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In 1968, while Robin Gray was on sabbatical leave for six months and I had become Acting-Master, we held our inaugural spaghetti eating competition. This became a lighthearted annual event. Usually about one dozen residents entered the competition. They sat at a long table and had to consume one pound (500 g) of cooked spaghetti in the shortest possible time. They could add sauces if they wished but whatever they added had to be consumed. The only rule was that they were not allowed to lift the plate off the table. Other residents crowded round to watch and to barrack for the contestants, while we presented the winner with a seven-pound tin of spaghetti, to which we had soldered a pair of handles to make it look like a trophy.

In August 1967 the Men's Club committee appointed Tony Guzzi and Wong Thin to recommend how the old dining hall could be developed as a recreation and amenities area. They met with Robin Gray, John Leader and me to discuss what might be done. The building was in poor state and required much maintenance. Eventually the Club decided that with the help of student volunteers we should paint the building inside and out, set up a billiard and TV room, install curtains, and hang the walls with framed photographs of sporting teams and other prints. They said we needed weight-lifting equipment and comfortable chairs for the TV room. The Men's Club and Hall shared the cost of a secondhand billiard table that Robin tracked down in an old hotel near Kalgoorlie. We had no money to buy comfortable chairs, so he solved the problem temporarily by purchasing several rows of seats from the old Capitol theatre at the foot of William Street in the city that was being demolished. The Hall committee thought we should make a start on the renovations during the long vacation.

Early in February 1968 Selvarajah and Wong Thin visited me. Wong Thin hung back because he had no experience; We talked it through, and decided we could make a start with the TV room, as a pilot study. The important thing was to obtain advice on what needed to be done and how to go about it, and to interest as many people as possible to lend a hand. I suggested that Wong Thin ask interested residents to meet in the TV room to make suggestions. Meanwhile, I would contact experts for technical advice. I wanted to encourage Wong Thin, although I knew he did not relish the exercise. I appealed to my Apex Contacts. Colin Bourne willingly visited us and enthusiastically mapped out how we should go about the task, while Bruce Dawkins agreed to lend us trestles over a weekend. Wong Thin and I sat down and drew up a plan of action and a list of required materials. I suggested that he publicise this. We planned action for Saturday 17 February, and again on Saturday and Sunday 24 and 25 February. Wong asked residents to donate at least an hour's work to the project, and he was successful in attracting 38 people to take part, of whom 18 were overseas students.

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It was a very successful exercise not only in getting the job done, but also in providing a common meeting point for Australians and Asians. However, later, Wong Thin wanted to pull out from the committee because one resident had said to him, ‘What a lousy organiser you are.’ Selvarajah and I persuaded him to stay on the committee, pointing out that there were always people who did nothing, while knocking28 others. The proof of Wong Thin's work was in the large number of people that took part, and in the obvious improvement in the facilities. With increased confidence, the committee continued and, with the help of Hall staff, the whole area was pressed into makeshift use for the next few years. I regarded this co-operative effort between Australian and Overseas students and between Hall academic and domestic staff as an important part of community building.

- IX I became intimately involved in virtually every Hall activity except sport - the one area in which I had neither expert knowledge nor interest. Nonetheless, I went along to many inter-college matches and barracked for the Hall. In all other matters I had a distinct advantage over Robin Gray: I lived in the Hall and, from the very beginning, had students in and out of my home. In hindsight I believe it was a mistake for Robin not to live in the Hall from the beginning of 1967. The Hall became alive at night when the students were not attending classes in the University, and it was through the informal contact, rather than through the formal meetings, that genuine personal relationships were forged.

This started with my clandestine “cloak and dagger” meetings, and continued as students planning events, or trying to reach an attitude on some issue, would drop into my flat to talk about it over a coffee. Discussion often developed to personal matters. Selvarajah, as President, felt the strain of his Hall responsibilities on his academic work. He discussed his position with me: should he let go the Presidency or should he leave the Hall? Sometimes, when there were disagreements between residents, one would visit me to discuss how to resolve the personal problem. When students took-over some minor Hall responsibility, they often sought me out to discuss how they should approach the task. More often than not, my task was to build their self-confidence by confirming their proposals or by helping to clarify their position so that they could see more clearly and firmly their proper course of action. I often dropped into the rooms of students to see how life was going for them, and would stay a short while discussing anything they raised.

In 1968 we had a full complement of academic staff, being joined by Ian Murray, a young lecturer in the Geography Department, as a Resident Fellow, and by Dr Ron Burman and Bryan Burke as additional tutors. One or other of these often dropped into my flat in an evening to discuss some aspect of their work in the Hall.

Most residents became aware that I deeply respected other people and that I trusted them; further, they learnt that I recognised and accepted human frailty as a normal part of life, and that I would not betray their confidences. They saw that I had an open, non-authoritarian approach to the problems of life. So they visited me. My aim was to emulate Martin Buber29:

Only in his whole being, in all his spontaneity, can an educator truly affect the whole being of another. The educator must be wholly himself, wholly alive and able to communicate his being by the way he acts and is, not by what he says. He must have humility to realise that he is but one small element in the fullness of life of another; he must be self aware, have a sense of personal responsibility and gain the confidence of the other.

28 criticising 29 See page 269

323

BUILDING RELATIONSHIPS OF TRUST ENTERTAINING RESIDENTS IN OUR HOME

Soon after Kay and I settled into our flat, we decided to invite students semi-formally into our home. Our first dinner party was on 15 April 1967, and we decided to provide our guests with a meal somewhat better than available every day in the Hall. Our total cost for eight people was $13, divided evenly between food

and drink. We invited six people with very different backgrounds:

Ray Hobbs, a first-year physics student, came from North Carolina, had wide interests and flew planes.

David Blair also studied physics but was in his honours' year. Born in England, he and his family had lived some years in Africa before coming to Australia.

Gordon Sanson was studying first-year biology, and was a “Fairbridge” student from Britain. The Fairbridge society not only maintained a farm school near Pinjarra for British orphans or for children with sole parent mothers, but they also had a scholarship scheme enabling one or two British students to undertake their university education in Perth. We encouraged this and for many years we had two such students arrive in Currie Hall every year.

Neoh Soon Leong was a mature second-year science student from a rich family who lived in Penang. His bearing bore the mark of one carefully nurtured at home and at school to take an important place in society.

Peter Bartley, a third-year historian, was born in Lahore, while our remaining guest, Dr. Patil was a visitor to the University, staying in the Hall for several months. His background included India, the United Kingdom, the United States of America and now, Australia30.

We spent a most enjoyable and relaxed evening. When we reached the coffee and liqueur stage, I went around the table asking each person in turn to tell us their background and experiences.

This was the first of several successful dinner parties drawing together different people who might not otherwise relate. We also embarked on many much simpler forms of entertainment. Several times each week we invited eight members of the hall for pre-dinner drinks in our flat before we went to the hall together for dinner. I always included a cross-section of the hall and often asked one of their university lecturers to join us. Some gatherings were very successful, others less so.

After 1977, when Robin Gray had retired and I had become Principal, I invited all members of the Hall to my home for pre-dinner drinks in groups of thirty during the first two weeks of each academic year. This had several well-defined objectives and the formula that I used, worked well. By that time we had 240 men and women residents and I wanted everyone to know the location of my home and that my door was open; I also wanted to know everyone by name and something about them within the first two weeks; Finally, I wanted to provide yet another way in which students learnt about one another.

30

Ray Hobbs eventually returned to the United States. David Blair became a physics lecturer at UWA and made a name for himself in Gravity Wave research. Gordon Sanson returned to Britain, while Neoh returned to Malaysia and to his father's business connections. Peter Bartley, who had a promising career, was killed in a motor accident in Papua-New Guinea a few years after graduating.

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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)

Each year about one hundred new residents arrived at the Hall, and I did not find it easy to combine their names and faces and add them to my memory of everyone I knew already. As students booked into the Hall we took their photographs so that, by the time term commenced, these were displayed on the notice board with their names. I had my private copy.

When Kay and I invited a group to my home, I first inspected their names and photographs. They would arrive in little groups of two or three. If I did not recognise anyone in the group, I asked them to identify themselves, gave them all a drink and ushered them into the lounge. I repeated this with every group that arrived, but when I showed them into the lounge, I called out to everyone in the room, ‘I want you to meet. . .’ and then named the new arrivals. Next, for the benefit of the new arrivals, I named everyone else in the room. By the time everyone had arrived, I had repeated most people's names many times, and had fixed them in my memory.

I always invited more people than could comfortably fit into the room. People sat on the floor, and newcomers often had to step over others, to find a place to sit. This broke down all formality. When everyone had arrived, I played a small game, identifying people. I would call the room to order and say: ‘By now I think I know all your names, but you may have forgotten the names of some, so spend a minute reintroducing yourself to the people nearest to you.’

As the room quietened again, I announced: ‘I want to discover something about each of you. Who in this room thinks their home is nearest to the South Pole?’ Someone from Albany might raise their hand, to be countered by someone from Melbourne. I asked each person to identify themselves and their home town. What did their parents do? What did they grow on the farm? How big was it? How far was it from their home to their school? I repeated the question for those who lived nearest to the Equator or nearest to the North Pole. In each case I wanted them to tell the group something about their background, and some feature of life in their home town.

It was a very limited exercise with very limited goals, but it was one of the many different ways in which we tried to integrate the community. More than once when two people had become firm friends, they would say, ‘Do you know where we first met? It was at pre-dinner drinks at your house three years ago.’ In the first weeks of the year, similar exercises, organised by the tutors and Resident Club committee members, were the “floor parties”. Before dinner we would hold a floor party for everyone resident of a particular floor. The kitchens made up trays of drinks and nibbles which students collected at 5.00 pm and took to their floor and encouraged everyone to mingle for half an hour.

- X

In spite of our high level of involvement in the Hall, Kay and I looked around to see if there was anything important that was neglected, and needed to be done. We concluded that the Hall catered almost exclusively for the Australian students and that we neglected our rather isolated Asian visitors. An experience that I had with the Church and Life Movement in June 1966 reinforced my motivation to do something about this31.

The discussion group in that movement had considered six studies, of which the first was titled Living in the Lucky Country. We had looked at our high material standard of living compared with that in the underdeveloped countries to our North.

31 see page 279

325

DEVELOPING RELATIONS WITH ASIAN STUDENTS `COOK-UPS' IN OUR FLAT

I knew that material possessions were not an adequate measure of the richness of a culture - indeed a surfeit of material possessions could bring -and had brought - many ills. Perhaps, a more appropriate measure would be the number of “smiles per hour.” Nonetheless, there was an enormous gulf between the economic “haves” and the “have-nots” in the world, and Australia was doing little to redress the lack of balance. The United Nations Conference on Trade and Development had suggested that wealthier countries should give at least 1% of their national income as aid, but Australia was giving only 0.6%. The members of our discussion group talked about the value of giving educational aid to the countries to our north. We spoke about the Columbo Plan that enabled many Asian students to study in Australia at Australian expense.

Later, after the discussion ended, I started thinking about what I could do to help Asian countries. I wrote in my journal:

I have great ignorance of Asian culture and values. If I wish to contribute to the development of underdeveloped countries, to give material things is one aspect, but how does one increase the number of "smiles per hour" ?

I cannot come close to a person unless I know and understand them. I need to understand Asia - its culture and values. I need to understand Asians. In my University work, I have Asians all around me, but I know nothing about them. Cannot I make a greater personal contact and so learn from them?

It was not long after my thoughts went in this direction that our son, Peter, won a half-scholarship at his school, Wesley College. Kay and I decided that we would contribute his educational savings to the education of a village boy in an Asian country. We did this for many years, first supporting children in South Vietnam and then, after the fall of that country to North Vietnam in 1975, to children in Indonesia.

Given this train of thought in 1966, it was not surprising that in mid 1967 I was well motivated to find ways to integrate the Asian students of Currie Hall into the community and to dispel my ignorance of them. Kay and I realised that all our Asian students missed their home cooking. They had no means of cooking for themselves, and the Hall menu did not cater to Asian tastes. We started in a small way by inviting overseas students to our flat and suggested that they might like to use our kitchen to cook themselves an Asian meal. We would provide all the ingredients if they told us what to buy and where to obtain them. They were enthusiastic, told us about Hop Hing's Chinese provision shop in James Street, agreed on a variety of dishes and gave us a list of required ingredients. Kay and I went in search of soya bean sauce (“black”, not salty as is the “white”), Salted black beans, Agino Moto - a flavour enhancer, Indian curry powder, chilli powder, dried mushrooms, Jasmine flavoured Chinese tea, abalone, rice vermicelli, Chinese sausages, bean shoots and pastry.

We held the “cook-up” on 24 June 1967 with ten Chinese students drawn from Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong. This was so successful that we repeated it on 19 August, this time with twenty-three people present, including a mixture of local and overseas students. The students presented us with chicken soup, Chinese roast pork, Chinese omelette, sour ribs, fried noodles and a dry prawn curry. Over the years, “cook-ups” in our kitchen became a regular feature in our life.

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One of those present at our first “cook-up” was Soh Siong Hoon, who was encouraged to stand for election to the Men's club committee. His campaign was largely undermined by notices appearing around the hall proclaiming:

SOH IS ONLY SO - SO

After graduation, Soh returned to Johor Bahru, just across the causeway that connects Singapore with Malaysia. There he became a chartered accountant, and we were to visit him in 1977.

Another student present on these occasions was Yeo Cheow Tong. Known to everyone as Jimson, he was a first year-student from Singapore, intending to major in mechanical engineering. Jimson was a member of the original luncheon group that I had called together in the Hall to talk about the idea of an “Asian Cook-up”. Jimson often visited our home and called to see us when he returned to the Hall from his home in Singapore in February 1968. He and Peter Bartley became the Hall's canteen managers that year. At the end of his second year, he went to the zinc works in Tasmania for practical experience and wrote to me that he was enjoying the experience but that he must work hard in the following year to keep up with his close friend Mano32. However, 1969 proved his academic downfall.

In January 1966, the Western Mining Company discovered a rich nickel deposit at Kambalda in Western Australia. Then, in September 1969 the Poseidon Mining Company announced a big nickel find at Windarra, Western Australia. By 2 October, the $1 shares had jumped to $18.50. Jimson became very interested in the stock market. He spent hours researching it, and bought Nickel shares enthusiastically. On 9 October there were frantic scenes on Australian stock exchanges as speculators rushed to cash in on the new nickel mining boom. Amid rumours that more rich nickel ore had been discovered, Poseidon shares jumped to $31. On 19 December the shares peaked at $130. Long term shareholders made a massive profit - as a few years before the $1 shares had been selling for as little as six cents.

Jimson had bought shares at a comparatively low price and followed the market with diligence. He sold when the price was high and made a profit of $4,000 from a very modest initial outlay. By March 1970 the myth of the nickel boom exploded on the stock exchange. Soon, the shares were down to $7. Jimson had been fortunate and had taken his profit. However, his dedication to the stock market was at the expense of his studies. Not only did he not keep up with Mano, but he failed the third year of the course and had to repeat it.

Nonetheless, Jimson was a very able fellow. He graduated and returned to Singapore to work with a French manufacturing company located in the Jurong industrial park. We kept in contact with him, and paid him a visit in 1977. Later he visited the United States of America to gain experience. Later again, he developed an interest in politics and gained a seat in the Singapore Government. After holding the Health portfolio, by 1996 he was the Minister for Trade and Industry.

Many of our Asian students went on to very successful and illustrious careers, but few were as colourful as Jimson.

32 Manohara Chinniah, a Singaporean Indian student

327

SOH SIONG HOON & JIMSON YEO AUSTRALIAN & ASIAN CULTURAL DIFFERENCES

There were many difficulties in establishing significant contact between overseas and Australian students. Some overseas students did not want contact. Early in 1968, third-year science student Chuah Chong Cheng talked to me of his loneliness and of his lack of desire to relate to other people. He had a great love of Chinese language, culture and values. Academically, he was a very able student, and eventually became a university professor in Malaysia, but spent all his spare time studying Chinese literature, philosophy and religion. He feared that, if he fraternised with Australians, his culture would be debased. He feared, too, for what was happening in Malaysia, a country in which political power was held by Malays, while economic power lay in the hands of Chinese. Already the Malaysian Government was insisting that all instruction in schools be in Malay. What would this do to Chinese culture, asked Chuah?

Change due to mixing with others was not a problem confined to overseas students. It was common for a young Australian to arrive at the University from a family whose background included no higher, and very little secondary education. Sometimes a point was reached where so much change took place in the student that he eventually felt he had little in common with his parents, and, in that sense, became estranged from his family.

Years later, I had another example of cultural change. Yoshi Sawada came from Japan to study Agricultural Science at UWA and spent his four years in Currie Hall. Coming to Australia, direct from school in Japan, he was still young and impressionable. After graduation he returned to Japan but came back to Australia after two years. Kay and I invited him to dinner.

‘When I was in primary school,’ said Yoshi, ‘my teacher told us the story of the bat. One day the bat decided to live with the birds, but the birds said: “It is true that you have wings, but you also have fur, so you are not one of us. Go away.” So the bat decided to live with the furry animals. “Go away,” said the animals, “You may have fur, but you also have wings. Go away, you are not one of us.” So the poor bat was alone. He belonged to nobody.’

‘I have never forgotten that story,’ said Yoshi ruefully, ‘for now I realise that I, too, am a bat. My experience in Australia changed my outlook on life. It changed my values and the way I look at things. No longer can I fit into Japanese society comfortably. In Australia, I am seen as a Japanese, and retain some of my Japanese attitudes. I cannot live at ease with either group. I am a bat.’

He went on to say that the problem arose because he came to a different culture when he was still a teenager and impressionable. He remarked that those Japanese students he knew who had completed their undergraduate training in Japan and had then gone to the United States for graduate work, did not seem to suffer in this way. They were in their twenties before they left Japan, and their values had firmed. When they returned from the United States they experienced no difficulty in rejoining their society.

Australians frequently complained that the Asians worked too hard, would never relax and join in the lighter side of life. What they did not realise was that, among themselves, Malaysian Chinese, or any other group, could be very relaxed and lively. Among the Australians they often felt out of place. The Australians had a language rich in local idiom, and a sense of humour not understood by those from a different culture. The Asian student did not always follow the conversation, although their English appeared good. It was just that they did not know all the local colloquialisms, and often failed to see what was funny in an Australian joke. They felt out of place when everyone else burst out laughing.

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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)

After the Hall had become coeducational, a South Vietnamese student once told me that he tried not to sit next to an Australian girl in the dining hall. He said that, if he did so, his upbringing demanded that he make polite conversation with her. His English was reasonably good, but his accent was poor. When he spoke to the girl, she said ‘What did you say?’ He repeated himself, and received the same reply. On his third attempt, the girl answered in such a way that it was obvious that she still did not understand him. With an acute sense of embarrassment, he took refuge in silence.

To the Asians, Australians often seemed empty-headed, wanting only “fun”. Australians were a happy-go-lucky group with no sense of responsibility. They showed little or no respect for their parents or their elders. Ingrained in the Chinese, and in most other Asians, was a deep respect for family, teachers, and ancestors. Older siblings in a family expected, and gained, the respect of younger members.

This was once borne home to me when I had known a particular Asian well for many years and he had established a successful career. When I suggested that we now knew each other so well that he should drop the formality of calling me “Dr Fall”, and should use my given name, “John”, this proved too difficult. My former student could not bring himself to do it, because all his upbringing reinforced the necessity to show great respect to his teachers or former teachers. My suggestion produced much pain for him because, if he did not bow to my request, that, in itself, would be a mark of disrespect. He could not solve his dilemma.

Although some overseas students came from rich families, or held scholarships, many depended on the financial support of their families33. They had a great sense of responsibility to their parents, and had to be diligent. Then there was the problem of family pride. It was unthinkable that a student should return to his family without a degree, having failed his exams. This would cause his parents unpardonable loss of face. His parents wanted him to return with the highest of accolades so that they could speak proudly of his achievements to their friends. This kept many overseas students with their noses constantly to their books.

There was another difficulty. Filial respect meant that you did not argue with your elders. You did not question your teacher, even if you felt he was wrong. Many Chinese who came from Chinese schools had been taught by rote: memorising what they had been told, without questioning it. When they came to Australia, they were confronted with the demand to question everything. They were not to believe authority, or their teachers, or their books, until they had satisfied themselves about what was right. For many this was a strange environment, and so it was little wonder that in small university tutorials, the Asian students were often mute, not contributing to the discussion.

Not all Asian students were like this. Some had completed their secondary education in Australian schools and had changed. As the years went by and Western influences penetrated ever more into Asian countries and as Asians, graduating in Western universities, returned home with new values, changes took place.

However, in 1967 and 1968, most young Australians were not interested in these problems, and simply saw the Asians as non-cooperative in the lighter side of life. They also lumped them together. They did not differentiate between those from Hong Kong, Malaysia, Singapore, Vietnam, Thailand or Indonesia. But to Asian eyes, each belonged to a distinct and separate culture. Australians commonly said that all Chinese looked alike and were indistinguishable, not realising that Chinese thought the same of Australians.

33 See the example on page 300

329

CULTURAL DIFFERENCES THE MAYALSIAN & SINGAPOREAN STUDENTS' ASSOCIATION

It was in August 1967 that Neoh Soon Leong tackled me. Why was there so little contact between the Australians and the overseas students, he asked? Why don't Australians make the effort? Why don't Australians, living at home in the city, ask overseas students to their homes for weekends?

Neoh had an attitude that simply would not occur to the young Australians. The overseas students were visitors to a strange country. The Australians were seen as their hosts. It was the duty of the host to make the first move and to welcome the visitor with hospitality. By not bestowing hospitality on visitors, the young Australian demonstrated that he was both uncouth and socially unskilled.

We must start, said Neoh, to increase the contact between the Australian and overseas boys. We agreed that a practical starting point was to seek out residents in both groups who might be interested in establishing closer relationships. Working together, we produced a list of eighteen overseas and seventeen Australian students whom we thought might be receptive to the idea, and then encouraged activities that would bring them together.

Soh Siong Hoon became President of the MSSA - the Malaysian and Singaporean Students' Association, and Kay and I found ourselves invited to many of their functions. We went on car rallies and picnics with them. Eventually I became Patron of the Association. I found myself giving occasional addresses on each Merdeka Day - the day that celebrated Malaya gaining independence from Britain at the end of August 1957.

This Association ran into political problems due to differences between their two countries. Malaysia, a federation formed in 1963, and Singapore had been working together as a political entity, but in August 1965, in a surprise move, Singapore seceded from Malaysia. Talks between Prime Ministers Tengku Abdul Rahman of Malaysia and Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore failed to avert the breakdown which resulted from antagonism between Malay and Chinese races. The Singaporeans were predominantly Chinese and claimed that the Federal Government gave Malays preferential treatment.

In Perth, the Singaporean and Malaysian students still worked together harmoniously, and maintained a single association. Slowly, politics crept into the organisation and it was not long before Soh and others discussed their political difficulties with me. Their Governments put pressure on them to split, and eventually they became the Malaysian Students' Association and a separate Singaporean Students' Association.

Kay and I came to know Indonesian students through unfortunate circumstances. On Sunday 18 February 1968, two first-year students arrived at the Hall. They seemed young, but looks belied their age. Parno was twenty-four and wanted to study science. His bright-faced friend, Kamsirin Budisuwito, was a year younger, and had enrolled in Engineering. Both had already spent a year in Perth, completing their matriculation at Leederville Technical College. The following Saturday night they were involved in a car accident in Thomas Street near Kings Park. Four Indonesians were in the car: Hasbullah suffered a fractured skull; Ramli escaped injury and Parno had no more than cuts and abrasions, being released from hospital that night. Kamsirin, suffering cuts, abrasions and shock was kept in hospital.

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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)

When I heard of the accident I rang Sir Charles Gairdner Hospital, drove over, and brought Parno back to the Hall. On Monday afternoon I visited Kamsirin. He had overcome his concussion but had developed a huge hæmatoma34, one side of his body being deep black in colour. He was X-rayed to check his kidneys. Kamsirin was anxious to return to the Hall, but worried because he constantly vomited. By 3 March he was sitting up, walking a little, and the vomiting had passed. A week later he was discharged but spent a week with his Australian host family35 before returning to the Hall. He had now fallen behind in his studies as the academic term had started, so I paid special attention to him.

This brought me into close contact with both men. From them I learnt about their homes and way of life, about their language, about the tribes of Indonesia, and about their education system. Later in the year, when they had completely recovered, they invited us to a “thank you” party with the other half-dozen or so Indonesian students in Perth. In January 1969, Kamsirin arrived at our flat one day and presented Kay with a mother-of-pearl broach, and me with a pair of cuff links. A few days later when we boarded a ship at Fremantle to start our sabbatical leave, he was one of the ten residents who came to the wharf to see us off.

- XI

An account of my twenty-year association with Currie Hall is necessarily a potpourri of myriad events both disparate and interwoven. All I can do is to convey the nature of my life by giving illustrative examples. From my first two years in the Hall, I have chosen two examples of interaction with Australian residents: Doug, who came from a country farm in the South-West, and who, after a year at the University, decided to give it up; and Ralph36, a Science postgraduate student, who brushed with the law because he manufactured the hallucinogenic drug LSD37.

In 1967 Doug arrived as a first-year Science student. He was shy, sensitive and sincere and, initially, did not find it easy to communicate. He completed the year successfully and entered second-year. Suddenly, in April, he told me that he could not settle down and intended to pull out of his course. As yet, he had not told his parents. I suggested that he visit me at my home one evening when we could talk about it. Doug spent three hours with me. During 1967 he had gradually lost a sense of direction; now he had a revulsion against driving himself by setting goals. He had completed the last five years of his education at Governor Stirling Senior High School at Midland and lived in Swanleigh Hostel where he had been a prefect.

‘I was a bit of a rebel at school,’ he said. ‘Quite often I played the wag.’

‘Then, why did you come to Uni.?’

34 a swelling on the body containing blood

35

The Government department ADAB -The Australian Development and Assistance Bureau - had a section that looked after the interests of foreign students. They helped set up a "host-family" scheme in which Australian families "adopted" overseas students and welcomed them into their homes. For some, this worked very well; for others, the usefulness of the contact was nominal.

36 Neither Doug nor Ralph are their real names.

37 Lysergic acid diethylamide

331

INDONESIAN STUDENTS: PARNO & KAMSIRIN AUSTRALIAN STUDENTS: DOUG

‘Because I didn't know where I wanted to go in life. Others were coming to Uni., so I just tagged along. But it hasn't worked - because I haven't worked. Right now I feel that I just want to be a beachcomber

38.’

I asked him what he thought was important in life. What was it that mattered?

‘I've thought a lot about that. The only thing that I can see that is important is love - Not just love for another person - but love for mankind.’

‘Do you have any special person in your life, now?’

‘Yes, I've got a longstanding girlfriend, Jan. She's pretty special. But she's not at Uni. None of my close friends are at Uni, they're all outside.’

‘You haven't made friends in the Hall?’

‘No, not really. Somehow I'm too shy and reserved.’

Doug had dropped out of attending University tutorials and now felt afraid to return to them for what the tutors might say. By the end of our discussion he decided to continue at least until the end of the term and then reassess his situation. I helped him get back to the tutorials.

At the end of the term he found things no better and decided to pull out. I had several talks with him before he left. Then, unexpectedly in November 1968 he arrived at my flat with his girlfriend, Jan. He told me he had been up at Exmouth earning good money, drilling holes for seismic surveys. Now, he might join a crayfishing boat. He was still very uncertain. He might return to Uni. to major in mathematics, or he might go to Teachers' College. He did not know. Jan was just finishing her second year of primary school teacher training and loved it. He asked me to write a reference for him.

Two days before Christmas he again visited me and gave me a Christmas card and a bottle of claret. ‘In the end, I didn't go crayfishing,’ he said. ‘I've been down at Corrigin helping a farmer get his harvest in. Now I'm going home for Christmas.’

Whenever I met Doug, I felt a great sincerity and gentleness within him. So in the following July, when I was in Britain on my sabbatical leave, I wrote to him:

I had intended writing to you, Doug, for your twentieth birthday early in November, but last night I listened to a radio program on the BBC called The Alternative Society. This made me think of you and of the conversations we have had. The program pointed out that it is easy enough to point to

40

hippies39 and drop-outs , but that there are many ordinary people, leading apparently conventional lives who are nonetheless protesting against materialistic and superficial values, and who wish to move towards a society or community, where people really care for each other and can develop their own self-expression. In Britain there are several thousand people moving in this direction, trying to find an expression for society other than the impersonality of the factory worker, going to work to get money to live, making no real communication with anyone, but caught in a society that has a harshness and a lack of concern for others. Some hope that, by joining the Underground, they may come to feel gentler, more thoughtful and better able to express themselves.

38 a vagrant who lives by searching beaches for articles of value.

39

a person of unconventional appearance, typically with long hair, jeans, beads etc., often associated with the rejection of conventional values.

40 A person who has dropped out of an activity in conventional society.

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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)

The producer of the program said `The alternative society includes ideals, beautiful thoughts and loving people hoping one day to change the world.

When I heard this program, Doug, I thought of you sitting in my flat last year and talking with me. This was the direction I then saw in you. And it is not only the young people that have sensed this. After Dag Hammarksjold, the former Secretary General of the UN, died, in a private set of notes, since published, he had written:

Your personal life cannot have lasting, intrinsic meaning, but only by being fitted into and

subordinated to something which lasts and has meaning in itself. Is this "something" what we

attempt to identify when we speak of Life? Can your life have a meaning as a tiny fragment

of Life? Does `Life' exist? Seek and Ye shall find, experience life as reality. Has `Life' a

meaning? Experience life as reality and the question becomes meaningless.

Seek . . .? Seek by daring to take the leap into unconditional obedience. Dare this when you

are challenged, for only by the light of a challenge will you be able to see the cross-roads and,

in the full awareness of your choice, turn your back on your personal life - with no right ever

to look back.

I wonder, Doug, whether, deep down, this man was so very different from some of the young people of today. Forgive me for writing so seriously. It is just that my memory of you had suddenly been evoked.

I sent this letter to his parents' address. In November I received a reply:

Dear John,

I have often thought of you and your family and the happiness with life that seemed to be present in you. Since seeing you last, time has not stood still. During Christmas I went through the motions of enrolling at the University but finally decided that I could see no clear road leading from a course at Uni, so put the idea from my mind and went home to settle down in the farming life. And so, farmer I am, very happy and glad that I have finally chosen a road in life to follow. Something to which I can give my heart and energy - it is good.

Also in May, Jan and I married. We are both very happy.

So, as I write, I am sitting in front of our old wooden stove with the burning mallee roots throwing out a marvelous heat and the kettle is bubbling away gently on one side. Outside it is raining slightly and you can hear the very welcome sound on our tin roof. Jan, too, is here doing odd jobs. Our home is a very modest, yet comfortable, one room with kitchen-dining area one end, and bedroom-living area the other. The bath - when we have one - is pulled up in front of the open fire and filled with hot water, to me much better than freezing in a bathroom at the other end of the house.

Jan and I are setting ourselves up on a block of land, 3,300 acres, east of Jerramungup. We feel somewhat like pioneers as the area has only been opened up for agricultural use during the last six years. Town, being 30 miles away, we only go once a fortnight, and Jan bakes our own bread. About a quarter of our block is cleared and pastured with clover which we planted this year. If all goes well, we will have some sheep on to the block about mid-October.

I hope I have given you a small picture of what to me is a very happy life. There are still many thoughts which burn inside a man, but answers to the many questions perhaps will only come after a while. Both Jan and I look forward to seeing you and your family again sometime after you arrive back in WA. God Bless, Yours ever, Doug.

I include this example because success in life is finding out who you are and then living who you are, not being what you think others expect of you. Doug was, at heart, a man of the land. He came to the University falsely and it took a little time for him to discover what mattered to him. I was always perturbed by academics - and there were too many of them - who judged the worth of someone only by their academic achievements. Academic failure was judged as life failure, and not as a step in the process of discovering oneself.

333

DOUG BECOMES A FARMER RALPH MANUFACTURES HALLUCINOGENIC DRUGS

Ralph started research for his PhD in 1967. As an undergraduate he had lived in the old Hall and had come to the attention of Bob Flecker, because he often suffered from fits of depression. I noticed him early in 1967 as he kept to himself, did not make friends and lacked facial expression. He had been awarded a CSIRO studentship for his research work, but his mood swung wildly depending on his progress. Soon after Ralph returned to the Hall at the beginning of 1968, John Leader, the Bursar, noted that he did not look well, and suggested that I should give him some attention.

I visited Ralph on 22 February and found him in a depressed state. His measurements in the laboratory were giving inconsistent results. He kept avoiding making a direct attack on the project for fear of a negative outcome. Every time something did not work well, he felt depressed and turned to some irrelevant activity. I knew nothing about his subject, but insisted that he explain his project to me in detail; I wanted him to face the responsibility of making a thorough investigation. I suggested he write many small reports, analyze them, and then write down logical action that should follow. His task was then to face up to taking each necessary step. Almost every day I dropped into his room in the evening, or immediately after lunch, to encourage him, hoping that he would overcome what might only be a temporary block.

Ralph's parents operated a small roadside petrol service-station in the country. He had been brought up as a loner, and maintained a private laboratory in a shed at his parents' home. He told me that depression had always plagued him and that Bob Flecker had referred him to Dr. Csillag in the University Psychiatry Department. He had even played around in his home laboratory synthesising mood-affecting drugs to see if their effect had any similarity to the depressions he experienced naturally. He found the result of trying these drugs so unpleasant that he had poured them down the drain, particularly as he had read a report that Customs officers were concerned about the importation of lysergic acid, a key ingredient in making the hallucinogenic drug LSD.

I was somewhat perturbed by what appeared a very doubtful and possibly dangerous practice. Drugs were unknown in Western Australia, and were only beginning to appear in the Eastern States. In the early 1950's there had been stories of UK youngsters smoking hemp, and of heroin being banned there in 1956. Then, in February 1965, the Melbourne drug squad confiscated marijuana found growing in a backyard in suburban Coburg. In January 1967, an American FBI agent named Sydney as a centre of a worldwide drug smuggling ring. Peaceful Western Australia was remote from all this, and Ralph's personal experiments seemed unrelated to the drug scene.

The newspaper report that Ralph had read of the Customs Department being concerned with lysergic acid imports, soon proved true. On 29 February 1968, two police officers - Sergeants McGrath and Stewart called on Dr Gray, making enquires about Ralph. Robin referred them to me. They told me that the records showed that Ralph had imported lysergic acid into the country. What, they asked, could I tell them about Ralph and of his use of the acid?

I gave them an account of his academic record and health. I knew he had prepared various hallucinogens as a private experiment both to see if, as a gifted person, he could do it, and to compare their effect with his own psychological symptoms. Ralph, I said, was a naive person, wrapped up in his work and in his own private world, and would scarcely be aware that anything he had done might be illegal.

‘Could he be manufacturing LSD for distribution and sale?’ queried McGrath. ‘I very much doubt it,’ I replied. ‘That would be completely out of character for the man. He would be the only person who used the drugs he prepared.’ ‘Well, we would like to interview him, and we want to destroy any drugs he may still have in his possession, as we cannot permit them to exist in such uncontrolled manner.’

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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)

I referred them to Bob Csillag. He could advise them on the relationship between Ralph's medical state and his use of drugs. He could also advise them of possible problems in interviewing him. The sergeants visited Bob Csillag who saw no problem in them interviewing Ralph. I attended the interview as a precaution. Ralph was perfectly open. ‘Yes, of course, I synthesised LSD and several of its derivatives,’ he said proudly, totally unaware of the potential gravity of the situation. ‘Then we would like to see your home laboratory.’

They drove him home for the weekend, and he happily showed them what he had been doing. Although he had poured the remaining lysergic acid down the drain, he still had samples of various LSD derivatives, which the police immediately confiscated. Ralph was still unaware of the gravity of the situation.

He returned to Currie Hall and then, on Tuesday 12 March the police visited him and told him that they would be charging him with possession, and with taking hallucinogenic drugs. I did not hear about this until almost six in the evening. I immediately went to his room and found him in a very depressed state. I also discovered that he had taken a large overdose of Melleril, a psychiatric drug that had been prescribed by Bob Csillag. He seemed a little incoherent, so I put him to bed. I returned shortly afterwards and found him gone. So I rang Bob Csillag. I told him how much Melleril he had taken.

‘That's not a lethal dose,’ said Bob, ‘provided he doesn't take anything else with it. To be on the safe side, as soon as you find him, bring him into the hospital. I will make arrangements so that he is expected.’

I rang Bob Flecker, who agreed with this action, and then I rang the CIB and told them the situation. I kept an eye on his room. Ralph reappeared at 8.00 pm having visited his University Department. There he had obtained a quantity of chloroform. His intention was to take it since he thought that, combined with the Melleril, it would be fatal. Fortunately I persuaded him to give it to me and come to my flat. Finally, I drove him to Royal Perth Hospital.

Next day we contacted Eric Edwards, the Professor of Law, and asked him whether the Law Society could arrange free legal aid. Csillag kept Ralph under heavy sedation until the following Sunday, but allowed me to visit him on Friday. When his University Department heard what had happened, they immediately stopped his scholarship and informed the Vice-Chancellor. He, in turn, declared that Ralph would be suspended from the University from the moment formal charges were laid.

The Law Society arranged that Mr Brind would act for him. There followed a delay while Csillag kept Ralph in hospital and Brind tried to persuade with CIB to quash the charges, without success. Finally Ralph was discharged and we took him straight to Brind's office where he was formally charged by the police, and then we brought him home to Currie Hall. He was disconsolate, but anxious to cooperate with the police in anyway possible. Finally, he appeared before the court. I was called as a character witness, Csillag and his academic department supported him. Technically, he was found guilty of the offence but, due to the circumstances, no penalty was imposed.

The University reinstated Ralph and he regained his scholarship. Slowly he gained equilibrium and I found myself again regularly acting as his mentor in his research. Ralph went on to obtain his PhD after a few more years of research.

I felt rather drained of energy because this episode coincided with my Indonesian students having their car accident, and with the student renovation of the amenities building. Some students wondered why I seemed so tired, for few people knew about Ralph's problems. That was a confidential matter between Ralph and those centrally involved.

335

DRUGS & THE LAW I BECOME ACTING MASTER & WE CHART OUR FUTURE

- XII

In April 1968 Robin Gray took six-months leave and left me as Acting Master of the Hall for the greater part of the academic year. Fortunately, the University gave me some relief from my academic teaching load. In 1967 Currie Hall had been my part-time “hobby” but it consumed between twenty and twenty-four hours of my time each week, while my lecturing and preparation load, committee work and postgraduate supervision took at least forty hours every week. I was a very heavily involved and committed man - but I was at the height of my physical and mental capacities, and I enjoyed the work. Nonetheless, I was thankful that I negotiated part-relief from my academic commitments for six months.

Members of the Australian Universities Commission - the high-powered body that advised the Federal Government on the financing and development of Australian Universities - visited Perth on the 4th and 5th of June. University planning proceeded in trienniums, and their visit was to discuss proposed developments for the next three years. I sought Currie Hall Council's view on future building programs; In particular, I wanted to know their views on accommodating women students in the Hall. This was very favourably received, including the idea of possible provision for young married students. We recognised that St. Catherine's College could not meet the current demand for women's places, and that the Hall had a background tradition of accommodating both men and women. I visited Miss Church, Warden of St. Catherine's College, and discussed with her our ideas for development and asked whether they were consonant with their own. She gave me the “green light” to go ahead.

The AUC Chairman, Sir Henry Basten, Professor Trendall, Master of University House at the Australian National University and Professor Bayliss, our own Professor of Chemistry met with me, John Leader and Gordon Stephenson to discuss our plans. The commission welcomed our views that we should develop as a mixed residence and said that they would consider recommending such a development for the next triennium. It was out of this meeting that plans went forward to become a mixed residence in 1971, and paved the way to the second building stage in the early 1970's.

While we were looking to the future, during the year we were reminded of our past. The USS Long Beach, a nuclear powered vessel of the United States Navy, called at Fremantle. The Captain of the ship had been a young officer, stationed at the Bachelor Officer Quarters at Crawley during the Second World War. He asked if he, and a few fellow officers, could visit the Hall. We invited him to dinner. All that was left of the old buildings was the amenities block, but he had fond memories of the site and, over dinner, recounted stories from earlier days. He then presented us with a large and very heavy brass ship's bell as a memento of the Hall's past association with the US Navy.

I noted that the bell came in a package airfreighted express from Naval Stores, San Diego, with stamps of over $70 value. I asked about it. ‘Oh,’ said Captain Spencer, ‘at the last moment we dreamed up the idea of giving you a bell, and I asked for one. But ours is a Nuclear ship, with the latest of everything. It has sirens and hooters, but no bells. So we had to ask Naval stores to send us one in a hurry. It has only just arrived.’

From that day onwards we used the bell to call attention to announcements and ceremonies at major dinners in the Hall.

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6: COMMUNITY - THE BEGINNING YEARS (1967 - 1968)

I also attended my first biennial conference of the Association of Heads of Residential Colleges and Halls of Universities of Australia. This was held in Melbourne during Robin's absence overseas. A chapter of this body existed in every State. The Heads of the Perth Colleges and Hall met regularly to discuss common business. In the early years, cooperation between them was not great, as each was in competition with the other - except St. Catherine's College, which had no competition. The more students applied for entry to a particular College, the more selective that College could be. Everyone wanted to attract the top academic students, and those with the most leadership potential. The quality of College life depended greatly on the quality of its leading residents. During the planning and budgeting stage for the next year, there was always much secrecy, no College letting the others know what would be the level of their fees. A student had to apply separately to several Colleges in case he did not gain admission to the one of his choice. It took some years before reason prevailed and a cooperative scheme evolved with a common application form for all Colleges.

None of this rivalry was evident at the national conference. I discovered that there was a fair turnover of College Heads and that one purpose of the conference was to induct new heads into the wisdom of those long established, and to discuss common strategies relating to Commonwealth Government funding of the Colleges. I enjoyed my experience.

During the year we looked to the appointment of tutors for 1969. We were impressed by two men from the Chemistry Department. Both were good. One was Denis Blight who was also a resident of the Hall. The other was Bruce Hamilton, who eventually gained the position. However, I was very impressed with twenty-three-year old Denis. He had come from Tuart Hill Senior High School had an excellent academic record and had embarked on his PhD in 1967. In 1967 he had been President of the Anglican Youth Fellowship and an executive of the University Chemistry Club. In 1968 he was President of the Science Union, and played a role in the affairs of the Guild of Undergraduates.

He told me that one day he hoped to enter a teaching field because he was very interested in people. He was very good at organisation and getting things done. Denis seemed the very type of mature person we needed for a leadership role in the Hall, so we encouraged him. During the year he was elected President of the men's club and provided a great stabilising influence on the Hall. He undertook a revision of the Club constitution - something that Robin Gray had wanted for a long time, but had decided to leave until he had a mature leadership among the residents. Denis moderated student behaviour and made it less dependent on alcohol - supporting several dances in the old amenities block, which he billed as Temperance dances. There was no liquor, but they were a great success and helped overcome the old mythology that unless the place was swamped with alcohol, no social function could be a success.

I had worked very hard for the Hall since the beginning of 1967 and was very gratified to receive a formal letter from Denis in November 1968:

Dear Dr Fall,

At a recent meeting the Currie Hall Men's Club Committee expressed its appreciation of the manner in which you performed your duties as Acting Master of Currie Hall. Although it is probably a little presumptuous of us to act as judges in this respect, we nevertheless hereby pronounce our verdict of excellent.

It is generally felt amongst members of the Hall that you have given great service to the men of the Hall and that you have always had the interests of the students uppermost in your mind. You have provided sympathetic counsel and understanding.

May I, on my own behalf, add the thanks of a relative newcomer to the comings and goings of the Hall in which you yourself are so well versed. The discussions that we have had have tempered my revolutionary zeal with the wisdom of one whose knowledge of the Hall is far greater than mine.

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NATIONAL CONFERENCES DENIS BLIGHT BECOMES PRESIDENT

For these things and for your sincerity and obvious concern for student welfare, thank you. We take this opportunity to wish you well with your travels and studies in 1969.

Yours sincerely, Denis Blight President, Men's Club.

I also received a letter from Peter Bartley, in which he wrote, in part:

Please accept my congratulations for a fine job as Acting Master for the greater part of 1968. I think that your greatest contribution to Currie Hall was your tremendous enthusiasm, which not only distinguished all that you did, but also encouraged others, myself included, to greater things.

41

At the time I kept these matters to myself, but thought again of the views of Martin Buber .

As mentioned earlier42, Peter Bartley unfortunately died not long after graduation. Denis was influenced by his contact with Asian students in the Hall and joined the Foreign Affairs department, serving with distinction overseas, partly in the educational field.

As 1968 drew to a close, I looked back in satisfaction with what had been achieved over the past two years. Robin Gray had been right. We had started with a Hall filled with dissension and without cooperation. Robin had said that it would take only strong resolve and the passage of time for this to pass. Now we had the beginnings of a vibrant, cooperative community that could only increase in strength.

I had more than fulfilled my desire to work with the broadest concept of the education of the whole person, and had learnt much from my association with so many people, both individually and collectively.

Nonetheless, I looked forward to a year in Britain with my family and hoped that we might spend some time in a small cottage where we could renew and strengthen our family ties - ties which had been tested by the constant, and sometimes overwhelming demands made on me.

41 see page 322 42 see page 323