to minimise direct interaction between students and kitchen staff. A member of the dining hall staff, who was not personally responsible for food production, understandably took offence when an uncouth youth rudely confronted her with: ‘You don't expect me to eat this bloody muck, do you?’ We set up a “Dining Hall”, or “Menu” committee to look at the menu, make suggestions, consider complaints, and explore ways to make improvements. In 1967, I took the chair, the other members being the Bursar and several residents. Sometimes complaints were legitimate; sometimes we took items off the menu and substituted others. The Bursar and I consulted with the kitchen staff, and so reduced their direct confrontation with students.
One problem with food was monotony. When Kay and I had travelled to Britain by ship we were served five-star-hotel-standard meals but, after a few weeks, we grew tired of them. Our residents had the same experience, particularly as we could not provide five-star-hotel standard. Eventually we overcame this to some extent by making the dining room the venue for special events.
28 see page 84
29 Leon Blank from Marriage Guidance, Fr Brown, the University Anglican chaplain, a social worker and a member of the Psychology department formed the panel on Marriage.