THE 1-IIIAIElLJRD1ELYS
"The University is a .Paradise; but then I saw that there was a way to Hell, even from the gates of Heaven."
—JOHN DONNE.
On 2nd December, 1964, the Council elected Dr. Robin Lorimer Sharwood to be fourth Warden of the College. The following announcement was incorporated in the Council Minutes:—
"The Council of Trinity College, University of Melbourne, has appointed Professor Robin Lorimer Sharwood fourth Warden of the College in succession to the late Mr. R. W. T. Cowan, who died on 26th June this year.
"Professor Sharwood is 33 and single. He was educated at Wesley College and at the University of Melbourne, where he graduated with First Class Honours in Law and was awarded the Supreme Court Prize in 1954. In 1955 he was awarded the Walter Perry Johnson Graduate Research Fellowship in Law at the University of California, where he earned the degree of Master of Laws. After he had spent a year at Harvard as the Peter Brooks Saltonstall Scholar, he taught for a year in the Law School of London School of Economics. He returned to Australia in 1959 as a senior lecturer in the University of Melbourne and resident Senior Tutor in Ormond College. In 1962 he was awarded the degree Scientiae Juridicae Doctor in Harvard University and was appointed to the Chair he now holds in Canberra.
"He is an active layman of the Church of England.
"Dr. Sharwood assumed office as Warden of the College on 1st June, 1965."
THE _FLEUR DE LYS
The Magazine of Trinity College and Janet Clarke Hall in the University of Melbourne
November, 1965
Registered at G.P.O. Melbourne for transmission by post as a book.
'DI 1®RIAL
The common idiom would have it that the resident of this college is a gentleman. In its university context such a person is strictly a privileged undergraduate in the non-material sense. But outsiders to the college appear to think a more extended application valid — their gentleman is a young man of good social position, wealth, leisure, and chivalrous instincts. Their intonation of the word is usually not without a sneer.
Perhaps the quality that would ideally earmark the college gentleman is that he be a man of mettle, with the discretion to make best use of his privileges. Such a person is a man's man. He is determined and resolute. He has ambition and guts. His discretionary ability indicates when solemnity or gaiety is required; it secures for him good taste, elegance and wit, the right company, the right vocation.
This ideal, of course, is unattainable. But, in so far as it is, let the would-be gentleman pursue his chosen course with avidity and without restraint. Experience will produce an equilibrium. In the meantime, honest rending blunders are more instructive than tentative, insipid correctness. Toleration of all personalities is essential to the corporate atmosphere of college life — the academic, the drinker, the somnalist, the television addict are a permanent feature. Intolerance will only snuff out the fire of concord.
Above all, the gentleman must act unashamed in his selected course of conduct. Honesty and forthrightness are more redeeming than the actual content of a way of life; facades pressurise living away from reality. Too often ascetics cry "oak" from their cells purely to ward off social intercourse. Too often sham activity conceals a despicable lack of study.
There is a place for the worldly epicurean. If he feels the need for such a life, let him follow it with pride and frankness. Our gentleman admits many types among which the ascetic and religionist are no more real than the secularist. The gentleman will restrain his irreverence to a wholesome level. If his discretionary function indicates the goal of seduction or neo-alcoholism, may he adhere to his task amidst contrary pressure in justification of his decision.
This is not to excuse or advocate wholesale hedonism, nor to deify self-indulgence. The range of human vagaries admits no bounds.
Mortal weaknesses must take their place alongside the so-called strengths of austerity. The more indulgent practices have a positive contribution to make to academic life. The hermitlike existence of the person who studies to the exclusion of all else is no less reprehensible than that of the Bacchanalian gallante. Why condemn an honest but imperfect standard of conduct? If chosen with genuine concern and deliberation and conscious of ultimate obligations, the life consisting of a tasteful bravura is no less worthy than it is apposite.
ALAN ARCHIBALD.
Perhaps you accept our college gentleman— tolerant of all, daring all, a man's man. He may not exist, but he is a worthwhile myth, important because he embodies some of the most cohering qualities of this transitory life beneath the shadow of Ormond Tower. As past editors and other illuminati have noticed in alarm, Trinity is a new place every year, with a new third of Freshmen. The old conviviality of school tie, the professional faculties —that myth has ceased to find credence, as it has ceased to have the vaguest relation to the state of things. As our cartoonist points out, even Friday drinking at Naughton's has become a minority custom. In turn we have gained an extraordinary degree of freedom, to do what we like, see who we like, hide where we like — look at our cover! But as in all trade, there seems to have been an invisible catch somewhere. "Jeopardy is falling down!" cry the old pessimists; and the more superstitious of them deduce that those whom it commemorates toss uneasily beneath its foundations. Naturally we have discovered, with alarm, after the successful abolition of postjuvenile initiations and all that they stood for, that much, perhaps most of the tolerance is in fact the indifference of people who never acknowledge a further sociability than that of the sherry party and copied notes. We turn to find sacred institutions of boisterous cheer on the river bank and elsewhere dying slow deaths unnoticed.
The visible foci of the community this magazine attempts to represent now seem significantly to be those of relaxation. Sport and Bowls, Juttoddie and Tutors-Gentlemen cricket, C.R.D.'s and Sunday Salons, sporadic recognition of Chapel — things like these are our common links, if yet other private ongoings are more enjoyed. The significance is that
being relaxed they are relatively unselfconscious and unconstrained. Here, it is felt, we have time to stand and stare, to be ourselves, content with recognised privileges. So far as they go, such sunny and Sunday pleasures of College are fine. Like the material comforts of having rooms and food provided, however, they are insufficient excuse for our very expensive existence, even if complacency becomes more and more difficult with the University ever at our back. It seems all too likely that for most men these foci form a trivial civilisation where tolerance reigns because nothing "important" is involved.
So the doubt persists: Although we tend to accept or expect the academic competence of college members as a whole, and proudly inscribe outstanding names here and elsewhere, there is little active sense that this ostensibly primary object of our lives here is in any way a shared activity, to which other things are complementary, or indeed that it is anything more than a frantic individual maelstrom with all else supplementary, if not unwanted. Somehow self-help and co-operative standing in with the prac's in the spirit of "sufficient for the day the evil thereof" don't seem the same. Only in the library and some more personal tutor-student work does a tendency towards "the academic community" seem consistently present.
It is traditional at this stage to point the bone to a sad decline towards "Trinity College, Boarding House and Finishing School for Gentlemen of Means." It is also foolish, since we all know that unless we desire it, this is highly improbable. Thinking, creating, working have an inherent solitude which we believe is largely in measure to their value. We can only share what we do know, not find understanding in the void. If we can be sure that it is for this reason we fail to share work, not just a basic indifference to our discipline, we need not worry. Doing these things with other people remains a difficult and partial possibility at best, although for the vigorous it is the more worthwhile for that. So long as a community's customs bear any relation to its members' it tends to be those who put most
into their own lives that also add most to others'. All the uncertainties about the intellectual, social or moral justification of college lives deserve attention, but attention to anything will always come from individuals. Artificial preservation in alcohol of old occasions will only delay the inevitable dissolution while making it more certain. And so we return once more to our sartorial gentleman— for every good gentleman belongs to a Club.
JOHN BRENAN.
Once three ants went for a walk, and one of them fell into a bowl of treacle. "Help!" he cried, and the second ant tried to help him out. "You're a pair of fools," the third ant said as he looked away from the two of them drowning in sweetness — and sure enough they sank to the bottom together singing "Yo ho ho and a bottle of syrup." The third ant walked a little further and saw a cat lying dead on the road. "Care killed you," he said to himself, and trotted jauntily on without looking both ways. His death would perhaps have been sweeter had it come with his friends' five minutes earlier.
It is customary for editorials to draw intellectual or behaviouristic morals. Some writers prefer the brisk, snappy, axiomatic technique, recalling their readers to their soul selves; others use a descriptive and loquacious style, luring the unsuspecting to familiar conclusions; while the third class abandon all hope of inspiring the reader, and employ the occasion to reminisce on the future or the past as it might or should have been. Let the story of the ant remind us that none of these purposes has a place in modern literature. Today we must not explain our meaning; it must penetrate the emotional consciousness and be absorbed into our pattern of being; it must be as unobtrusive and subliminal as sky-writing, indelibly wavering in our minds without allowing us to criticise it. It must indeed resemble the old morality play, or moral fable, with its conclusions implicit and thus so much more difficult to question; implicit indeed in the worldview which the fable or play enacts. So unawares morality expires.
KATHARINE PATRICK.
INAUGURAL ADDRESS OF THE FOU 11 TH WA DEN
After Dinner last night I mentioned that there were one or two things of a more serious nature that I should like to say to you when we met this evening.
In the first place, I should like to tell you why it was that I was prepared to give up a Chair of Law to become Warden of Trinity— a question that has been often put to me in the last few months, and even more often (I would guess) asked behind my back:
Let me say at once that I do not regard myself as abandoning an academic career. My translation (if that is what it should be called) seems rather a partial change of direction within an academic career. The Wardenship ought to be, and is, an academic position. It is important that it be so, and be seen to be so, in order that the character of the College as an academic institution should be fully sustained, and that its image should be consistent both to its own members and to those outside. An academic Wardenship is important also in order to ensure as far as possible that the life of the College, in all its splendid variety, should be directed with constant reference to its central academic nature and purpose. It is this tradition of the Wardenship which the Council of this College has decided to continue, and they have agreed that I should be enabled to continue teaching and writing. As a result of this arrangement, I shall next year be taking up a specially created lecturing position in the Faculty of Law.
So I am not giving up my academic career. But that in itself, of course, does not explain why I should choose to leave the Australian National University, in which I was quite happy, and to come here. What prompted me to move?
You know, one always retains a special kind of affection for the University in which one was an undergraduate. That University for me is Melbourne, and it has been therefore a painful thing for me to see it in recent years failing increasingly to discharge its responsibilities properly and adequately — to see it foundering under the sheer weight of numbers and lack of facilities. And as I have watched this, over the last five or six years in particular, I have become more and more sure that in
this situation the Colleges have an uniquely important role to play.
They are faced, I believe, with an academic challenge as great as that which faced them in the '80's and '90's of the last century, when again, though for different reasons, the University was not all it ought to have been. You will know, I am sure, that on that occasion they rose to the challenge very well indeed.
In our present situation, it is, I believe, here in the Colleges that we have some chance to recreate, for a minority of students but amongst them many of the best, that sense of a lively, coherent academic community which has largely disappeared from the University as a whole, and yet which has always been regarded as vital to the success of the University experience.
The late Warden saw that our University as such was failing, and said so again and again in those last years — bluntly, wittily, unequivocally. I would suggest, very respectfully, that the best commemoration we can make here in Trinity of Ronald William Trafford Cowan is to take seriously these things that he was saying to us as his life closed, and to demonstrate that this College, at all events, can meet the challenge that he put before ùs.
I believe that it can. I believe that it must— for its own sake, for the sake of the University, and for the sake of the community.
And that is a very large part of the explanation of why I am here.
It may all sound a little visionary, but it is a vision that I hope you will share with me and that we may pursue together. Cynics scoff at visions, I know, and they do so rightly when there is no attempt to give substance to them. But we can give substance to them if we try. I read this recently in Thoreau's Walden:
"If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost: that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them."
What are to be the foundations? What is my policy for this College?
It is very simple, gentlemen. It is to seek excellence unashamed.
The great Australian vice is not beer, or football, or anything of that kind. It is mediocrity. We must resist its deadly lure— resist the levelling conformities and the drab Bourke Street virtues of our society. This must be a place where life is pursued, and happily pursued, at its highest and at its best, with unfailing integrity and intellectual endeavour, with all the talents we possess individually and collectively, and with that elegance and wit and taste which are so much part of the Trinity tradition.
If you will accept that, gentlemen, as the grand central purpose of our collegiate community, "this free and learned society," then everything else — our rules, our standards, our practices — will fall naturally into place.
Of course, I know you are all wondering whether I intend to make changes in these rules and practices, and your Senior Student threw out a few broad hints to me at last night's Dinner on the more obvious matters, as you will remember, just in case I hadn't realised.
Now there is an old saying to the effect that when you acquire a garden, you should sit quietly and watch it for a full year, a full procession of the seasons, before you make any drastic changes to it. I think that makes very good sense for a person in my present situation. I find myself in a complex community, and I cannot hope to understand it all overnight. I am sure that the proper thing for me to do in the first instance is to watch the
procession of the seasons. I am perfectly happy to listen to anything any of you might want to say to me on any matter. I shall read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the same. But you may take it that, for the most part, and for the time being, the rules and practices of the College will continue as they are.
That is not to say that there will be no changes at all. I must be permitted to conduct the Wardenship in my own style and manner, as all my predecessors have done. There is no single image of the Warden of Trinity.
I have a favourite story about old Sir John Mellis Napier, K.C.M.G., the Chief Justice of South Australia, who has been on the bench longer than anyone cares to remember. The point of the story is obvious, and I will leave it with you.
It appears that Napier was trying a case, and counsel was endeavouring to persuade him to accept a certain proposition on law. But despite all his arguments, he was getting nowhere. Napier kept insisting upon quite a different proposition. At last counsel threw down his papers in exasperation and said, "But, your Honour, there is no authority, no precedent at all, for the proposition your Honour is putting to me!" Napier smiled gently down at him. "There soon will be," he said.
Given in the Junior Common Room on the 17th June, 1965.
T.C.A.C. COMMITTEE
Senior Student: D. L. Harper.
Secretary: J. D. B. Wells.
Treasurer: P. L. Field.
Indoor Representative: W. D. T. Cowan.
Outdoor Representative: J. S. Robert.
JCH NOTES
Senior Student: Margaret Lush.
Secretary: Margaret Pelling.
Treasurer: Elizabeth Bishop.
Assistant Secretary: Amanda Drummond.
Librarian: Rosemary Stone.
The College ran its usual gamut of experiences this year, with moderate success and enthusiasm and one or two notable changes.
At the beginning of third term we learnt with regret that Dr. Knight retires at the end of the year. Dr. Knight has been a resident tutor since 1949 and Vice-Principal since 1959; she has been Acting Principal on several occasions. Her wisdom and kindness will be greatly missed. She will still continue to give tutorials, however, so that she will not be entirely lost to us.
We have had two newcomers to High Table, Miss Haines from England and Miss McKee from Brisbane. Miss Haines is leaving at the end of the year to go to Brisbane and see more of our sunburnt cities.
There were a great number of distinguished guests on High Table this year, including the Archbishop of Melbourne, Dr. Woods, and Mrs. Woods, Sir George and Lady Paton, Miss Myra Roper, Miss Crabtree, several members of the Council, Mrs. Whitney King, and Miss Hay. These last two were guests at the second Blackwood Dinner. Mrs. King, who was awarded a C.B.E. this year, was the guest of honour; she was a resident student in JCH and is now the only woman on the Latrobe University Council. Miss Hay, who proposed
the toast to her, was a non-resident of JCH and is the only woman on the Monash University Council.
Bryony Oldham was elected Miss TrinityJCH. She and her committee were very enthusiastic money-raisers, and succeeded in amassing more money for WUS than any other competitor. The Dogura fund-raising committee has also been active, and seems likely to reach the JCH target of £200.
At Penny Wood's suggestion the form of the second term CRD was radically changed this year. Members of the other colleges were generally invited, and a small entrance fee was charged to cover costs. A rock band shook the dining hall, and food and drink were served in the Common Room. The Principal was later heard to remark that white wine would have had a less disastrous effect on the walls; but decor apart, the new-version CRD was a reverberating success.
An essay competition was held for the first time in second term; it is reported elsewhere.
In sport, the College has been mildly enthusiastic and mildly successful: the tennis and squash teams emerged victorious (though uncrowned with laurels) and the rowing team, handicapped by an £80 hole, came a valiant second. Mild enthusiasm was also evinced for dialectical activities. Here the College's lack of interest combined with an un-Victorian courtesy to defeat our team at Trinity.
The Junior Common Room, the front hall, the office and the Morgue were redecorated before the beginning of the academic year. It is hard to believe that the present bright hall was so dark and gloomy a few months ago: its beautiful dark wooden panelling was never visible before.
Perhaps the College is moving to a better and brighter future.
JCH DIALECTIC SOCIETY
This year the ladies of the Hall have shown a regrettable lack of interest, paralleled only by the brilliance of their occasional displays of talent. Internal debates averaged two teams and an audience of three — though this did surpass last year's effort, when the chairman was constrained to cast a deciding vote between a dissenting audience of two. We debated once against Trinity; despite the Biblical evidence adduced, our affirmation of Queen Victoria's ideal womanhood was crushed.
A motion to consider the present state and future fate of the Dialectic Society of JCH is tabled for next year's Students' Club.
KERRYN
HIGGS.
JCH ESSAY PRIZE
This year, for the first time the JCH editors of "Fleur de Lys" conducted an essay competition among the ladies of the Hall, a competition aspiring to confine for posterity the expansive genius of the present generation. Seven essays were read before the two adjudicators (Professor Keith Macartney and Dr. Barry Marshall) and a number of assembled ladies; and Miss Virginia Duigan's essay was awarded the prize. How much of what was confined is ge nius we can safely leave posterity to judge.
CHAPEL VESTRY
The Chapel Vestry has now passed its first birthday. It continues to act as a channel through which the members of both Trinity and JCH can voice their ideas and feelings on all matters connected with the Chapel.
During the year the Vestry initiated investigations into possible links between the colleges and the Dogura Medical College, Papua. Both colleges have adopted a scheme of aid involving a monetary gift and work camps — arrangements are now in the hands of independent committees. At the end of 1964 the Vestry, on behalf of the Chapel congregation, made donations totalling £320 and hopes to be able to distribute a rather larger amount this year. Chapel collections have been extremely meagre and a vast improvement would involve little hardship or effort.
Improvements in the Chapel have included repairs to the amplifying system, the installation of additional power outlets, the reappearance of the War Memorial and the rejuvenation of many of the memorial plates. Vestry members have undertaken routine duties, such as collecting and counting alms and tidying the Chapel, to help in the smooth running of services. The Vestry also agreed to undertake the publication and furtherance of modern church music composed by persons connected with the Chapel. Negotiations now proceeding should result in the erection of a notice board in Royal Parade to give a full list of services and to advise of the availability of priests.
The Vestry hopes to provide all members of the two colleges with a voice in Chapel organisation: it will benefit from your ideas, grievances and co-operation.
GRAEME APLIN.
MUSIC NOTES
The musical experience of the College cannot be thought of purely in terms of C.R.D.'s where strains of "I can't get no satisfaction" inspire that contorted physical expression so appropriate to contemporary popular music.
Widening our horizons a little, we see that the theme music of "The Madwoman of Chaillot" was composed by Peter Gerrand, and Jim Minchin added piano and organ background music.
The concert in second term, held in the Chapel and Dining-hall, included various organists (notably Andrew McIntyre playing Messiaen: "Les Anges"). The Choir sang excerpts from Byrd's Four-Part Mass, Peter Gerrand's "Laudamus Te" (words by Bob Connell) and the "Benedictus" by John McCaughey of Ormond. Part Two opened with a "Guide to Britten" followed by an excellent Haydn Quartet; Richard Smith played a Vivaldi 'Cello Sonata; Geoff Simon and Ken Griffiths excelled in their performances of Chopin and Liszt respectively. Peter Field and Jim Minchin were "In the Bath" with "The Wom Porn" and "The Sloth" to conclude the evening and announce the inevitable Wynnian Banquet.
The Long Drawing Room of the Warden's Lodge became the venue of several Sunday Salons: Field and Minchin "Please Don't Trip over the Aspidistra"; Ken Griffiths "Piano Recital; an evening of local poetry; Giacomo Mementi and Greek and Latin poetry with mood music; Geoff Simon piano recital and then playing 'Cello with a quartet from the Conservatorium; and (planned at time of writing) Miss Glen Tomasetti singing folk.
Appropriately, the Chapel has remained a centre of musical activity. In the field of modern congregational music there have been several performances of the Jazz Mass ("Missa Centralia") and hymns, and the hymnody of James McCaulay and Richard Connolly was introduced. The Choir sang for the Warden's Installation and the Valedictory Service, as well as its weekly accompaniment to the College Eucharist. As its repertoire has expanded so its quality as an informal Choir
has shown remarkable development under the direction of Jim Minchin.
On four occasions during the year Albert McPherson produced Recitals of Words, Movement, and Music based on the seasons of the Christian year.
Significantly, on 23rd June, modern religious music was performed in the presence of Peter Maxwell Davies (distinguished young British composer, whose work "O Magnum Mysterium" was the climax of the evening), by College Choir, the Canterbury Fellowship, Ormond Singers and Firbank Choir, with Michael Wentzell as Organist.
In addition to his office as College Organist, Michael Wentzell has distinguished himself in Recitals, as soloist at a Youth Concert and as Conductor of the Melbourne University Choral Society during First and Second Terms. Ken Griffiths was runner-up in the Australia-wide A.B.C. Concerto and Vocal Competition; Geoff Simon had success in several Eisteddfods; Barbara McRae also gave Recitals and won the Junior Organist Competition of N.S.W.
Finally, general College interest in music is seen in the increased response to Celebrity and Youth Concerts and Musica Viva, for which the College now provides tickets.
This "brief" resume shows the importance of considering the role the College might play in the advancement of music outside its own environment. It would certainly be a pity to see the energy and enthusiasm evident in 1965 left undirected and without extension into wider spheres of artistic perfection.
JIM MINCHIN.
"REJOICE"
David Fitts
The Madwoman of Chaillot. The Cafe Terrace at Chez Francis.
The Sewerman. The President.
PLAY 1" EVIEW
It was, of course, the four madwomen themselves who dominated this year's play, "The Madwoman of Chaillot," written by the rather old guard, Jean Giraudoux. Wendy Cameron in the leading role towered physically and dramatically over the play. Everything about her was magnificent — the costume, the makeup, the acting — and her warmth of personality was the most worthwhile experience the play offered. But none of the four parts was at all easy, and all were superlatively done. Tricia Eddy, in her yellowed wedding gown, petty and childishly spoilt, yet charming, was the perfect partner for Wendy's grandeur, of course, as well as tres chic in her own right. Again, the puppyishness and ridiculous inhibitions of the third, Gabrielle, were no less excellent. Her part, more than either of the others, was self-effacing, but Catherine Forsyth handled it splendidly so that the part was extremely funny, and, as well, genuine, in the sense that it was the Madwoman of St. Sulpice, not someone playing it — which was so often the case with other amusing parts. Of course, Carrillo Gantner reverses that judgment because he exploited his considerable stage personality to augment and enrich the Sewerman. It was a part made for him, and we revelled in it with him as he strode gumbooted, in kingly power and with magnificent gesture across the stage. Our fourth, legalistic madwoman, Janet Mackenzie, laboured under the handicap of Giraudoux' rather obvious and superficial satire of legal systems and ethics, but her boisterousness was a sheer piece of self-enjoyment, sufficiently accomplished to be as amusing for us as her. Meanwhile, Ron Quinn's triumphs of a romantic-macabre spun nylon cellar, swinging walls and magnificent lighting translated us into a colourful fantasy world of delicious horror, and cheerful administration of doom to all the world's evil.
The sheer tour de force of some of Act II in particular testified that this year the technical and personal resources which the play had to draw on were consistently better than before. That goes not just for the acting of the play, but for the whole organisation. There seems to be a swelling pool of college flair, shown by Peter Elliott in his excellent programme or marshalled by Ronald Quinn to make his characteristically brilliant Act II set in the madwoman's basement. It is perverse witness to the numbers of capable people involved that, despite the three-week rush, there was no
single part of the cast back or front of stage which conspicuously limited the play's success.
Leaving aside the question of what sort of parts the play provided, "The Madwoman" was remarkable for the calibre and simple amount of competent amateur acting. There were not just the usual three or four experienced, confident actors, plus "the others," but in fact a cast. Again and again a "minor" part would leap to the audience's attention and earn its applause. Ted Blarney, as the decisive but unwittingly contemptible President, or John Morgan in a good, old-fashioned slapstick part of a degenerate half-wit baron are just two of the several examples from the first act alone. Later, Ross Nankivell was to completely charm and capture for his moment.
As soon as it is said that this range of acting existed, the implicit tribute to the script must be recognised: such a breadth of opportunity, not just to walk on and off but to act, was one of the play's greatest virtues. It is not easy to fit a garrulous and somewhat alarming old prospector beside the slim and comic-pathetic figure of a Deaf Mute, and allow them both to excel themselves — as they did. Considerations like this made "The Madwoman" an outstanding success as perhaps the College activity of the year. _ Large numbers of people — something over fifty — were given a chance to be part of a very valuable and exciting experience. Quite a few more people dropped into rehearsals, both in the J.C.R. and at the Union, to see how it was coming along. It was a College event.
So much to allay the quite understandable ire of T.C.D.C. against ivory tower critics, but the fact remains that "The Madwoman" was really a bad play; well done, yes, but a bad play. Giraudoux' main drive seems to have been to register a forceful protest against the progressive dehumanisation and dessication of individuals in an authoritarian society, a force he gave satiric and comic form, with lashings of pathos in the French manner. The madwomen are seen as the individual in extremis, ossified in their own eccentric and charming
ways, but at least still human and still alive, and so the most valuable assets in authoritarian conditions. That is the point of the Madwoman of Chaillot and her dead lover. So far so good, if not startlingly new. However, Giraudoux' expression of this thesis was disappointing, hopelessly passee, and wordily confused. All right, so the play was not a "serious drama" — but it was certainly not good comedy. The high points were unforgettable, but acts prolonged themselves endlessly with cracks from policemen and sergeants that have been used in every comedy now for fifty years.
The outstanding instance of such obtuseness was the entire first Act. Apart from the extraordinarily uninspired set and lighting, no amount of good setting could have made up for some bold and extensive cutting of those endless speeches. Even seasoned people like Elliott and Minchin found speech after speech ending in a kind of whimper. The reason for this was simple — until fully half-way through when the President delivered his opinions on the role of the worker, absolutely nothing of significance happened. The jokes staggered on, the characters established themselves a little, some good by-play was done by the walk-on parts like Jenni Daniels, and even the Madwoman herself said little that wasn't repeated and better in Act II.
So the adverse criticism can only seriously be made at the text, not the company, which was unexpectedly good. From the point of view of a College enterprise that is, the "Madwoman of Chaillot" was a roaring success — as apparently almost every year's play has been. Nevertheless, drama is written to be performed to an audience; the cast is only one-half of the play; and it is quite reasonable to point out, as past reviewers have done, that at the moment performances are not really up to scratch. In the past, numbers have pretty completely carried the day against any other considerations in the choosing of a play, partly because we had a producer who handled large numbers brilliantly. There seems no reason why we should not try to choose a play that will make slightly more intensive and professional demands of our actors. They deserve it. We do not expect more than thirty-six or so to play football for us, and we accept the fact that a defined team can be brought to quite a surprisingly high pitch of training. Acting is not different. Plays like "The Madwoman of Chaillot," while diverting for half a performance, deserve to be given the melon.
JOHN BRENAN.
DULY INDUCTED AND INSTALLED
When the sky lit up on the night of Wednesday, 16th June, people blessed their souls and told of the return of a more gracious mode of living. A gracious occasion it is indeed which can strike a mean course between the two concepts of rejoicing which prevail in society. To celebrate the birthday of a reigning monarch we select an arbitrary date, fire ear-splitting shots from antique guns, and partake in tedious processions. On the other hand, those who dissociate themselves from such celebrations unite the symbol and the condition by taking the easiest route to oblivion — usually six dozen bottles. Celebration becomes a state rather than a process.
Those who witnessed the installation of Robin Lorimer Sharwood as Fourth Warden of Trinity College were privileged to be able to steer a middle course between the extremes of formality and recklessness. Whether this was a foretaste of things to come remains to be seen, but it could be confidently predicted that the new Warden will show considerable aplomb in the age-old Wardenial problem of knowing how to find a middle path between rival embattlements.
The installation ceremonies happened in three stages of decreasing solemnity In the chapel on Tuesday the Warden formally received the divine blessing for his new job through the hands of the Archbishop of Melbourne. The Church of England may not be much good at celebrating the Holy Communion with any uniformity or order, but it traditionally shines in its presentation of "special" services. Who could witness an apprentices' service where strong, willing young men in dirty overalls displayed their tools of trade without being deeply moved? Who
could resist being swept up in the pomp of the school Anzac Day services, where the invisible unity of church and state is made manifest? In the splendour of her academic services the Church bears witness to her long association with academic enquiry, and the service of installation of the new Warden of Trinity expressed all that was best in this tradition.
Some regrettable departures from tradition were made. We are accustomed to hearing a sermon abounding in Old Testament quotations and humorous asides in Greek, lasting not less than forty-five minutes. Where, I ask, was the sermon? We look for a robed choir singing the litany antiphonally in solemn procession. The choir was heard, but not seen. Apart from these minor omissions, however, the installation service was a most fitting beginning for this new era for the college, particularly because it set firmly the priorities for the ill-defined office of Warden without imposing demands that they should be fulfilled in any particular way.
On the next night at the installation dinner the material implication of the solemn undertaking made in the chapel between the College and the new Warden began to be displayed. One of these was the conduct of the meal itself, which broke with tradition by being restrained and gentlemanly. College dinners in the past have not distinguished themselves for their elegance and good taste, but if the installation dinner is taken as a trend-setter, new heights of gracious living may be reached. We look forward hopefully to the Valedictory Dinner at the end of the year.
The theological students, led by Albert MacPherson, set a tone of medieval solemnity by the plainsong chanting of their liturgical reception for the new Warden. Decked with triumphal garlands, Dr. Sharwood was led slowly up the Dining Hall with streamers left over from a recent Common-room dance. This little pageant could have been variously interpreted as representing a lamb being led to the slaughter or a hero receiving acclamation, or even as a sort of giddy maypole dance with the Warden at the centre. This last interpretation would not be an altogether inept parable of a Warden's position, but one hopes that not too many of the college gentlemen took the first interpretation. The choice of the tune "Robin Hood" for Fr. Peter Carnley's clever
lyrics is not assumed to have any ultimate significance. On reaching the throne of office the liturgical reception proper was delivered, and Dr. Sharwood was duly inducted and installed to the Wardenship of the College, with all the rights and privileges appertaining thereto. These were not specified, but the implication was that they did, in fact, exist, and that Dr. Sharwood would find out what they were in due course.
After an excellent dinner, for which the college had sacrificed the previous end-ofterm dinner, the speeches began. The Chaplain, sometime Joint-Acting Warden of the College, delivered his shortest speech in memory, which was, however, none the less memorable for its brevity. Each Warden of Trinity had made his own distinctive contribution to the fabric of the college, he said, but "We, too, have been builders." And there it stands, not ostentatiously jostling for recognition, not cluttered with plaques and pious inscriptions — the joint-acting laundry, a silent witness for posterity to the simple integrity of the joint-acting Wardens. According to Dr. Sharwood, the laundry in its functional nononsense style betrays the hand of the nonclerical half of the joint-acting Wardens, while
the chandelier elegance of Leeper revamped could only be described as Barry-oque. With Barry-oque grace, not even faintly tempered with impatience, the Chaplain thus completed his last act as joint-acting Warden by formally surrendering his administrative powers.
The Senior Student, Mr. David Harper, anxious that this opportunity for representing the mind of the students should not be wasted, delivered a policy speech on behalf of the new Warden. This was solid stuff. He produced an inspired solution to the deadlock over the Behan drying cabinets — that certain rooms in Behan should be converted into drying rooms and that the gentlemen so displaced should move into the Warden's Lodge, where the patter of little feet no longer cheers the miles of corridors. Finding a source of hot air would not pose any serious problems for the college. Dr. Poynter, the other half of the J.A.W., took the rejuvenated Purity Path as a parable of the acting Wardenship. Straight and purposeful it runs across the now perpetually soggy Bulpadok, but suffers a change of heart at the last minute to split into two— the only joint-acting divided highway in the world.
Dr. Sharwood, at last able to say a few words of his own, rose to his feet amid tumultous applause, as the vulgar have it. His policymaking was short and pithy.
"Jeopardy shall henceforth be known as Jeopardy." (Radical, this.)
"No gentleman shall be more than six inches taller than the Warden."
"No gentleman shall be older than the Warden."
The gentlemen who failed to comply with these regulations were advised that a hansom cab would be waiting in the drive the following morning.
The Warden also showed how quickly he had appraised the powers that be when he said: "I have long known where the true centre of power lay in this College. Any doubts I might have had were dispelled a few days ago when a letter arrived addressed, `The Warden, Mr. Wynne, Trinity College.' I spent a week here in College in February, ostensibly to help with the admission programme, but, in fact, to face up to a far more daunting selection process than any the Archbishop had presided over. You can imagine my relief at the
end of these few days when a hand was placed upon my shoulder and a voice said: `Son, you'll be all right. I approve of you, and that's all that matters.' "
After dinner the official party assembled on the Behan Balcony to watch the fireworks display. An expectant hush fell over the members of the College, who had watched with increasing disquiet sawn-off pipes and barrels of gunpowder disappearing into Behan in the preceding weeks. The first part was a reckless extravaganza of skyrockets, Roman candles and Chinese dragons — all those explosives we coveted for Guy Fawkes' Day, but could only afford one of. Dim figures hurtled from tree to tree lighting the wicks of more and more spectacular fireworks. Rockets shot up from
the tennis court to lose themselves at a vast height in a brilliant shower of sparks. The College shield suddenly went up in lights in the middle of the Bulpadok, fleur-de-lys, motto and all. A gasp of admiration went around the crowd. They were excited now. Anything else must be an anticlimax — anything, that is, except a fifty-megaton bomb. I don't know how many megatons the bomb actually was, but judging by the singed beards at fifty yards' distance, it must have been a fair few. The silhouette of Jeopardy swayed noticeably on the horizon as people clutched their aching ears. What a lovely noise!
And so the Fourth Warden of Trinity College was received — not with a whimper but a bang.
RODNEY WETHERELL.
SHUMS — THROUGH OTHER EYES
I. Time: 4 p.m. Place: the bar, Riverside Inn (all quiet now).
Says Bernie: "Ya mist all tha fun, Coll. Jest had these bleedin young bucks from the bloody Uni in 'ere. Gawd! Talk about all the bloody airs and graces, all this bloody Pom talk and up in the air jazz. College blokes, that's what they were. I sez to Leo I sez, `Go on, Leo, try and say somethin to them.' `Awright,' sez Leo, `I'll say somethin to them.' So Leo turned round and looked this fat barsted in tha face and said to 'im, `Where ya from, mate?' An the fat barsted said, `Yuman.' Well, it turned out that 'e
wasn't a bad bloke, kicked with the right foot, too. Then Leo asked another bloke with a bloody green tie, `Where ya from, mate?' An the bloke with the bloody green tie said, `Trididy.' 'E was a bleedin Porn, too. Then Leo turned to this quiet little barsted an said, `An where are you from?' An the quiet little barsted said — now wait for it, Coll — the quiet little barsted said, `Queens!' `Crickey!' I sez to Leo, I sez, `Qeans is bloody right!' Gawd! Then this big barsted in a bloody green tie turned round an said, 'D'you say somethin', mate?' `Sa what if I did?' I sez. Then the big barsted (they called 'im Geoff), the big barsted said, `Cum 'ere an say that again!' `Make me!' I sez. `I'll bloody make you!' 'e sez. `Cum on, cum on!' I sez. Gawd! I was jest about to clobber the barsted a beaut when in walked this twit all dolled up like a bloody leprachaun an took the whole mob of them out of the bar an pushed them on some bloody bus. Oh, crickey; If 'e'd 'ave stayed 'e'd 'ave been a bloody goner, 'e would . . ."
II. Time: circa 7 p.m. Place: the front hall, 12 Maralingoola Grove, Chadstone; pastel green, pink, mauve decor, grey-floral (wattle and roses) carpet — wall-to-wall.
Says Clive: "... dog tired, Pammie, dog tired ... hard day at the bank, boss not himself, one of the girls is leaving ... yes, THAT one ... Clarrie drove me home, got caught in the traffic as usual . . . glad when the Falcon's out of dock . . . terrible delays . . . lucky it wasn't Lodge night . . . (sinks slowly into Danish de-luxe) ... Funny thing happened at Swan Street Bridge ... mmm ... very strange ... takes all sorts to make a world, as they say ... Bus came along full of all these young lads, rather intoxicated they were, come to think of it ... all yelling out about some boat race . some college. Clarrie said it was one of those Uni colleges, Trinity, I think . . . anyway, they were all yelling. Tried to break the lights, too. Hooh, hooh, you should 'ave heard Clarrie! Then this funny looking bloke, bit strange, I think, came running out waving something — I'll tell you what it resembled
when the kiddies have gone to bed . . . My word, you should have heard Clarrie then! .. . Well, to cut a long story short, all these young lads came running out of the bus ... and they headed down the river where the boats were going. Then I said to Clarrie, `Clarrie, do you see what I see?' `Yes,' said Clarrie. Well, they had been drinking a bit, Pam, but as I always say, there's a time and a place. Anyway, the police made Clarrie turn up Batman Ave. and we did see the end of their race ... I did feel sorry for the laddies in the Trinity College bus; the crew rowed so well but they were just beaten ... oh, well, better luck next time .. . they did take it well, though ... mind you, I didn't care for a song about a camel ... tell you about it when little Lee-Anne's not listening ... they kept singing it and referring to some `gal' ... not a very nice way to refer to a young lady ... anyway, I turned to Clarrie and I said, `Clarrie,' I said, `My little Shane starts in the seventh grade at Carey next year, but I'm never going to let him go on to a place like that Trinity College' ... I mean, it's hard enough to find real Christians in this world without having young folk led astray with all that nonsense ... no, Pam, our Shane will be twelve next month and I intend that he should have a decent, manly education to enter some clean and tough profession . . . none of this messing round and playing the fool for our Shane ... By the way, Pam, where IS Shane? . Oh, er . . . playing with Lee-Anne's dolls? Oh ... er ... mmmm
III. Time: p.m. Place: Outside Coles' in Swanston Street. Odour: cheap scent (Lily of the Valley and `My Sin'), semi-masticated chewing gum smell and car fumes.
Says Leonie: "Shirl ... Dyaheer wha them boyss in tha bus sed to moee ...? Dyaheer? (whispers not so sweet somethings).
Says Shirley: "GA-OOORN! ! ! YADONSAAY!!!
Says Leonie: "Yeah, they did.
Says Shirley: "GA-OOORN! ! ! YADONSAAY!!!
—PETER
J. ELLIOTT.
COLLEGE BALL
Errant couples amble intermittently across the floor, content in their new-found haven of light from the wild outside. The resident band determinedly reel off a repertoire that suggests parents of those present may have heard the same.
No sooner seated, than a resounding clunk of plate hitting table announces the arrival of a formidable steak supper. Minutes later a nasal voice, now identified with a beefy waitress eyeing the uneaten and ash-covered food, snarls something about the starving Asians.
Both the conversation and the liquor flow at an increasing rate. Small talk flourishes; giggling blondes corner new-won beaux. Then, as the Spinning Wheels spin, the heavens disgorge their habitual manna-like shower of balloons (theologues are heard whispering about the Second Coming).
The end. Reluctantly original partners are reunited. With fixed gaze and benign smile, couples beat their unsteady path to transport. Hours later and, for some, days later, we return to the theoretically monosexual confines of the Dear Old Coll.
ALAN ARCHIBALD.
TUTORS VERSUS GENTLEMEN CRICKET MATCH
It is not a college-shattering event; there is little advance publicity; no mad throngs of spectators; not even a trophy to inspire enthusiasm. It just isn't that sort of affair. Yet the annual tutors versus gentlemen cricket match is an event in the life of the college community that cannot pass unnoticed.
This year, the Tutors, captained inevitably by Senior Tutor Merralls, came disguised as West Indians. But they didn't fool anybody. Their skins didn't match. Tutor Johnson looked like a Red Indian, while the AssistantChaplain, contrasting with the Chaplain, all lily-white, chose a pigment of coal-latch black and matching costume. And he frightened the ladies with the whites of his eyes. Tutor Spry, on the other hand, looked plain grubby.
Nevertheless, they were the West Indians, and were presented one by one to the Queen, who had been recruited from J.C.H. and had actually been driven in by Duke Morgan in a tired old Daimler. Morgan tagged along behind her in true dukely fashion, but it is said that he does this with most women.
In any event, it was time to begin the match and the two captains strolled to the Bulpadok pitch, which, despite the fact that cows have disappeared long since, was scattered with lumps of what the Senior Tutor primly described as "marl" and carefully avoided. The coin was flipped and fell to the gentlemen, who decided to go in to bat. But their wickets fell quickly. Despite a valiant effort on the part of Adrian Mitchell (50 runs) and the Senior Student (36) the gentlemen could only scrape a meagre 197. All out.
Afternoon tea of scones and drop-cakes was taken on the Deanery lawns beneath the Elms, and the players were entertained by three idling minstrels, who crashed in. Needless to say, Buckland was one of them.
Then came the Tutors' turn to bat. It could be quickly seen that amongst them there were men of talent, and some held to the crease with persistence. Tutor Cockayne's reputation as an athlete went before him, and the gentlemen prepared to turn every effort towards getting him out. As it turned out, his wicket fell with an aura of mystery. But eventually it was discovered that the act was wrought by a clever contrivance consisting of a simple nylon
thread from middle stump to stand, and the umpires, exhibiting their impartiality, disallowed it.
With such assets as the Senior Tutor, striding around with a measured and commanding tread, the pinnacle of quiet and dignified leadership, and Bill Blandy who, though hit near the eye by a flying stump, batted on undeterred — a sign of real valour— the Tutors pressed for victory. Moreover, Tutor Muschamp, a horsie-sportie type, scored 60-odd runs and filled the Tutors' hearts with confidence. But lo! Johnson was caught miraculously in the gully — it was an omen of fearful things to come and wickets in hand began to peter out.
The wicket of the afternoon was that of the Joint-Acting Warden. Obviously it had to be a Joint-Acting wicket, with the Joint-Acting Warden batting alternately. And it fell in the only way appropriate — in a Joint-Acting way with consecutive balls; the Chaplain was
caught, Dr. Poynter clean bowled, right through the centre stump.
The gentlemen were rather good at bowling, actually. Certainly there were exhibitions of unexpected talent, and they were able to disease the Tutors with subtle changes of tactic. Wettenhall and Galbraith terrified them with a wild delivery and Tarzan screams, whilst theolog. Minchin, bowling in a style much more demure, confused the batsmen by pelting the ball down at an angle of 90 degrees to the pitch so that it hit the chapel and not the wicket. Very tricky.
The outcome of the match was that with a final concerted effort and clever manipulation the gentlemen were able to force a tie, and both teams retired to the Senior Student's study for a quiet analysis of the match over pots of beer. It is that sort of affair.
PETER CARNLEY.
GOLF DAY
All participants were blessed with perfect weather, fewer with good fortune on Golf Day at Royal Melbourne this year.
Some fifty gentlemen, representing a downright uncommon range of talent, pursued their respective paths about the East Course whilst endeavouring at all times to allow veracity to rule their score-cards.
The student half of the official foursome startled one Sandringham householder by hitting four golf balls in quick succession into her infants' sandpit, but a powerful College Gent's drive off the first tee almost resulted in the abrupt and premature termination of the Fourth Wardenship.
Sober calculation was later to reveal that Jo Thwaites, playing off the ominous 100, was victorious with a net 11 in the Handicap Competition. Andrew Heard, as was befitting his role as Organiser, took the Championship with rounds of 86 and 80, a mean total which, as the once-a-year types will assure you, again proves that practice is the thing.
PETER SPEAR.
JUTTODDIE 1965
Juttoddie 1965 was notable, among other things, for a forest of umbrellae, for not even the combined presence of the Pope, the Dalai Lama and the Prime Minister could keep an estimated 9 inches of rain from a determined attempt to wash at least one fine, old tradition down the College drain. As the fateful hour approached, we trembled for the unfortunate horses, and considered the rules concerning swimming over hurdles, any suggestion of which, it was feared, would be enough to bring the Books and the Tote to a combined declaration of the invalidity of all wagers.
The first arrivals were the Books, so avid for profit that they crammed six of their number into a scooter and sidecar, and hastened to the pickings hotly pursued by what, at first, was thought to be a police vehicle, but which, on further investigation, proved to be the Tote. These very doubtful characters lumbered menacingly towards the spectators, loudly proclaiming "We can't lose," an advertising gimmick which vastly helped the Books.
Standing in reverent silence, the College then witnessed the arrival of the Theological Faculty. To judge by their unusual and varied attire, one must assume that these not-yetreverend gentlemen have admitted to their ranks representatives of little-known sects, a move which can only be viewed with alarm by the lay members of College. Another shock to religious sensibilities was provided by the highly Robinsonian practice of Blessing the Refreshment Stall. However, more traditional entertainment was offered by the Warden, appearing this year as Mr. K. R. Griffiths. After an introduction from his attendant theologs, designed, it is thought, to indicate Who Who the Warden was, that most smooth of dignataries announced sweeping changes in College policy, to wit, the removal of some six College gentlemen to South Vietnam, where, it was felt, their talents might be better employed in aiding the ladies of that troubled land to a proper understanding of the Australian way of life. The Warden's eloquence was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Miss Mavis Fenton (of the Mavis Fenton show). But "I open everything, don't ya know" proved merely an excuse for the sensational revelation that she had secretly married the Warden, and was now Mavis Sharwood! While we were still taking in the implications of this scandalous state of affairs, and sadly putting it down to
the Warden's Ormond education, the newlyweds had brazenly opened the 35th Juttoddie, and the Theological Faculty, headed by the first Pope of Scottish origin, Pope Albert, were again advocating a consideration of the more eternal aspects of Juttoddie. Having blessed the Tote, and accomplished the rare feat of converting Mr. A. C. Archibald in the Behan cloisters, they gave solemn expression to the righteous ire of all investors with the ritual Cursing of the Books. With the Blessing of the Bricks, however, the serene atmosphere of the great day was renewed, and attention was turned to the Races.
The heats went smoothly, despite fears that some of the more diminutive horses might drown, and the rival injunctions of Books and Tote, to come into the sheltered cloisters and lose one's shirt, were largely wasted on the many rugged spectators who doggedly lined the Joint-Acting Divided Highway, to stare in amazement at the rare mammals in the starting (and sometimes finishing) pen. Mr. C. B. W. Mitchell, the most weighted horse ever seen at Juttoddie, only just failed to defeat his handicap in the Third heat. Mr. Pruden's victory giving the Books much joy and many honest investors much sorrow at the demise of the favourite. The strange noises, emitted by the loudspeaker system, suggested that Mr. Worby's sex appeal might be too much for the rest of the field in the Fourth, but sex appeal was not enough, and this popular favourite finished a sexy, but disappointing, sixth. The Fourth heat was memorable, too, for the international flavour imparted by the be-clogged Van Eckelen, labouring under a large Edam, perhaps the most tasteful handicap ever seen at Juttoddie. The Eighth saw the retiring Senior Student attempting to disqualify all runners except Mr. R. W. Harper, but nepotism yielded to weight of numbers, and Mr. Standish was declared the rightful winner.
The heats once finished, spectators and investors retired to the cloisters to witness the belated arrival of some of the dignitaries who traditionally grace the day's proceedings. First to arrive was the Prime Minister, Sir Axel Menzies, who chose the College for the scene of his annual Press Conference. Answering a question on the defence of the North, Sir Axel took the opportunity of outlining his general policy. It was intended, he said, to recruit a para-military corps of persons predominantly non-European in appearance to harass the
attempts of an unnamed Asian power to land in the North of Australia. Further, they would be armed with boomerang-shaped scrap steel from the Commonwealth Arms factory at Fishermen's Bend, and would relay news of the landing to Canberra by smoke signal. Assuming the signal arrived between 9 a.m. and 4.35 p.m., Monday to Friday, all would be well, and help would be sought from our great and powerful friends. The incontrovertible logic of the Prime Minister's Defence Plans left all present with the comforting feeling that the country was in great and powerful hands. For the Australian Universities Commission, Sir Leslie Martin, disguised as Mr. M. J. Thwaites, gave a touching demonstration of the way expert advisers on education should crawl to a politician of Sir Axel's standing, and finally the Prime Minister left us, no doubt to take something for his indigestion which had intruded not a little into his deliberations.
The national pride of all Australians was raised by the sudden appearance, home again, of our world-famous opera star, Miss Lucia di Glamourmour, bearing an uncommon resemblence to Mr. James Minchin. Accompanied by her "constant husband and companion," Signor Ricardo Malinger, Miss di Glamourmour told us of some of her future plans, which include, she confided, a new version of "The Marriage of Figaro," to be entitled "The Sex-life of Figaro, Figaro, Figure seven." The silent hopes of all were finally fulfilled when our Luce consented to give a sample of her art, and she well merited the applause of a large dog, believed to be a Bainbridge, which grew rather excited at the sheer art of the Mad Scene.
After this cultural interlude, we were brought back to the crude reality of the world of Showbiz by a somewhat abbreviated version of the Television Spectacular, "Oh! Oh! Oh! This frenzied entertainment was introduced by the producer, the most convincing Mr. Gantner, and compered by Ian Slurpie (the stage name of Mr. Elliott). First to perform were the Woofenpoofs, who sang those current hit favourites, "Shakin' all over" and "The Woofenpoofs' Song." So polished was the performance that Messrs. Jackson and Shepherd are said to be consdering a Woofenpoof career. Mr. Slurpie touched all our hearts when he introduced the sad case of Bernese Blump from Niddrie, the teenage mom of the week, but we only reacted all the more strongly to the producer's invitation to throb, when our current idol, P. J. Ames, arrived, split his trousers, and left. After P.J.'s energetic writhings, it was almost relaxing to watch a new event, the Behan Wood-Chop. The purpose, as well as the winners, of the contest remain a matter of enlightened guesswork. However, some observers suspect that it constituted a not unsuccessful attempt at a 20th century Morality play, a theory strongly supported by the presence of Mr. Robbie's celebrated naked torso.
But perhaps the most exciting part of the entertainment was an ascent by Astronauts Cooper Colebatch and Conrad Cornell. Climbing into their Jeopardye V spacecraft, they succeeded in orbiting the Behan balcony at 18,000 m.p.h. for the unbelievable time of eight days. Never before had two Astronauts orbited the Behan balcony for so long, and further excitement arose when the capsule flew over Jodrell Bank, and the Astronauts spoke to the Director, Sir Bernard Oliver. Sir Bernard, however, was having a spot of trouble with his Radio Telescope, which was apparently pointing the wrong way. Meanwhile, back at Cape Canennedy, Dr. Silas J. Groundbound, Jnr. (ex-German scientist, P. L. Field), was interviewing the Astronaut's wives. Mrs. Conrad displayed a proper concern for her husband's welfare, while Mrs. Cooper seemed more concerned with displaying her midriff and infidelity. When the space twins finally landed, or rather fell in the sea, they proved once more that amor omnia vincit as they seized their wives and lovingly growled their way to the seclusion of the Behan basement.
The entertainment was now over, and the rested horses took their places for what was surely the most infamous final ever run.
Throughout the afternoon many interested parties had gathered behind Jeopardy to provide and supervise the Water jump, but the final saw considerable physical violence, and many a gallant horse was crudely tackled by corrupt investors, seeking to further the cause of their favourites. It is to be hoped that this unfortunate practice will never again be seen at Juttoddie, and that the races will again be worthy of their revered title, "the sport of Freshers." A re-run was, in the circumstances, inevitable, and the hapless nags, by this stage worthy candidates for an R.S.P.C.A. investigation, set off once more. The eventual winner, Dick Mackenzie, owed his victory as much to his righteous anger at having to run again, as to the Marlboro on which he trains. In a superhuman effort, he came home just ahead of Carlos Cowan to win the Juttoddie Cup for 1965, presented this year by the Dalai Lama, O.G.S.
Congratulations are also due to Mr. W. S. Clarke and his fellow-organisers, to Mr. L. J. Buckland for compering the proceedings, and to the de jure Warden for his discreet comment on Mr. Griffiths' impersonation: "I thought him a little small for the part."
MALCOLM DOWNING.
ELLIOTT FOURS:
A PHANTOM APPROACH
The weather was sullen. Sad instructions from the owners of the fours via Senior Student . Oh, well, suppose I have to go and be clairvoyant and guzzle on the river bank. HFG 071 (blue utility) left early from the Coll. with a load of curious freshers. Shortly thereafter another full car was in the city—obviously students, tightly packed, variable; yes, one clergyman.
Things at the river were just getting under way; one eighteen and two niners, but no tapping expert and the beer either gushed or dribbled during the afternoon . . . all the more to throw round, of course! Ah, Channel 2 is here, but they thought twice and returned to Ripponlea. The Governor made a similar retreat as he rounded the bend and saw the festivities.
People were becoming more talkative. The Sec. asked if such drinking offended the liquor laws. The S.S. was upset at the state of the beer. Mr. MacPherson was concerned at the lack of senior gentlemen, but then the proportion of freshers was high — unusual, really.
Geoffrey Hone arrived and was immediately acclaimed Miss Elliott Fours — such immaculate dress. Jim Bain alienated a few by chang-
ing the colour of his skin, highly disguised against the river, except, of course, for the vulgar lipstick clotting.
Ah! A bit of a rumble. One crew, obviously professional, was going to demand payment in pewter. The umpire, Mr. Bainbridge, excelled, reversed and stripped himself
in attempting to make a decision, but the virtuosity of this crew was to prevail.
Ah! The crowd is really distracted towards the races for the first time. The Yarra won, as usual — "I've never tasted such dreadful water." Messrs. Clark, Hone, Kennon, Higgs and R. Harper (a dynasty, I say) can verify, and meanwhile Mr. Sear, with an apparent lapse of sanity, had voluntarily assisted in rescue operations. Well, if nothing else, the boat was clean! Then another splash . James Darling had slipped in quietly after attempting to make a five out of a four . . . really. Mr. Buckland, always a colourful participant, threw himself and Mr. McCaw into the mudhole — mind that staging, Ross.
At this stage the river definitely takes first honours. What's this? A grudge race? Mr. Corbet has left his pure white Viva for the event ... Med 2A Maniacs, including lunatics Holmes, Hasker and Harper, versus the Mick Jaggar Fan Club, or, more boldly, the Rowing Stones, sponsored by Darling, Madin, C. Mitchell, Elvis Mackie and Standish. The latter team grudgingly showed their greater artistry by dissecting the efforts of the Maniacs. Oh, and now it's rain, is it? Everyone who was sensitive to this kind of thing retired under the shelter of the balcony of the boatshed; but, alas, they soon found that they became just as damp there.... Yes, the beer was poor. At the end of the grudge race the traditional coxthrowing ceremony took place, except that it was the losing cox — a very popular choice — and Mr. Hasker augmented the river's score.
Thereupon followed one of the tragedies of the afternoon. A large contingent of menacing determination arrived on the balcony to take away the phantom reporter — that such loving innocence could be thrust (sic) into Melbourne's pride! Once again Australian levellerism was in evidence; but whisked away in a fast car, he did not respond to this treatment and die of pneumonia. But their names are written in shame!
It was later gathered from hearsay evidence that the virtuoso crew gave two more performances to secure victory, and Messrs. Lowry, Sephton, Burston, Robinson and Cornell were to claim the pewter. In all, it was an afternoon, as an Irishman would no doubt say, quite contrary to the laws of God and nature, and even at times to that of gravity.
DAVID FENTON.
Nowadays only money talks to the Bishop.
Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big, black block.
The more there are the more legal it is.
In anyone else these extravagances would There stands the shadow of a glorious name. seem childish.
"The Madwoman of Chaillot."
Leeper Library.
We haven't seen many Freshers over at Naughton's this year.
CRICKET
Dear Mr. Croppley,
Trinity College, 5.4.65.
You did a marvellous job preparing the pitch for the Newman-Trinity match. Never before have I played on such a crumble-proof, concrete-hard masterpiece. As your other duties did not permit you to see a great deal of the game, I thought I'd write and tell you about the "Trinity Season."
Before the match we thought we had a great chance of winning the competition. The Mitchells (junior and senior), the nevergreen "Strawb" Lewisohn, Grutzner and myself were displaying promising form with the bat, while Fitts by using his wrists was managing to break the "Jeopardy" windows with remarkable and dangerous regularity. The practice pitches, in need of a heavy roller, were slightly ill-defined, but when they did find them, fast bowlers Clark, Weymouth, King and Ross were causing us some concern. Spinners Higgs and Ainsworth were troubling the wicketkeepers Darling and Macaw as well as the fearless hitters with tricky flight and spin.
A fairly confident Trinity team made their way to the ground on the day of the match. You, like all of us, must have got a shock
when Newman won the toss and told us "to have first use of the willow." Grutzner and I walked to the middle very confidently and, taking advantage of the dead pitch, scored 52 runs in even time before Grutzner aimed a bad ball at point's midriff only to see him bow low and hold it.
Chris Mitchell replaced Grutzner, and for the next 40 minutes did all the scoring. I remained on 31 during that time, loitering without much intent. The score continued to mount very slowly as first I lost Mitchell, Lewisohn after a solid 39, and Adrian Mitchell. Stewart was bowling well at this stage, and proving very hard to get away. Captain Phelan appeared at the bowling crease and Fitts, with a great flourish, attempted to hit "Jeopardy" from the University side. He missed, and the score was 5 for 170. Under orders Macaw and I began to hit out, but I made the first mistake — 6 for 206. From the other side of the fence the bowling looked very ordinary, but the batsmen were still in trouble and the innings closed just before stumps when King played a sand iron shot, but lifted his head. 252 runs had been scored in 350 minutes. You had cause to be upset. The pitch had not been used to its full advantage.
The following day, after a vigorous fielding practice, we set about demolishing the opposi-
tion. Clark, bowling fast, took a wicket in each of his first two overs. The Newman score of 2 for 8 looked even worse when Weymouth claimed a wicket from the other end — 3 for 19. Phelan and Hamilton then came together and, after some uneasy moments, settled down, and it wasn't till the score had risen to 117 that Hamilton was dismissed by a brilliant stumping off Chris Mitchell. The other Newman batsmen concentrated on staying with Phelan while the latter, batting grandly, did most of the scoring. The bowling became scrappy and a crucial catch was dropped. Weymouth had a badly blistered foot and Chris. Mitchell complained of hurt feelings. Phelan, playing the innings of a master, was not to be removed, and shortly after the tea break Newman passed our score with three wickets in hand. Phelan retired soon after, having scored 156.
We were disappointed in that we lost, but thoroughly enjoyed the match. Some of us are leaving, but most will be back again for another "Trinity Season."
Yours sincerely,
RICHARD GUY (together with SANDY CLARK) TRINITY INNINGS
Bowling.—Uren 2/63, Stewart 5/55, Stoney Arthur 1/42, Phelan 1/19.
1/40,
NEWMAN INNINGS
O'Donnell, lbw Clark ........................ 2
Lees, b Clark 0
Griffiths, c Lewisohn, b Weymouth .... 12
Phelan, retired ..... .... .... 156
Hamilton, st Darling, b Mitchell, C. .... 51
Stoney, c Grutzner, b Weymouth .... .... 10
Ryan, c Lewisohn, b Weymouth ............ 5
Uren, b Guy ..... .... 12
Arthur, not out ................................ 23
Pagent, c Darling, b Guy .................... 1
Stewart, not out 10 Sundries ..., 22
TOTAL, 9 wickets for ... 304
Bowling.—Clark 2/69, Weymouth 3/70, King 0/28, Guy 2/49, Mitchell, C., 1/46, Mitchell, A., 0/26.
Newman College won on First Innings.
GOLF
I was intending to record our win in the golf as a lone triumph among the wreckage of Trinity teams in other vistas of sport. But the recent victory of the rugby team has forced us to share the pedestal. Finesse and force have conquered.
Golf has been Trinity's forte for several years. Teams have been constituted of characters with a cavalier exterior covering their wily ways. Some were card players, some members of the horse-racing sub-committee. But of these only one remained this year — old "Bottles"; and it was a tender and untried team that he led to do battle amongst the titree and yawning bunkers of the Royal Melbourne course.
We had to qualify in the morning on a stroke basis before we could tee off in the match play final during the afternoon. Lowry drank his beers uneasily but steadily after topping the century in his opening round. Only an hour and a half later was it clear that Andrew Heard and others had consolidated our position in the final. But the challenge was met after lunch with some fine individual performances. "Bottles" this time accounted for his man in short time, and Allen and Miller also won well. We defeated Ormond 5-1 — the team won its laurels.
ED KENNON.
SWIMMING
This year's team was particularly young and its members comparative novices in intercollegiate swimming, but the youthful enthusiasm shown in training was insufficient to win the competition. This result we would attribute to a commendable desire not to exGeed the traditional standard associated with preceding college teams.
But the training was not completely in vain. Ross Macaw's excellent diving gave Trinity its first win for several years, and John Fullerton performed well in swimming second
to the university breaststroke champion. The others displayed enough ability for the team
to head two other colleges in the final result.
TED GALLAGHER.
ROWING
During the first days of training our coach, Chester Keon-Cohen, proved that his insane desire for fitness had not deserted him on graduation. After only five days' training the crew faced the Head of the Yarra. Weakened by the previous night's Freshers' dinner and a broken rigger with four miles in front of us, morale reached its nadir, but we finished gamely. The inclement Easter weather witnessed the emigration of other crews to more hospitable climes. We contented ourselves with the sights and smells of the Maribyrnong.
In the inter-collegiate heat, Queens on centre station gained a length in the first half mile, but at Anderson Street we sprinted and drew away to win by l4 lengths. Our opponents in the final, Newman, started well, yet at Anderson Street we were a length ahead. Despite a lower rating, Newman gained so that at Swan Street we led by only a canvas. Steadier rowing over the last two hundred yards gave Newman a dramatic three-foot victory.
The seconds, coached by Peter Druce, made the best of their dilapidated equipment to which they had to resort after the generous gift of oars to the winning 1962 crew. The annual voyage to the Angler's Arms at Essendon was as disastrous as ever, but the return trip provided some very relaxed paddling.
The crew was never pressed by Queens in the heat and won comfortably by a length. The Ormond crew to be faced in the final was excellent. After losing a length at the start, the Trinity crew recovered well, and by the finish had made up all but a canvas.
We express our thanks to the coaches and congratulate Newman on their second victory in college rowing.
RICHARD A'BECKETT.
ATHLETICS
During the weeks prior to the inter-collegiate meeting the usual disorganisation and clashes of training with the footballers abounded. A few more seriously minded competitors, however, participated in keenly contested run-offs, especially in the relays.
On the day of the competition we began rather disastrously, but a few good performances, notably by Clark, Mitchell and King, managed to score prestige-saving points, and to secure eventually fourth place. Newman are to be complimented for their team of
match-winners, probably capable of beating any past Cato Shield holders. C. G. Clarke must be congratulated on his being judged Best College Athlete — an award appropriate, no doubt, in its wider meaning.
John Robert is to be thanked for his unenviable task of arranging and co-ordinating the team, and for his bravery in hosting in his study a celebration of such a kind that it suggested victory had been ours.
Next year brings, we hope, more good fresher athletes and a more effective attempt to win the shield.
TOM HASKER.
TENNIS
Trinity defeated International House in the first round and were defeated by Queens next day. It sounds like another link in the long chain of Trinity tennis defeats, and, of course, it is. But if for a moment we can lay hold of such abstracts as style, form and spirit, and compare their contribution to '64's team with that of this year's team, then one could reasonably expect that the chain will be broken in the near future, and that once more our hands may grasp the Tennis Cup and raise it to our parched lips.
Down 2-4 after the singles, Trinity were obviously in a bad way, and needed revitalisation, if we were to have any chance in the doubles after lunch. This new life came from Brown and Ainsworth who, with their dynamic partnership, infused life into leaden limbs, and McCracken swept with Burston through their opponents. The systematic first pair from Queens swatted Fitts and McKellar off the
court in straight sets, McKellar not being at all helped by carrying a badly bruised knee after a heavy fall.
The score then was 5-4 in Queens' favour. Trinity's only chance, therefore, was to win the three remaining doubles matches. The zeal, determination and skill which Brown and Ainsworth displayed in overcoming the systematic first pair from Queens was passing strange and new. McKellar and Fitts had won their second match, too. "We're home!" they cried, "We've won!" But what's this! Burston and McCracken are down 4-5 in the third and final set ... match point ... and a last ditch sizzling volley from Burston. But, Oh, no! It's hit the tape, and the match is Queens'.
RESULTS: Trinity 6 matches. Queens 6 matches. Queens won on countback of sets.
DAVID FITTS.
FOOTBALL: FIRST XVIII
With an extremely talented influx of freshers to augment the ranks of the old stagers, the College football hopes looked bright this year: even the possibility of winning the competition no longer seemed to be an imaginative pipe dream.
But instead, hampered by injuries to a few key players, the football team managed to retain its reputation for consistency and lost its fifteenth consecutive intercollegiate game. In none of the matches did the team measure up to its potential, nor, indeed, did it play as well as last year, nor show the same spirit and tenacity.
Against Queens we could never get going, and but for the magnificent efforts of "Sandy" Clark — who played possibly one of the most outstanding games ever seen in the intercollegiate competition — Trinity would have been swamped. Against Ormond the result was, if anything, worse. However, against Newman (the eventual premiers) we played more to expectations. In a fast, open game, marked by many outstanding passages of play, and with our ruck combination of Burston, Galbraith and Wettenhall winning well, we led to half-time. Nevertheless, in the last quarter, Trinity ran out of steam and wasted its height advantage by not playing directly, thus enabling Newman to coast to an easy win.
JOHN LEWISOHN.
SECOND XVIII
Every team has its ups and downs. If the Melbourne Football Club moved off the stage this year, the Trinity Second XVIII moved on. Last year's heights were not merely regained, they were surpassed. We won two of the three games, thus doubling the number of victories of the previous season. One might compare us to the K.K.K. and his motorbike. We had power, we had enthusiasm; we only lacked a little control.
The coach's most difficult task was to decide whom to leave out. Owing to the attraction of steak and eggs for lunch (Syd's piece de resistance, and served exclusively for the Second XVIII) we had a surfeit of worthy footballing gentleman. Our stars were legion. Ian Lowry kept the spectators spellbound as he demonstrated the latest refinements in tactics. John Robert dominated each game, while Haskett and Hone rucked with surprising effectiveness. But what even were they among so many? Glorious names, glorious deeds: Cowan (2), Archibald, Heard, Stuckey, Simon, Hamer, Clark. All these and others, too, equally brave and resolute: Cornell, Fitts, Larritt, Hornsby, Owen, MacKenzie, Watts. Shall Ormond or Whitley ever forget them? Why ask? Can mighty men be forgotten?
DAVID HARPER.
HOCKEY
Hockey players are an unusual race, as many people have noticed with various degrees of charity. Nicholas Bentley once remarked that "though an average intelligence is no bar to your becoming a champion, you stand a better chance if you are distinguished also in economics, biology, or science." The humanist lust for life in all its breadth sends us, Saturday by Saturday, on to a field where skill and cunning are more than a match for brute strength.
As all hockey players in college play for the University every week and mid-week games being difficult to arrange, the college team plays only occasionally. We sallied out to defeat Corio Tech. and the St. Kilda Road Branch of the Junior Chamber of Commerce, establishing beyond all doubt that guile will always beat physical fitness. Ormond presented greater problems. Over the last few years they have been surreptitiously luring A grade players into residence, and this evil policy
had the desired results. Trinity held its own in the centre, but our relatively inexperienced forward line could not carry the ball through the Ormond defence into the goal. By contrast, Ormond's seasoned attack swept through the Trinity defenders to win 3-1 and to keep the Hedstrom Cup for a second year. But the calculators in the Trinity team, noting the age of the Ormond stars, and the outstanding performances of some of our freshmen players, predicted that Ormond would have little chance of retaining the Cup next year.
One disturbing feature of this season has been the absence of the less serious matches. The matches against JCH and Women's were not held, and even the annual pilgrimage to Myrniong seems in jeopardy. If this trend is not arrested we will be indistinguishable from the footballers.
HAL COLEBATCH.
RUGBY
Trinity has emerged again bloody but unbowed. Our match against Ormond took place on a lonely space at Albert Park in the middle of a third term week which coincided with the end of certain medical exams. At lunchtime we were mostly assembled for a brace up in Naughton's. Recurrent bouts of alcoholic turbulence had taken their toll — so Webb couldn't play and Haskett was under a cloud. But Hone took charge and produced an even and competent team.
We began with a ceremonial line up and then fell into ferocious formation. The first half was devastating. The backs were poised for lightning swoops downfield. Muschamp avoided his team-mates' feet better than last year and Blandy proved a Croweater could be an acquisition. Holmes, Clark, Haskett and King, W. D., combined acceleration and strength with a shrewd passing technique initiated by Clark who was able to adapt his powers of mental telepathy to rugby. He could direct the ball sideways at great speed to an anticipating team-mate, while he himself bore down with grimaced face concentrating only on the touchline. On occasions he utterly failed to pass the ball and strode his way through crashing bodies and clutching arms in a single bid for freedom. His three tries for one uninstructed in the lore of the game were remarkable. The forwards mauled and worried their way along in terrier-like fashion. Lowry and Larritt were rudely vigorous in a self-sacrificial way. Hone was our constant inspiration and Gantner looked dangerous. A flying dive at the line scored him a try in a spray of muddy water: his malodorous flanks were thereafter respected in the scrums. Blakey deserves a mention in despatches for safe and intelligent play in defence and W. D. King for his place-kick goals.
We deteriorated after half-time and were chastised for languid, lagging and lethargic spirits and fitness. But we won well — 24-5, though the injured list was long and gory.
ED KENNON.
A Green Thought in a Green Shade
Wigram Allen Prize Essay
It was once thought fashionable to experience wines with all the fervour of an existential encounter. The '29, we said, was arrogant, coy, impulsive; the '31 just a shade too intimate for comfort, while the '32 simply sulked obstinately in the glass. To have an I-thou encounter with a claret, to be seduced by a sherry — here was the perfect means of identification, integration, involvement and all those things. With dedication and singleness of purpose, it was said, the liberated soul is drawn powerfully into the is-ness of things, leading to a higher state of self-negation than the sternest ascetics thought possible. In vino veritas!
As we drank each other under the table in our intense more-integrated-than-thou piety, a new race of cynics arose who located the quality of the experience not so much in the depth of a relationship as in the mind, or rather the mouth, of the perceiver. People who know now tend to recount the moments of a particular wine — the foretaste, the taste proper and the aftertaste, which in the old dispensation might have been experienced as the caress, the plunge, and the aftermath. As through a glass darkly, the modern connoisseur peers beyond the successive moments into the secret places of his mind. In my limited experience wine-bibbing is much more fun the old way, but one must admire the courage of the avant-garde drinker, if not his self-centredness.
Again, what became of those marvellous atone experiences we used to have? You know, when everything clicks or merges or evaporates and the centre of consciousness might be anywhere but in the head. "Beyond the Fringe" might have put a stop to that sort of thing. Remember the scene where the Presbyterian preacher is being at one with nature like mad on a mountain, when all of a sudden his friend is violently ill, which reminds him that life is like that? Life is a bit like that sometimes, but it's not too bad provided you don't dwell on the nasty parts with morbid fascination.
Anyway, the thing to say is not so much "How have you been communing with nature lately, Cynthia?" as "Have you got the feeling that we've done all this before?" Something pops up from the unconscious and creeps back in again before you have a chance to waylay it. Sometimes a ray of light pierces the whole
murky abyss of the unconscious, and surface desire unites mysteriously with subterranean hopes and fears. Well, you say, this is no sort of revolution at all, but merely a redescription of the same phenomenon for a post-Freudian era. When we have just found out about the various levels of the mind, to discover with horror that they have scarcely been on speaking terms for years, naturally we will get pretty disturbed about a head-on collision and excited by a harmonious working together. But the difference is not just a verbal one. In the former case, the centre of consciousness is liberated from the narrow confines of the mind, but in the latter it broadens its base while still remaining firmly rooted in the mind.
The poet Marvell had an at-one-with-everything experience once in "The Garden": Here at the mountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide: There like a bird it sits, and sings, Then whets, and combs its silver wings; And till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Unlike the cat, the bird is not given to excessive introspection. When it lets the light shimmer through its feathers, it rejoices unself-consciously at being alive to enjoy so many beautiful things, including itself. Its powers of reasoning may be distinctly limited, but its freedom is infinite. That is why the bit about the longer flight does not seem contentious or incongruous. Why else would the soul escape from the body except to have a foretaste of eternity? To avoid being accused of a crude dualism, I should say that I take Marvell to be using the dichotomy between body and soul as a metaphor to show the difference between self-forgetfulness and self-preoccupation, which may be something like what St. Paul meant by the flesh and the spirit.
People are like birds, in some respects. I think some do prepare for a longer flight by shaking their feathers in the sun. Speaking less elliptically for the literal minded, some people partake of eternity by enjoying the simple pleasures of life. Eternity isn't necessarily empathy at three o'clock in the morning on the bear-skin rug. Nor is it necessarily achieved by entering a higher moral order Iike the one proposed by Immanuel Kant, of whom it was written, that if the world were to end
tomorrow, he would still hang a murderer today, for the sheer beauty of it. At select public schools they tell people to aim for the skies and play the game, in that order, as if playing the game had almost accidentally and rather tediously turned out to be the best method of reaching the skies. Could it be that the two processes are so entwined that they should never be separated?
So far we have noticed two ways in which the mind might seek fulfilment: the way of outgoing — reckless, naive, just a little passe, but with a lot to commend it if pursued without pomposity or highmindedness; and the way of inward looking — exciting, yet disturbing for its devotees, who often teeter on the edge of an emotional precipice. Some people, and I mention St. Paul and St. Augustine rather hesitantly as examples, survive the second way only by combining it with the first. How, you might well ask, is such a feat possible?
Birds might forget themselves, and cats might be lost in eternal self-contemplation, but men have a godlike capacity for creativity. In another verse of "The Garden", Marvell says:
Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, Withdraws into its happiness:
The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; Annihilating all that's made
To a green thought in a green shade. For other worlds and other seas, you might say, would hardly minister to an integration of the two ways of mental projection. The mind in its ungoverned speculation, whether in realms of abstract thought or wild fantasy, has a habit of winding in upon itself in everdiminishing circles to disappear into the axis of rotation. In this condition the mind would be no better off than the inward-looking liftshaft mind which finds to its dismay that the basement is the bottom of the shaft. It is important, Marvell thinks, to maintain a foothold in the real world, even if the connecting link is as tenuous as a green thought in a green shade.
"A green thought in a green shade" — what a marvellous title for an essay, but does it mean anything? Strictly speaking, no, but then that's the whole charm of poetry. The phrase is deliberately ambiguous, not to say enigmatic, to suggest two things. The first is that there is no fixed relation in which the mind should stand to its surroundings. Between the extremes of absorption and withdrawal there
are many different ways of establishing an appropriate rapport with the world.
The second suggestion, much more important, is that the creative mind looks both outward and inward at the same time. It doesn't just receive impressions, that is, register the resemblances of each natural kind; sometimes it re-creates them, but not, as the cliche has it, by infusing them with a new significance. This is the what-the-butler-saw view of art, whereby the artist is supposed to titivate nature for those whose sensibilities are too refined for a direct confrontation with nature, red in tooth and claw. According to Marvell, if I interpret him rightly, the artist's job is not to titivate or rearrange anything, but to annihilate all that's made. This is a hard saying. What sort of an artist would wantonly destroy all the impressions he is supposed to be infusing with a new significance? I think the point is that only out of the groaning and travail of the artistic mind can a work of art come to birth —the agony and the ecstasy and all that. Marvell's ecstasy is not explosive like the excitement of a pimply schoolboy in the agony of creation; it has the gentleness and fertility of a green thought in a green shade.
Have we found the missing link? If so, it looks as though only a chosen few will be able to use it, for most of our agonies don't appear to be very productive of great works of art. But artistic activity need not be spectacular. Our green thoughts may be as mundane as a way of smiling at women without come-hither implications, or with nice ones at least — the agony required being no doubt roughly proportional to the ecstasy achieved. There may be a supreme artist, or there may not, but either way there is a degree of freedom to paint human existence with colours of our own choosing. But those who cultivate the light fantastic touch are surely rather effete; we see them often as they walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily in their medieval hands. Their artistry has no foundation — they have not practised the way of annihilation.
The mind tugs in two directions — towards dissolution and towards internal exploration, both of which have been frequently recommended as ways of finding God. God might be found at the end of a mental process, but He might just as easily be a postulate or projection of the mind. By allowing some green thoughts to grow in a green shade we might have a better chance of deciding between these alternatives.
—RODNEY WETHERELL.
Several Types of Glory
ICH Prize Essay:
Bacon said Fame was a monster, but in truth he is an idol. For what could be more terrible than to die unheralded, to lie beneath a simple granite headstone in a final humiliation, mourned by few and remembered by none? One should die grandly and take pains to publicise it, so that the trumpets blow and the people doff their hats and wipe an eye, as the black-draped coffin moves silently past. And a twenty-one gun salute booms over the land, and even the sun deems it ungracious to dispel the gloom. Then it is known that a Great One has died, and there is universal sorrow.
Everybody loves not the lover but the celebrity. To be his fellows' favourite is every man's dream, but few take the simple steps enabling dream to become reality. It is not hard. The prime requisite is a Plan, which may be modified as the circumstance demands, but which remains the same in a single blinding essential: to be known. This can be achieved through notoriety, through eccentricity, wit, wickedness or even, for it has been known to happen, through virtue. The candidate must seize upon one peculiar quality and proceed systematically to develop it to excess, so that it becomes the over-riding facet of his personality. Every other part is subordinated in face of this dominating, overwhelming propensity. In the end he becomes composed entirely of this single thing, and the ramifications it carries with it. Then, and only then, he is awakened and ready for fame.
Of course, in the initial stages, when stepping out on the narrow road to renown, it is
necessary to make the quality-selection with care and discrimination. Few people would choose to gain immortality through their dexterity in the art of eating spaghetti, yet inability in this sphere brings instant recognition. My father incurs incredulous respect for his capacity to consume infinite numbers of oysters (in his youth he is said to have held the world record), and my brother is the toast of the school for the phenomenal size of his tongue. Had they been faced with the choice, Archimedes and Lady Godiva may well have wished to achieve fame in less immodest ways (though certain of our lingerie advertisers would have us believe otherwise), yet nakedness on horseback or when running down the street, whether or not one cries "Eureka!" ap. pears to have an irresistible fascination for historian and layman alike. Indeed, had Archimedes not committed this imprudent action, for which all subsequent scientists have had a sneaking admiration, one shudders to think what would have become of his Principle. And the average student's knowledge of the French Revolution has gained an inestimable richness because Marat was stabbed in his bath.
But if the quality of fame is important, one must act accordingly. For instant repute, it is only necessary to have quins; for immediate popularity, to stand a round of drinks; but for greatness one must exhibit nobility. Naturally, once the crown of distinction has been conferred, and the chosen one has been ceremoniously anointed with the precious oil of immortality, several types of glory come in its train. The initiate has been received into the sacred ranks of celebrity, those whose names are household words breathed in almost reverent tones, accorded homage by the young and deference by the old — everything because of their single common feature: great reputa-
ATHLETICS
Back Row: M. J. Thwaites, D. C. Cowan, A. T. Mitchell, J. A. Renowden, J. F. Patrick, R. F. Haskett.
Front Row: W. D. King, C. G. Clark, J. S. Robert (Captain), T. Hasker (Vice-Captain), C. B. W. Mitchell.
Absent: T. S. Harris, R. K. Watson.
HOCKEY TEAM
Back Row: P. B. Seddon, J. F. Henry, M. R. Gaylard, G. V. Brown, P. W. Haskett, O. Mace. Front Row: T. E. Blarney, H. K. Colebatch, R. J. MacGregor (Capt.), T. H. Bainbridge, A. J. R. Prentice.
Absent: B. D. Grutzner, P. L. Field.
FIRST XI
Back Row: G. W. Ainsworth, R. C. Macaw, C. B. W. Mitchell, W. D. King, J. A. Darling.
Front Row: R. A. Guy, A. T. Mitchell, C. G. Clark (Captain), R. D. Weymouth (ViceCaptain), D. R. H. Fitts.
Absent: B. D. Grutzner, I. R. P. Lewisohn.
GOLF
Back Row: A. C. Cox, E. P. Kennon, D. C. Withington.
Front Row: R. C. Miller, I. R. Lowry (Captain), A. K. Heard.
Absent: K. J. F. Allen.
SECOND XVIII
Back Row: M. J. Thwaites, J. D. Corbet, J. G. Stuckey, C. J. Hamer, R. F. Haskett, R. C. Macaw, R. J. MacKenzie.
Middle Row: J. A. Renowden, G. P. Simon, W. S. Clarke, A. C. Archibald, A. K. Heard, J. S. Larritt, D. C. Cowan, P. W. Haskett.
Front Row: W. D. T. Cowan, A. Clark, J. S. Robert (Vice-Capt.), D. L. Harper (Capt.), I. R. Lowry, F. N. Cornell, D. R. H. Fitts.
Absent: G. J. Watts, D. T. S. Hornsby, B. A. Owen, G. W. Hone.
SWIMMING TEAM
Back Row: R. C. Macaw, W. S. Clarke, M. J. Standish, J. R. Bain. Front Row: J. R. Fullerton, D. E. Gallagher (Captain), P. A. Guy (Vice-Captain), R. K. Woodruff.
TRINITY COLLE(
Back Row: M. T. Hamerston, A. F. Cox, G. Myers, G. R. Worby, G. R. Wiese, P. J. Kennon, Maclntyre, R. W. Harper, I. C. Mitchell, J. J. Renwick, J. R. Bain, D. A. Ellerman,
Second Row: C. J. Hamer, M. J. Thwaites, M. Downing, B. A. Owen, R. R. Hammond, J. T. Hasker, D. M. R. Were, D. T. S. Hornsby, L. J. J. Van Eckelen, G. J. Watts,R. Darling, A. K. Heard, W. S. Kimpton, C. J. Hazzard.
Third Row: A. N. Stokes, D. E. Gallagher, A. D. Miller, A. T. Mitchell, G. J. Pullen, A. W. A. C. Archibald, S. J. Gaylard, G. R. Davey, P. A. Guy, R. P. C. Lowenstern, P.1F. D. S. Houghton, R. K. Woodruff, T. E. Blamey, W. R. Strugnell.
Fourth Row: M. P. C. Wentzell, D. G. Longmuir, J. O'N. Brenan, R. J. Webb, P. H. Gerrand, N. A. Stewart, W. S. Clarke, P. J. Hughes, J. M. Davis, D. A. Robbie, R. F. Haskett, Corbet, R. C. Macaw, M. Pruden, S. S. Viravadya, J. F. Forbes, I. K. M. Galbraith,
Fifth Row: D. S. Woodruff, A. J. R. Prentice, P. J. Elliott, P. F. Carnley, D. J. Fenton, S. Curtis, J. S. Robert, J. D. B. Wells, D. L. Harper, W. D. T. Cowan, C. G. Clark, E. B. Armitage, C. C. Creswell, R. D. Weymouth, R. C. Oppenheim, J. G. Sellar, J. E. Front Row: A. Clark, J. F. Henry, J. D. Isaac, A. P. Blakey, T. I. Sedgwick, B. R. Sterling, A. J. Higgs, T. F. Brown, W. D. L. Sear, G. D. Liddell, D. C. Withington, B. J. Matthew
Absent: A. O. A'Beckett, R. G. A. A'Beckett, K. J. F. Allen, G. J. Aplin, A. H. Bainbridge, L. B. Ellis, P. L. Field, D. R. H. Fitts, C. J. A. Game, C. B. Gantner, B. D. Grutzner, A. H. Le Page, J. R. P. Lewisohn, D. N. Lowry, A. J. McIntyre, W. T. McKay, C. Nankivell, P. Nisselle, J. C. W. Oliver, P. S. Osmond, R. J. Peers, R. W. Prestney, H. Stuckey, W. T. L. Taylor, R K. Watson, R. F. Wetherell, R. E. H. Wettenhall, G. H.
COLLEGE, 1965
Kennon, D. C. Cowan, M. J. Standish, G. V. Brown, C. B. W. Mitchell, R. J. Mackie, A. J. perm an, B. N. L. Benson, G. M. Knight, G. P. Simon, C. M. Kemp, C. L. Monie, J. A. Renowden. J. R. Fullerton, I. J. Gude, J. F. Patrick, D. D. Elder, J. R. Harrison, R. A. Guy, N. G. Ross, atts,TR. J. Murray, P. W. Haskett, B. W. C. Wilson, G. W. Ainsworth, P. S. Everist, J. A.
W. Smith, K. R. Griffiths, R. J. G. Smith, R. K. Jackson, P. A. H. Spear, W. D. King, F. Howard, C. H. D. Stevens, A. K. Gregson, L. G. J. Paynter, T. D. Buick, R. C. Miller,
;errand, H. K. Colebatch, D. G. Gome, O. M. Evans, M. R. Gaylard, J. M. P. Robinson, Haskett, R. J. MacGregor, W. G. Martin, J. S. Larritt, A. G. McCracken, C. E. Carter, J. D. lbraith, A. G. Bolton.
S. A. H. Ames, J. H. Shepherd, A. B. MacPherson, J. B. Minchin, W. F. Wilson, D. W. E. P. Kennon, F. N. Cornell, C. J. S. Renwick, G. E. Burston, I. R. Lowry, T. C. Sephton, E. Gardener, R. S. Kemelfield.
erling, I. J. Raymond, P. B. Seddon, O. Mace, D. O. Owen, R. J. MacKenzie, T. W. Griffiths, Matthews, C. P. Lang, S. E. Howard.
)ridge, T. H. Bainbridge, I. L. Barker, C. J. Betley, L. J. Buckland, A. J. Buzzard, R. W. Connell, utzner, T. S. Harris, A. D. Holmes, G. W. Hone, D. J. E. King, J. O. King, S. G. Larkins, C. D. McKellar, J. J. S. Madin, D. S. Meakin, G. G. Mitchell, P. J. Mitchell, R. M. C. H. G. Richards, H. W. Riggall, J. M. P. Robinson, R. B. Scott, J. B. Somerset, J. G. H. T. Wheler, S. J. B. Williams, J. C. Wilson.
TENNIS TEAM
Back Row: T. F. Brown, A. K. Heard, D. R. H. Fitts, G. W. Ainsworth. Front Row: G. E. Burston (Co-Capt.), A. G. McCracken, C. D. McKellàr (Co-Capt.).
SECOND VIII
Back Row: P. S. Everist, G. M. Knight, C. D. McKellar, O. Mace. Front Row: R. J. Webb, A. K. Gregson, D. S. Houghton, R. C. Miller. Absent: S. G. Larkins (Stroke).
FIRST VIII
Back Row: C. J. Hazzard, A. H. Bainbridge, D. T. S. Hornsby, C. P. Lang.
Front Row: I. K. M. Galbraith (Captain), D. D. Elder (Stroke), R. G. A. A'Beckett, D. A. Ellerman.
Sitting: A. O. A'Beckett.
FIRST XVIII
Back Row: T. F. Brown, M. Pruden, C. G. Mitchell, R. A. Guy, B. W. C. Wilson, G. W. Ainsworth, P. S. Everist.
Middle Row: J. A. Darling, W. D. King, R. J. Mackie, M. J. Standish, I. C. Mitchell, C. B. W. Mitchell, R. W. Harper.
Front Row: C. J. S. Renwick, I. K. M. Galbraith, G. E. Burston (Vice-Captain), C. G. Clarke, E. P. Kennon, T. C. Senhton.
Absent: J. R. P. Lewisohn (Captain), R. E. W. Wettenhall, J. M. P. Robinson.
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tion. They are privileged persons; their idiosyncrasies are hailed and copied, their styles of dress or undress slavishly imitated, their words recorded and their deeds remembered down the centuries.
So, as a godlike elite, nothing they do can be wrong; it is always explained on a multitude of grounds. If they have been fortunate enough to have come from a broken home, everything is excusable; if they display an artistic temperament they are coddled with every whim satisfied. And if they are innocent to the ways of the world, nothing is their fault. Because they have won renown, their misdeeds only shine with an added lustre, and their reflected glory burns still brighter. This is as it should be, for they have worked hard to become sublime and deserve their reward.
As privileged ones their responsibilities are few, for most people have other moral arbiters and can afford to smile benignly on the diversions of the great. The magnetism of paradise exerts a lesser pull on earthly gods, and the spoils of present glory have a more tangible reality than those of a dubious salvation. If their temptations are many, they have within their grasp the means to succumb, and the ordinary man may well cast a jealous eye over their seemingly limitless possibilities.
But once they have occupied the throne they can relax only for a short span; man is notoriously fickle and fresh heroes struggle daily for survival. All that is required is an occasional headline, a controversial word or a sensational action and the man-in-the-street's memory is jogged, his imagination fired and the famous one is assured of everlasting life. He whose fame rests on a narrow pinnacle is less secure, and the wind of change has every hope of knocking him spinning into oblivion. And what more terrible end for one who was once everybody's darling? "Out, out, brief candle!" Shakespeare pronounced, but he might also have said: "Shine on, shine on, brief glory!"
No, just as elusive fame is a prize after striving, once grasped it cannot be allowed to slip away. Yet simultaneously with eternal vigilance, the fruits of distinction grow daily more apparent. There is leisure to develop unexpected quirks of personality. Churchill, on becoming famous, displayed a surprising addiction to cigars, Samuel Taylor Coleridge to opium. No longer need one be obsessed by the single quality which brought renown; expansion is both welcome and necessary. These
are the days of cementing shaky foundations, of establishing a reputation upon a rock that will endure through storm and tempest and come out unscathed. How else could King Henry have tried his Church's tolerance six times and emerged victorious? He was a grand figure, perhaps a terrifying one, and it was this stature that made him invincible.
The man who seeks to be both immortal and invulnerable must cultivate round him an aura of aloofness. Famous men do not shake hands with beggars; it would tarnish their image, and they must be a race apart from the common man. Every man can appreciate some human foibles in his idol, but too many and he becomes one of them, and thereby damned. Idolatry is one of the strange characteristics of mankind; the species pines and fades away if it has nothing to worship. Once it was God, now the revolving wheels of civilisation have spurned the supernatural and look to the tangible. There are endless opportunities to celebrate man's nature and achievements; a fleshand-blood god is comprehensible and comforting, far more attractive than an unattainable, ghostly legend.
Thus the men whose halls echo with their own renown are performing an indispensable as well as highly enjoyable service. They are putting into life an ingredient of spice and excitement; in rising above the common herd they provide a not-too-distant star for others to dream on. The coveted laurel wreath hangs waiting for whoever climbs the twisting stair to claim it. Think well before mounting the first step; it is guarded jealously. But the rewards are past man's understanding.
—VIRGINIA DUIGAN.
AT EASTER
I hear her laughter on the wind
Running down the hill
To where the waters leap
In the light air.
No longer watched, but watching, The trout cuts quickly the jade
Of the deepening pool, and Trembles her body white in the water.
She is mine at length, but I see How frail the thread
That binds us when the light Leaps in her eyes, and it is day.
—DAVID FITTS.
THE COMING TECHNOCRATS
On 21st September this year the Vernon report on the Australian economy was tabled in Federal Parliament. To some of its recommendations, particularly the proposal to set up an expert advisory council on economic growth, the Prime Minister reacted strongly. ... if the only problems in dealing with economic policy in a nation were purely technical, Parliament, which is not technical, and a cabinet which is not technical might as well hand over to a group of technicians. In such a case democracy would have ceased and a technocracy would have begun.
The Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition, who supported this contention, appear strangely in the garb of defenders of the primacy of Parliament, for their parliamentary parties already adhere to the policies of the outside bodies on which they rely for electoral support. But the Vernon report and its reception is symbolic of a greater issue than this. Professional politicians in all parts of the world have long recognised their inability to handle the complex problems which industrialised society forces upon its governments. As a result, they have fallen into the habit of calling on technical experts for advice: and have found out that, once called, the experts cannot be wished away.
The men who come to hold power in Australian governments qualify for the job as experts in manipulating the strange constellation of party organisations, employers' associations, professional associations, trades unions, leagues and clubs which are the arbiters of power in this country. In the hands of men of this type Australian public life has been reduced to a state of galloping anaemia. There are even great areas of common concern where public attention and public policy, in any real sense, are almost non-existent mental health; care of retarded children; youth services; old age; cultural activities; and others. As for fundamental questions about the bases of social morality, the general goals of social action — you could almost say that Australian politics was based on a gentleman's agreement not to raise matters as difficult as these.
This is the measure of our achievement — of sixty years of Australian parliamentary democracy — that we have got ourselves a set of rulers who do not even know what the important problems are. Every people, it has been said, gets the government it deserves.
In the long run this picture is bound to change. More and more of the power of government will fall into the hands of technically trained specialists. This has, of course, been going on for some scores of years. The trained engineers, economists, educators, and others who were called into the public services to execute the policies laid down by politicians, soon came to have a strong influence on the formation of policy itself. We have now reached a situation where the important dispute over Australian policy towards overseas investment is not between political parties, but between two bodies of experts in the Department of Trade and the Treasury. In the sense of research results affecting public policy, government by experts is an established fact in fields like agriculture with the C.S.I.R.O., and is becoming more important year by year in education and some of the social services. There is still a vast field open and waiting for the application of existing knowledge and the development of applied research. But the trend is already irreversible. Once public administration has begun to call on expert knowledge, there is a continual pressure, in the logic of the administrator's situation, to call on more and better knowledge — to sponsor research where knowledge is lacking — in short, to call on technical experts in the formation of policy.
To predict the forms in which government by experts will develop in future is a matter for newspaper editors and other science fiction writers. But we can say with complete confidence that the trend towards it cannot be stopped without breaking the whole course of "Class."
social development. Technocracy, in one form or another, is coming. Does it really offend our fundamental political values?
One basic objection to it has been stated by the Prime Minister: that it contradicts the postulates of democracy. This is certainly true: it does. It is also true that the present system of government contradicts the same postulates. In Australia, as in the United States, "democracy" has become a hurrah word used to invest the present order of things with a golden glow of divine approval. Under any political system only restricted types of people are able to hold power. Modern government is a demanding, difficult, and highly-skilled combination of art and science. Yet the present "democratic" system requires only two things of a man before he assumes power: that he has a one-eyed party loyalty; and that he has successfully learnt how to deceive the electorate.
Rule by the people has become a threadbare farce. Rule by professional politicians is an unpleasant fact. Rule by technical experts is a frightening prospect only because it blows aside the self-adulation and self-deception in our conception of politics and demands of us a fresh look at the nature and uses of power. It demands a re-examination of the responsibility of a government to the people it governs. For where present governments are covertly irresponsible, technocracy is openly so. The idea of technocracy is based on the principle that the more complex political decisions become, the more they require high-level technical knowledge, and the less suited they are to the arbitration of a mass electorate. This is neither "right" nor "wrong"; it is simply a condition of modern life, and our attention should go to the ways of dealing with it. It is here that technocracy has a positive advantage in the form of different controls over the holders of power. A scientist or technician is responsible, in a different sense, to his discipline — to the theories, procedures, and canons of thought which alone validate his judgments. He cannot continue to violate the principles of economics, developmental psychology, or agricultural science and yet continue to make the right decisions. If this implies that judgment and review of many policy decisions must be resigned to an oligarchy of specialists, trusting in their integrity — then we may say that this is true and not to be avoided. The alternative to a skilled oligarchy is simply an unskilled oligarchy.
A technocracy remains responsible in another sense. The stereotype of cold, emotionless, narrow specialists is both misleading and harmful. Despite having been to a university, policy scientists remain human beings. The Prime Minister obviously believes that anyone with special training and skills in matters of policy is incapable of placing them in perspective and taking a wide view of a whole range of problems. The answer to this prejudice against men with scientific skills is simply that it is false. A man who is highly-trained is, in fact, more likely to be able to put his expertise in proper perspective than someone who is not trained. And the technocrat is quite as capable as any other man of seeing the human sides of problems. After all, he does have hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions: he is fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same summer and winter as any other man.
The technocrat is no bogey. He is part of our future. Whether we set out to understand and appreciate the role he is to play, or whether we succumb to antique prejudices against him — on this may hang the next half-century's history.
R. W. CONNELL.
POEM
The evening arrived suddenly tonight; The gentle insistent demands of the day Shied at the blow of the dark; the time Arrives to try the endurance of my light.
Back on the beaches of the driftwood dawn
The visionary relief of new help broke, Returning, unearned, as the sea-waves fall Washing the cold sand warm. Here the uncertain land-bound echoes go, Deceiving or distracting, but remote; Here also the hurled dark has choked Vestigial embers of the fire burnt low.
Neither the joy last year Nor last week's hope remove These shadows and encroaching fears: My vision left me here.
JANE HALL.
WORLD WITHIN THE WORLD
As the Sun moves around the Earth (I speak as an empirical fellow) a cloak of darkness shrouds our antheaps and human life enters its alternate phase. But the World Within the World never sleeps, it knows neither light, nor time, nor spatial limitation. Its unsleeping eyes are ever upon us, its beings move for the most unseen and unrealised through our midst, its incorporeal intelligences quietly stretch forth tentacles of contact to our minds and we casually brush them aside as if a flimsy insect had alighted briefly on our arm or if some muffled cry, irritating in its weakness, were greeted with a shrug and a stroll in the opposite direction.
The supernatural is treated with bellicose scepticism by most people. It may perhaps be kept as an after-dinner amusement when another noiser toy has broken down, something to impress pious young men or gullible old ladies, or to punish children who can be assured of a nice night's entertainment after bedtime. We reject the nightmares with our childhood, we reject the supernatural as part of childhood. So the naive supernaturalist stands before the throng to be greeted with cries of, "Come on! Show us your evidence. Pull the rabbit out of the hat. We shall find the mirrors, the secret compartments — and the sinister motives." Then the supernaturalist begins that invariable monologue which opens with "Have you heard ...?" and ends, amidst roars of scorn, with the self-righteous mumble, "Well, if you don't believe it ... I do." Amen.
But the rational materialist and occult man are both escapists, at base they both agree. The linguistic dressing is different, the world view is virtually the same.
Our rational materialist is a victim of the great Newtonian superstition. Hence he is rarely found in the higher orders of modern science. But for most of us the Newtonian supersition reigns supreme. All the world is one big watch, one carefully balanced, precisely determined, closed mechanical system, governed by an infinite number of inductively verifiable generalisations upon which we bestow the hallowed word "law." This Closed System is almost a necessary article in the conceptual baggage of the rational materialist. But, when the experiment does not work the schoolboys hiss at the elderly master who runs his bony fingers through his white locks and winges about faulty equipment, adverse condi-
tions or imperfect chemicals. But what would the schoolboys do if the elderly master terminated a dissertation on the laws of gravity by promptly levitating several feet above the platform? Saint Joseph of Cupertino, so we are told, had to wear an anchor around his neck in processions so that the fervour of devotion would not carry him away. We may laugh at the pious tradition, but who can laugh at the detailed documentary evidence which was gathered by the commission which thoroughly investigated the case of this seventeenth century Italian friar?
Better to ignore it altogether. Admit one breach of the laws, one tiny fissure in the Closed System and the Newtonian superstition falls apart. We are left with the Open System, the vista of infinite probability, relative rationality, the uneasy realisation of the presence of the World Within the World. When all the rational explanations have run out the rational materialist has only a pure act of his will between the security of the artificial world of the "Enlightenment" and the uncomfortable loneliness of the Open System. He must reject what will flay his intellect, tear away the grinning mask of the good fellow, the glorious mask of emancipated man. Look behind the mask and see a fool in a shroud, marching boldly to the grave, unseeing eyes staring ahead, jaw out in a show of bravado, fingers firmly embedded in the ears as grinning lips mouth again and again those magic words of class, and race, and school, and sect — ". . an open mind, an open mind, an open mind ...". Culture."
So Victor Hugo came to Lourdes. While he was there a miraculous cure involving an incurable girl took place. Yet in the book he wrote afterwards the girl was made to die. "Why? Why did you make this girl die in your book, Monsieur Hugo, when you know she is alive today?" cried the medical authorities of Lourdes. But Victor Hugo just turned and snarled that he created the characters of his literature and he could destroy them. He was no gentleman, but at least he was an honest man.
Occult man, on the other hand, is a more obvious escapist even as he believes in a form of Open System. Better the world "beyond" or "above." Aunt Edith clings to the table top as Madame gibbers with the pathetic voice of a long dead but not forgotten child. Haul in the deus ex machina! Relieve the anguish of this "valley of tears." Weep and shake and groan at the revivalist meeting, utter languages never before heard on this earth, strain and wallow in the psyche to the point of madness, all the while making liberal tithes to one's jailors. But this is the lighter side of escape into the World Within the World.
There is the darkness of the Left Hand Path, a cultus of evil which, like some cancer, has flourished from the very shadows of man's primaeval origins. Dare we speculate that it is stronger today than ever before, that the blindness of post-medieval humanity has only cultivated a growth which, when feared and recognised, was also pruned with sword and fire? Not six miles from this city a woman writhed in demonic possession, was exorcised, and whatever, or whoever, possessed her made a direct attack on the man who performed the exorcism. Then there are houses, not merely haunted, but infested with such evil that persons and animals sensitive to the World Within dare not and cannot enter their doors. Haiti lies shrouded in the powers of Voodoo, down in Fitzroy the Maltese sacrifice a cockerel, on a midsummer afternoon middle-class English folk sip tea then rise up naked to pay homage to the ancient abomination, the Lady Ashtoreth. But there is an ultimate horror to Satanism, for when evil visibly manifests itself, singly or in legion, the voices of Hell blaspheme in impotence at the Figure of the Other One and the legions who serve Him. They recognise his reality and in anguish their followers must recognise Him also. Such is the kingdom of Hell, the kingdom of hopelessness. Enslavement is the price of all superstition from the Satanist cavern with its spluttering
corpse-fat candles, down through the pseudoEgyptian tawdriness of the Rosicrucian temple to the armchairs and tasteful wall to wall carpet of that sect which, despite its name, is neither Christian nor scientific. Its masters are slaves, the witch of Endor, Rasputin, the cheap peddlars of Eastern fatalism ever gazing at the stars, the jewelled and powdered courtiers whose presence cloys the atmosphere of the palace of Versailles to this day. We see Alfred Deakin and Conan Doyle enslaved by the seance, the wiles of charlatans or perhaps the schemes of other charlatans who never walked this earth in human form. We see the travesty of a life led by the Satanist Aliester Crowley, whose very name is said by the simple to bring misfortune. Some choose to see the paths of human glory followed by princes and dictators as the reward for some pact with darkness. So the image of Faust dances before our eyes.
If the price of superstition, rational or irrational, is enslavement and possible ruin, the reward it promises is very attractive and enticing. For occult man it is the inner knowledge, the "gnosis," only entrusted to the chosen few, to the best people. Through this inner knowledge man achieves the Power, the Power to manipulate people, natural forces and future eventuality. The promise is the same, and people write faithfully to scribe Amorc, or Ron Hubbard, or speak to the spirits, or debauch themselves before the Satanic Goat of Mendes. However, the ability to use manipulatory powers by a knowledge of deep mysteries rests on a premise identical to the assumption of the rational materialist who rejects the supernatural completely. It is a common belief in a system of laws, a determinist system which can be analysed and dissected and then used for certain temporal ends.
Now we are faced with two extremes and one compromise is tempting, the acceptance of the fact of the World Within tempered by a rigorous search for natural explanations. So the learned gentlemen of the Society for Psychical Research gather at the witching hour to sit all rugged up and fortified with thermoses of coffee (alcohol is taboo) waiting for the moment of truth. Cotton is stretched across the doorway, talcum powder dusts the floorboards, cameras stand poised and one timid, yet perhaps wise, soul fingers a small bottle of holy water hidden from the view of more empirical fellows. So dawn comes, and the sleepless empiricists soundly berate the timid soul, who, of course, slept like a door-
mouse, and proceed to examine the cotton, the talcum powder and the camera. Perhaps the camera will tell them something, perhaps not. But this approach, which is necessary for any form of investigation of uncanny events, is fraught with the danger of fleeing to the most specious naturalistic explanations for what is explicable.
Perhaps wonders like telepathy, extra-sensory perception, apparitions at the point of death, certain forms of possession and the possibility of pre-existence may be enlightened by psychological investigation. Perhaps the parapsychologist can produce the stigmata on the body of a patient, but has he explained why Teresa Neumann or Padre Pio should bear Christ's wounds on their bodies? So often the analysis of how some non-natural phenomenon occurs only clarifies the mechanics without really solving problems of situation, time, frequency and the lack of hysteria in the victim or witness involved.
However, if we favour the plausible view which places the pre-condition of our limited understanding as the decisive factor in phenomena described as "supernatural," then we could maintain the freedom which occult man has renounced. We could share his belief in the Open System, not so much a duality between matter and spirit, but a system where for the most part the distinction between nature and supernature is very blurred. Convenience leads us to think in terms of two "Worlds" because when that dimension which I prefer to call the "World Within" impinges upon our time and space we can only describe it in terms of "ghost," "spirit," "apparition" or "haunting."
When the World Within irrupts purposively into our dimensions we talk in terms of miracle. When seventy thousand people claim to have seen the Sun dance and plummet over a Portuguese hillside at a pre-arranged time in 1917, the historian winces and leaves Portugal to the Portuguese and the cheap journalist gleefully diverts us in the hairdressing saloon with lurid exaggerations or exposures of fraud. But, humbly assuming the limitation of human understanding, it may be more accurate to describe the miraculous as not necessarily contrary to nature but contrary to what we know about nature, nature here meaning the whole Universe.
But there is a final consideration which involves the problem of values. Occult man and the rational materialist share a common pride in their ability to know and manipulate every-
thing. The end of this pride is the dehumanisation of man where goodness and love have little meaning. Our rational materialist, with his Closed System of laws and determined development, is ever prone to that idealism expressed in his ideologies of super man, super race or super class. Seeking to manipulate or co-operate with his environment he sets out for the promised land and wakes up in his own totalitarian desert. On a more personal scale the enslavement of occult man has a similar dehumanised totalitarian quality.
Again I would advocate a slight erring on the side of the occult man who at least recognises good and evil as principles of nature even if he drifts into the depressing dualism of Zoroaster or the obscene horror of the black mass. For, considering that whole range of "supernatural" beings we can discern personalities of a distinct goodness or evil, angels or demons if you like, which reflect the human beings of this dimension albeit at a far more distinct pitch of perfection or degradation.
There is apparently a hierarchy of beings, ranging from the simple poltergeist force-field, through those ethereal shades of a human form (some claim there is one in Trinity) to the complex intelligences, good and evil, which men have given traditional titles and personal names. The hierarchic structure by analogy with this world suggests differing levels of intelligent cosmic life and a dynamic evolution and life struggle. But we can only speculate in darkness. One day, for every one of us, that darkness will at least change. Then, perhaps, we shall comprehend and experience the World Within and find that it far excells the wildest dreams of the children of this world.
PETER J. ELLIOTT.
THINK UPON HER STONES
I want to share with you tonight a rather unique experience. Recently I was privileged to visit a University College, not widely known here in Melbourne, situated in a remote part of our State. It is a private foundation, established some twenty years ago, along clearly prescribed lines. It goes by the name of Winston Hall: not after the late great old man and latterly unwitting benefactor of Australian youth, but after a certain pooh-bah whose character evokes an even more profound emotional response. The College motto is "Tum ti ti tum ti ti tum turn tum": some have ignorantly supposed it an obsessive reference to Man's gastric and navel-contemplating nature; but, in fact, it is a verse of dactylic tetrameter with spondaic third foot and apocopized fourth, symbolising young eagerness yielding to middle-aged quiescence terminated by senility and death: tum ti ti turn ... turn ... tum — we might translate it "life in a nutshell." The coat of arms of the College has a white bear rampant on a green field with honey bees couchant, nay dormant, amongst fleurs de lys.
The Warden of Winston Hall I met soon after my arrival. He is a gentle man, aged 48, an unmarried vegetarian fond of gardening and Greek vase-painting, especially of the proto-geometric period. He holds an Arts degree in Spanish and Middle High German from Rangoon University and an honorary doctorate from the Conquistadore Gymnasium of Buenos Aires. His staff range over all the professions— there are 24 tutors, mostly with degrees, though three or four make do with certificates personally signed by Dale Carnegie. All of them are first-rate chaps. There are ninetyseven students of both sexes, aged between seventeen and fifty-five, much the same as in this College, and they are encouraged to put their life on as broad and community-minded basis as possible. The domestic staff is headed by a woman of great stature and fortitude, Miss Adelaide Gamble. She has the title of Undertaker, even though the word has none of the unpleasant associations it has acquired in our urban society.
The College stands in eighty-five acres of pastured or timbered land, irrigated from the nearby Kanga River. Cows are to be seen and the odd bull; and a few pigs snuffle round the small enclosure specially built for them and dedicated as "Piglet's Paradise." Many
birds nest on the property, including the Eastern shrike-tit and spotted pardelot; and, of course, the beloved kookaburra, lyrebird and genuflectens (or knock-kneed) ostrich abound. The College founder, the Honorable Humphrey Hugger-Mugger, known to all as "Bug," also planted a plethora of English trees in wistful memory of his homeland from which he was in an exile part voluntary and part necessary. Gums of all shades and heights assert themselves with windswept Australian manliness between their more delicate English brethren.
The buildings of Winston Hall are splendid rough-hewn affairs, being neo-Saxon in style and thatched with plastic grass. They are furnished with attics for cultural commingling, cellars for alcoholic commingling, vast lowroofed dining halls for comestible commingling, and bedrooms, for sleeping. Toilet facilities are excellent with sauna baths, and hot and cold pools fed constantly with fresh water (or freshish, depending on how many wombats have recently drowned in the Kanga River). Lavatories are provided with literary journals, and basket and crochet-work sets, so that not a moment may be wasted.
Study is greatly encouraged at certain times of the day, and the library is well-equipped with a full set of Encyclopaedia Britannica and every Reader's Digest money-saving offer over the last ten years — except the "Music for Your Every Mood" record album which was wilfully smashed by a mad multiple-personality student only a few months ago. Herbert W. Armstrong's publications, the complete works of Mary Baker Eddy and a liberal supply of Theosophical and Catholic Truth Society tracts form an interesting juxtaposition in the library section labelled "Religious Phenomenology." Text books are secured from Formosa, being illegal lithographic offprints of the products of America's leading publishing houses. Novels and poetry are regarded as important adjuncts to all courses, and large portraits may be viewed of Ezra Pound, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Carson McCullers, John Milton, Enid Blyton, Paul Brickhill and Christina Rossetti. Directly outside the library there is a large courtyard seen to the best effect on dramatic festivals; last year O'Neill's "Desire Under the Elms" and Shakespeare's "Love's Labours Lost" were performed on the same night one after the other, and the audience was rapt not only with the production but with the authentic setting.
Eating arrangements are carefully planned to facilitate gracious living; meals are staggered
Syd's delight is no respite.
from eight in the morning and the staggering increases during the day. Breakfast is usually a light snack of paw-paw juice, brandy snaps and coffee with lemon. Lunch affords a variety of dishes, ranging from peanut butter and gherkin sandwiches through coleslaw and hardboiled ostrich egg to sweet and sour potato, veal cutlets, Danish-blue cheese with a screwdriver to wash down. Dinner is quite elaborate, lasting about an hour and a half, with hors d'oeuvres, soup, pasta, steak or fresh fish from the Kanga River (sometimes only freshish), some sweet dish, and coffee, liqueur, cheese and biscuits to follow. The juice of the local grape is served, the 1961 Gold Medal Winston Shiraz being a popular red wine for special meals. Students and staff dine Roman style in shifts on couches. For great festivals, such as Founder's Day, the meals are spiced with toasts, to our Sovereign Lady (the Queen), to the welfare of Winston Hall and to the memory of A. A. Milne and the Hon. Humphrey. The Warden, dressed in bardic robes, gives a recitation of his poem, the "Saga of HuggerMugger," accompanied by a Jew's harp, and a minute's silence is observed at the end.
Before discussing the more spiritual values of the College, I want to advert briefly to two more important facets of its community life. Firstly, sport and bodily exercise. Physical incompetence is treated as nothing less than sinful and remedial courses of muscle-building
and reflex co-ordination are offered to chaps whose sporting prowess is so deep-seated in their make-up as to be initially invisible. Work round the property — ploughing, milking, fencing, tree-pruning and harvesting is taken with as much good humour as the compulsory cold baths. Cricket, rugger, soccer, Australian Rules, basketball, hockey, polo, tennis, swimming, all have their place in the curriculum. Indoor sports, such as billiards and cards, are also popular. The girl students provide ardent moral support, knit sports jumpers and wash and iron shirts for the menfolk. To compensate for the lack of male numbers, a few of them venture on to the field, especially for hockey, tennis and polo, but always tentatively and with due modesty of dress and bearing. Winston Hall also emphasises military service. Parades are held every day at 7 a.m. for an hour's healthy P.T. and drill, and instruction is given in the use of the .303, mortar, Bren gun, Owen, Morse code, signalling, tank and infantry manoeuvres and all other necessary preparation for modern warfare and the mercy killing of misguided aggressors. The girls are called in here as well, to play in the band, to provide heroic admiration, to clean uniforms and to cook for bivouacs and other meaningful military exercises.
The cultural life of the College is manysided. Medieval music is in great vogue, and
J.C.H. TENNIS TEAM
Helen Vogel, Elizabeth Arnold, Robin Bromwich, Margaret Lush.
J.C.H. SQUASH TEAM
Back Row: Peta Haydon, Robin Mason, Jane Marwick. In Front: Robin Bromwich.
J.C.H. BASKETBALL TEAM
Back Row: Margaret Cumpston, Peta Haydon, Jane Marwick. Front Row: Joan Foley, Jenni Daniels, Suzanne Tonkin. Absent: Jill Sitlington.
J.C.H. HOCKEY TEAM
Back Row: Christine Cowan, Katharine Patrick, Margaret Cumpston, Margaret Charles, Jane Marwick, Kate Jackson. Front Row: Margaret Drysdale, Amanda Drummond, Peta Haydon, Rosemary Hammond. Absent: Elizabeth Parker.
for three hours each weekend the corridors resound with the toot, whistle, plunk and boom of sackbuts, hautbois, tambours, serpents, psalteries, portative organs, lutes, and viols, not to mention the favourite recorder. Later this year a recital of Chaucer will be given in costume, together with dancing and minstrelsy, and a morality play to jolly the programme along. Modern ethnic music of the Rolling Stones and Animals variety is severely frowned upon and students with transistors are required to insert band-selector devices in them so that certain wavelengths may be eternally precluded, notably 930. Painting and sculpture are fostered, often in conjunction, and a successful exhibition of colourful busts was held in May, 1964. Creative writing is set at a premium, and last year's competition for the best poem was won by an entry in elegiac couplets beginning: "Turn ti ti turn ti ti turn, turn turn ti ti turn ti ti turn ti, Tum turn turn turn turn, turn ti ti turn ti ti turn" — it turned out to be a brilliant set of enigmatic variations on the College motto and was received with a standing ovation when first read out in public.
I have already indicated that members of Winston Hall have an enlightened attitude totowards alcohol. In matters of sex, students are encouraged to express themselves in properly channelled and natural ways. A little heterosexual lasciviousness in the cowshed hay bales is not thought amiss, though any form of excess or deviation would receive proper condemnation and disciplinary punishment from a tearful Warden. The College has an active political discussion group which meets once a week to explore fully its partnership with our Prime Minister in making this country a happy and prosperous place. Radicalism of any form is treated with the scorn it deserves and political enthusiasm is always controlled and directed by the knowledge that lengthy tenure of office in government is a healthy sign that the people are basically serene and contented.
Religion-wise great freedom is allowed. Most find the full life of Winston Hall sufficient by itself to have no need of the psychological stop-gap provided by Christianity. Signs are placed at strategic points round the property reminding nature-worshipping students as they stroll by of various vital truths: "Know thyself," "True peace is found round this bush," "Moderation in all things," "God is what you think He is," and so on. Surprisingly there has been an upsurge of interest in Eastern religions and one of the tutors is at this minute writing
a book he plans to call "Honest to Buddha" with appendicies on "How to avoid Confucianism" and "Gautama and the underground of our being" or "Our man in Nirvana."
Winston Hall is, in fact, a place we should all be proud of. Not only is it polymathic in its devotion to so many forms of learning, it synthesises in its inmates a serenity and inner strength which will keep them unruffled in any crisis the world may suffer. It is not surprising that, to the students of the College, their spiritual home is no impersonal "it," but a gracious and lovely mother figure. Some have even added an "e" to the end of "Hall" in an effort to impart linguistic gender to their love. The contemplation of such catholic and maternal influence in an educational institution prompts me to close with the words of one of the College's own poets written to reassert the truth after two students had wickedly impugned the virtue of their alma mater:
It is wrong and cruel to see in Lady Winston a bag of old dry bones.
Come lads and lasses, take courage, observe her figure, yea, think upon her stones. Does she not seem a high-class matron, no Smith or Bloggs or Jones?—
Then sound her praise by trumpet, bugle— and trunk-line telephones.
JIM MINCHIN.
THE NEW WORLD
When we were young
We always carried The pleasing consciousness
That we were the new world; That we would control The latter half Of the twentieth century.
But now that we are old And we have the new world, We hold it in our hands And spin it—
We fain would keep our tyrant's grasp, but fear The curses of our children Will lash it from our hands.
CLARE HOWARTH.
AS HE DREW NEAR TO THE HOUSE HE HEARD MUSIC AND DANCING
Anyone who has had any stage experience will doubtless have encountered after a performance that intrepid backstage visitor who gaily chirrups, "You were excellent, my dear, but just exactly what were you meant to be?" Apart from the revelation that your acting has not been crystal clear to them, there is frequently an echo sounding in your own heart as you wonder yourself just exactly what the author was getting at.
This situation, or something akin to it, has been fired at me over the past few months after every recital in the College Chapel. Whether the remarks are derogatory or appreciative, they are very often concluded with the question, "What exactly are you trying to do?" And as above I ask myself the same question, "Just exactly what am I getting at?"
The obvious and initial answer I hope comes from the titles of the programmes, which claim that certain facts and beliefs of the Christian faith are being interpreted in words, music and movement. I apologise for the clumsiness of these titles, but an alternative has eluded me and my associates. Recital, programme, etc., all sound a little forbidding, and conjure up unfortunate visions of draughty halls, dingy brown curtains, potted palms and a list of items either so small that you wonder what you are going to do with the rest of the evening, or so long that you wonder when you can decently and quietly escape.
There is, I am sure, a pressing need for a theological re-adjustment towards art. We are the inheritors of a tradition of misunderstanding and intolerance, where several forms of art (such as drama and the dance) were almost totally excluded from the church, and where other art forms have been used mainly for embellishment purposes or for their teaching value. And this attitude is still virulent today. Paintings chosen solely for their "pious effect" or even worse to obscure a bit of bad wall plaster; music used purely as accompaniment and now and then solo, to create a pious mood, or to cover up entrances and exits; a short play (usually by the dear kiddies in sheets and bath towels) to help illustrate a sermon; a short dance — heavens no, except in those rather advanced places like Trinity College Chapel, and even there, not yet in the context of the liturgy.
Against this attitude is the view that art has an inherent theology. It is necessary both to the expression of the kerygma and the interpretation of it. The demythologizing age in which we are living can present several dangers, some of which, affecting our theological thinking, affect also our attitudes towards art. Current theology quite rightly questions the outer framework in which the message of God's saving activity is enshrined, and strips away what is judged to be inessential, to leave us with the inner kernel of truth. But to make this kernel intelligible it is necessary to reclothe it and re-express it. Pure and simple truth is meaningless to people, unless it is made significant in terms of their life and experience. As that nineteenth century prophet Oscar Wilde quipped, "The truth is never pure and rarely simple." It is not the slightest use telling people that God is the ground of all being, unless they are given some indication of what that being is and what is their part in it. For example, it is no use reducing a parable such as the Good Samaritan to a kernel of truth and saying, "There, the essential thing is that God is pure love." The "myth" of the Good Samaritan has been used to tell us the really essential thing, what kind of love God is. Re-tell it how we will, we are always going to end up with a story or myth suspiciously like the original version.
In our endeavour to make the truth meaningful we always start with the example of our Lord. The whole incarnate life of Christ— His miracles, His acts of power and healing, His teaching, His death and resurrection — all were a sacramental means of manifesting the real truth of God's creation. In this sense he himself was the greatest art form the world has ever known. From the Incarnate the Christian artist must draw every justification for what he attempts to do.
Truth and its expression were integrated here in the Incarnate life as never possible for other men, but the early Christians lived their lives and proclaimed His gospel as fully as possible in the footsteps of Christ. And to do so, from the very beginning, with ancient symbols like the fish and the cross, in every sermon they preached, they used art, no matter how elementary in form. Above all, there was the unique symbolic action of the Eucharistic meal, recounting in words and action, in significant sight and sound, the saving acts of the mighty God, culminating in the person and life of Jesus of Nazareth. The early church was not
so much concerned about art overtly, they simply used it. They had to in order to preach and live the saving message that Christ had entrusted to them. In the New Testament times, when the imminent Parousia dominated their thought, no great consideration was given to any theory of art or its significance theologically, as indeed to many another feature of society. There is neither space nor time to recount the controversies that surrounded the attitude of the early Christian Church towards the arts. They are largely concerned with representational art, and largely an historic situation which no longer concerns us. What some of the early Fathers wrote concering this problem is not only irrelevant to our times but also inaccurate, in the light of the Holy Spirit's guidance of the Church in later ages. If there is no precise instruction in the New Testament concerning art, neither is there any injunction against it.
Our encounter with human beings is mainly in terms of their personalities, yet I think it is true to say that we never talk or think about their personalities, without also the experience of the physical person that embodies that personality. In the same way there is an integral connection between the message of God's saving acts, and the means we use to express them and interpret them. It could be very interesting to trace fully this relationship between the various arts and the doctrines they express. For example, with architecture. No one suggests that it is the actual church building that is the Church, but without some such visible focus of assembly, how effectively would the doctrine of the corporate nature of the Church be expressed and maintained? It is well within New Testament times that one particular house is selected and used for the assembling of the mystical body of Christ.
The Incarnation has enabled all the activity which we humans pursue to be at least possible of sanctification, even if on first sight it might be difficult to see just how this is to be done. There is still a great problem to be faced, in that this fact needs to be proved to many a congregation, for hostility and misunderstanding are very real objects. It is not so many years since in this diocese (and elsewhere throughout Australia) the performance of Christopher Fry's "Sleep of Prisoners" was banned from presentation in Anglican churches. Nor so many years ago a prominent Melbourne organist dared to state that he owed more to J. S. Bach for his Christian faith
'Tis their freedom to choose 'Twixt booze and pews.
than to any sermon he had ever heard preached. In doing so he raised a storm from many angry Melbourne clerics, most of whom seemed to suggest that the man was telling lies. Cleric as well as layman must face the fact that God does speak directly to and through the artist, who in this sense may well be the prophetic successor.
It is imperative that neither should the Church isolate the artist, nor the artist isolate himself. But in regard to the latter, there are many artists of all kinds in recent times who have found the fullest expression of their art in the Christian faith, and this in spite of their professed atheism and agnosticism. It is this "great gulf fixed" that is primarily the responsibility of the Church to bridge. So far, many artists have found tragically little response or understanding from the Church.
There always have been and, indeed, still are, considerable problems attending any artistic expression in terms of the Christian faith. First there is the tension to be worked out be-
tween art as a creational activity of man, and art as he exercises it in the light of the Incarnation. Secondly, the Incarnation brings an entirely new element into art in its divine implications. For in this act God has declared Himself to mankind in the form of man. The third problem is the lack of stress on the Trinitarian activity concerning art. Far too many writers speak of the "spirit-inspired artist", meaning that it is an activity purely of the Holy Spirit, as though the Father and the Son were entirely absent from the process.
The arts that have been employed in these recitals are those of the performing arts — the drama, music and the dance. Though limited in scope, these art forms are peculiarly related to the human observer, for the human personality is immediately involved in execution of the art. A painter, a writer, etc., may be able to withhold certain facets of his personality or character from his work, but a musician, an actor or a dancer must use his human frame to express his art. In all these art forms human weakness is always an incalculable risk, but at the same time a curious bond of affinity with the audience.
In the Church I believe that these art forms in particular can have a direct and profound influence on our forms of worship. Now I must confess that I have only a slight glimmer, though music is more obvious than the other two. Much of our public worship is dull, uninspired and uninspiring, joyless and restrictive, and strangely at variance with that glory and exaltation we so often shriek about in some hymn or other. Worship should be entertaining. Not in any subjective way of pandering to the emotions but in an objective stirring of both the senses and the mind. Much the same way that masters of mental prayer urge us to develop our spiritual lives, we should offer what we enjoy and enjoy that offering. Too frequently our offering in worship is like that piece of mind we intend to give to our enemy, always a fairly nasty piece that we don't want ourselves.
We have tried in these recitals to use the best material available in the best possible way. Of course we have failed, both by the faults of our endeavours and the circumstances in which we have to work. The budget is not even so dignified as to deserve the name of "shoestring", and this has hampered, for example, the artists engaged, the commissioning of new works, or the variety of music that could have been used. But we have attempted
to present these programmes as professionally as possible. And this I believe is a further need for the Church. I hope that every artist is an amateur in the sense of possessing a sacrificial love for what he is about, but whether he is paid or not for his work, I hope that all are professionals. The Church is riddled with damnable unprofessionalism on every plane, and if anything eventuates from these recitals it must be fully professional in the sense of dedication and labour, devoted to the perfecting of one's chosen artistic expression. This pursuit of perfection does not destroy spontaneity, rather does it enable it to function. Unprofessionalism produces merely an unedifying and distracting muddle, and is subjectivism at its worst and most selfish level. "Fooling about" with any art form for one's own private pleasure should be restricted to private exhibition. In public it merely irritates and bores.
This, then, is something of what these recitals have been aiming at. To express and interpret immediately the truth that God has given us in his mighty work of creation and salvation, to assist in the rousing of the whole man to worship anew, and to try in its small way to bridge the gap between the artist and the Church.
I hope that I have not set art in isolation from the total scheme of redemption, nor that I have suggested for one moment that the Creating and Redeeming God is wholly expressed or contained within its forms. Rather it is written in the light of this prayer from Ecclesiasticus: "Almighty God, whose works are great beyond our understanding, and thou greater than all thy works: Look in mercy upon us, as we endeavour to praise thee, whom no man is able worthily to praise; for thy loving kindness' sake."
ALBERT McPHERSON.
IN THIS CITY
Clocks suspended in the sky— I was suddenly revolted; How we have overgrown ourselves, How we have shut away our sky.
BLUE
These damn psychologists, they always wanted to pry into one's mind, to find one's hidden depths. She considered the question a moment — blue: what was it? what did it mean? It was sitting there, staring her in the face, pounding into her brain. And they called this psychology a science! Now what was the right answer to give — what would show how sane and sensible, what a practical person, and, in fact, what a genius she was? Blue for her would be bruises — big, ugly splashes across the pale and knobbly knees of winter hockey. Usually there was a lump underneath, and as the days waned, so the lump vanished, while the great blue haze slowly developed into an angry mauve flush and then faded mysteriously into the mist of a dim oblivion. Was that blue? No, obviously not — theirs would not be as pure as that. He seized her violently by the wrists and threw her on to the bed, and slowly, oh, so slowly, his hands and body crushed her with ever-increasing force. — Yes, that was their blue: the colour of bruises gained in an angry scene — with always the sexual element present. "Blue is a colour" — she stopped. With this devastating statement amazement was beginning to grow. "Blue is a colour, appearing on the spectrum between violet and green, its position being 440-500 milli-microns. It appears that only the electroretinographic approach is sensitive enough to show that man possesses blue-sensitive photopigments, one or several."
What else could she remember of her physics? However, that was a start. The scientific exactitude of her statements pleased her. Now how would he take that? Blue, of course, was
the old sheep dog, who would reluctantly cringe and place his tail between his legs when called. With his ears flat along the top of his head, eyes winking, and tail waving gaily from side to side between his crouched legs, he would gratefully endure any petting, while yet gazing wistfully at the milling sheep. But yet, blue could not be Blue, who had been an old dog who had developed a liking for eggs. No, Blue was dead. A smile drifted across her face. Blue was the grey old horse, the faithful Whinny on whom she had learnt to ride. Blue was the hazy mountain range, the silent and majestic fold after fold of slopes which even now plagued and perplexed her dreams. — He was looking puzzled. "Finally, as well as being a particular wave length, blue is the colour perceived by the eye; the sensation; emotions arising from and being given expression to under this title — no looking at cobalt blue, cobalt was the name originally given to the mineral producing a blue colour in glass. You know?"
Perhaps "blue" was supposed to represent her family. "When did you last see your father?" the stern but yet unyielding inquisitor asked the small boy who proudly stood, with hands behind his back, while his sister wept silently into her handkerchief. My mother's eyes are blue, but mine are brown. My father's eyes are brown. Therefore, it is probable that the genes for my eye colour are not pure but big B, little b. Brown eyes are dominant over blue eyes. I know a boy with blue eyes — so if I mated with him, would my children have blue or brown eyes? Or would they have one of each — or green eyes — or grey eyes? Calculate the possibility that of ten children resulting from this union, six would have two brown eyes, two would possess two blue eyes, one would have one of each (as a hybrid) and one would have none at all . Or, on the other hand . . . But, no: the interesting experimental demonstration of this would take too long. Mould I mention the aforementioned, or shall I continue with my scientific exposition of my theory that: (1) blue does exist — a fact capable of being proved by scientific observation, and (2) blue is a colour? Now, if these two hyoptheses are supported by sufficient weight of experimentally gained data —in that case, and only in that case, can I continue to tell this damn idiot what blue is. Perhaps I shall take these two hypotheses to have been sufficiently supported? Yes, I shall. In this case, will I continue with my family?
No. That would be a dangerous policy. It would show that I am alienated from this society — this society being alienated from each other — which I would not be if I evinced a close relationship with my family. Hence— that way folly, or is it madness, lies.
Meanwhile, there was a shuffling noise in the room. — She was in a room, wasn't she? Oh God, who could prove to her where she was, who she was, and that she both was and would be? Perhaps he was getting impatient. Quick, what was a further comment for her to make on this topic, this so-fascinating topic of "blue." Wait — she had been narrow in her outlook. The spoken word is a deceiver. He had said blue (or was it blew). Oh God, it was confirmed. She was a narrowminded, selfish, self-centred, ugly, self-perpetuating, vain, inglorious, humane, pompous, critical, adorable, sadistic and unthinking bitch. She was just like the rest of society. The revelation now struck her with all its
mighty force — she relied primarily on her visual sense and not her auditory sense. Blue was, of course, blew, not blue. She shivered. The rain was teeming down in drenching torrents, soaking the parched land with a muchneeded hundred points.
She answered his question, or rather, posed the poor fool another one. "I believe, sir, I may have had the audacity to misinterpret your question. Sir, up till this moment I have entertained a visual interpretation of the word blue. But now, sir, I believe I can answer you in yet another form. BLU is the past participle of the verb to blow: and taken in this sense, I interpret blue audially, i.e., the wind blew."
The wind was wailing round the house, rattling all the windows, while the wire door, whose catch had broken, banged monstrously
and frighteningly. Her every sense tingled. Oh, how the wind blew and blew and blew. It seemed as if her very body was being torn apart. She rocked in motion to the ebb and flow of the gale, looking around her the whole while. She was restless. The four walls seemed to be restraining her and locking her in. Why was it that she gained this impression? What was it that was threatening about this room? She regarded her environment carefully, her eyes slowly scanning every wall and peering into every corner. A sudden chill quivered through her body. What was it that was both attracting and repelling in this room? Suddenly she realised. It was the remembrances, the resurging glimpses she was having of her childhood. — They were all staring at her, laughing among themselves. She was the solitary spindly figure in the long, much too long, dowdy blue dress which her mother had made for her. They had taunted her — Teacher's pet, teacher's pet. You hate Di . . anne. You hate Di.. anne. We hate you .. u. We hate you . . u. How cruel they were, how terribly cruel. For weeks — though in her childish imagination it had been years — she was ostracised, cut off from all communication. While the others had run joyfully out gaily chatting into the bright sunny days, she had walked slowly home, aloof, withdrawn, a pathetic figure in that long, shapeless blue dress. Thus she had acquired the name of Blue, until, like the dog, she had come slowly back to the companionship of "friends," her head bent. But still the name remained — still the word blue. Blue had echoed round her, tormenting her dreams at night, until finally she diminished and erased the incident from her memory. Suddenly she laughed — and the hollow reverberation in the still room had eerie chill for the silent listener. She laughed again. It was ridiculous — her forgetfulness of the childish terrors which the sound of the word blue had held for her would no doubt be termed repression by this so distinguished and learned observer. But never mind — she knew better.
She knew what blue meant. Oh, how crazy it all was. She laughed freely and naturally now. What is blue — she neatly completed the deception: "Blue, as defined by the Concise Oxford Dictionary, is `of the colour between green and violet in the spectrum, coloured like the sky or deep sea; also of things much paler, darker, etc.' "
PETA A. HAYDON.
POEM
There is that road of harshest stone
Bending deep with winding. There is my heart that seeks a home
For the peace in closeness binding. Walk on, for solitude painfully sorrows
When the heart is fled so far, And the joy of warmest morrows
Cruelly distant are.
Time, O time in search is fled
Over mountain ridge; Was I born among the dead
That no love can bridge?
What man has all these years become thee? Engulfed thee?
Like the mariner over mountains sought thy love in restless weave, Drawing lonely threads by tears slipping silently
Into darkness: whose abyss forbids us grieve. Must blow the wind, must rain and fire, Spill thy toil, ravage, sustaining full desire. Wake, wake, piercing shaft of coaled-hot iron: Fill, drench, destroy — then swallow And retire, perverse but good
Duty-bound and duty-given
With no will of ought but should:
Meagre man with spirit shriven
Must find his love in shadowed hollow, To live through a vision and life's strivings span;
Then each one, each soul, is whole, a man.
When the finished fight is won, Follows another just begun
To be cruel and kill the humble
Clothed in the exhausted bundle, Trapped, entombed, forever dying, Though still living, though still trying. Now that ladder hidden o'er me
Stretching out and high before me
Not cruel it was though should be, could be,
For I had not reached it. When that vision my eyes sighted Then on rungs my feet were plighted, Upwards climbing my fingers sought Freed to soar as a bird once caught Expectant of a goal painfully brought; I slipped again, was flung, unable to support My tortured frame in agonising sport: Until on rock myself I found, On the earth, on the ground, On the stretched road that wound Onwards, challenging to contain Forgetfully my feet of shredded pain, And continue there, Continue endlessly nowhere.
IN PERILS OF THE AIR; OR, WHAT TO DO WITH THE FLIGHT LOG
There was a time when to fly was hazardous. In those far-off days, country towns were visited by daredevils in Tiger Moths, when the dread high priests of the D.C.A. were not. For thirty pieces of silver you could be strapped into an open cockpit, take off across an open paddock, and then, if you were sufficiently proof against vertigo, you could view the landscape from a thousand feet or so. What a revelation!
Those, as I said, were the days when a passing aeroplane brought us all to an upwardgaping standstill. Yes, my dears, it was so. Did we think of aeroplanes as mere carriers of the citizenry from point to point in huge comfort and negligible expense? No. Aeroplanes were things you got lost in while doing something heroic. They transformed the commonplace, for thirty shillings.
Such a past! But how things have changed. Plus ca change, I hear you cry, but I deny it. From the beginning of your trip you are surrounded by all things contemporary. We have no legacy of Gothic Revival air terminals to mar the scene, no aged and grumpy officials in watch chains and waistcoats, no grubby trolleys. In all around one sees well-tailored youth with smiles and a touch of silver at the temples, elaborately groomed, the helpful announcements and the dulcet tones, and in the cabin, the reassuring strains of light music.
JAMES DARLING.
The take-off is effortless, though a leetle more violent than one might have wished. But soon one soars, relaxed in Himalayan heights "We hope you will enjoy your flight ..." Indeed, thank you, how could one fail? . . "If you need anything, just press the hostess call button" ... How simple. If all the problems of the world could thus be solved— just press the button and in a flash an elegant, high-class girl with mannequin manners is at your side. But what could one need, at such a height, in a wonderland of clouds, such bounty, such a riot of nature, such . but what is this? Ah, the Flight Log. So! Captain X presides over this scientific miracle of travel, ably assisted by Flight-Officer Y and Flight-Engineer Z. How reassuring. Two can die mysteriously and we shall still descend. And then four charming ladies — Miss A, Miss B, Miss C, Miss D. Who could choose between them, with their pleasing smiles, their skilful handling of the trays, their steady step in moments of turbulence? And see, we go at 400 miles an hour, with Canberra on the starboard side, assisted by a kindly breeze behind. And when we arrive, the day is fine and clear. How excellent! Lack we anything, we discriminating travellers who intelligently imbibe the details of the voyage? And now I must pass it on. It says so, unless you require a copy for yourself. But no — this would brand you as a novice so I must pass it on.
Upon whom shall I bestow this precious brief? My neighbour? Alas, he is asleep, profoundly so, with lips vibrating — up to Sydney to clinch a merger, poor, tired tycoon, dreaming of those glinting eyes around the conference table . . . The lady further over. But there! She gazes pensively into a paper bag. She seems unwell, and indeed she is. One makes reconnaissance. Ah, here is a lady in a wedding hat, a wisp of taffeta and a token veil. But see, she stares and stares through the porthole out into the wilderness of cloud. She goes to a wedding, but not her own; and now she draws a handkerchief from her reticule. I do not think she will be helped by the Flight Log, the altitude, the weather and the charming staff. "Sir? O, excuse me." Obviously foreign, Japanese perhaps, though very polite, as is their wont. Now here is a gentleman quite evidently awake, but tch! he is a clergyman immersed obtrusively in prayer, his mouth is busy and the book well-thumbed. The next seat is vacant, and the next? An elderly madam. "Madam?" But no. Her
spectacles, it seems, are still in Camberwell, an awkwkard fact which came about like this ... The Flight Log dies in my hands. By now most of it is quite untrue. O my companions of the way! O brethren of the upper air, you will never know. Here I temporise, caught in the toils of respect for age and sex.... "And so I said to Phyllis, my eldest girl, married now with three bonny kiddies, five, three and one, quite nicely spaced, I said to her ..." Quick, Madam, quick! Was zu tun? Que faire? "Fasten seat belts."
B.R.M.
FIAT
In legend
Primal taint by woman came. In truth is legend turned, fulfilled as woman created free from taint in freedom bends her will, her perfect will responding to the Perfect; and, as some glazed pane, lets shine a light that falls in whispering colour dappled as the dove's wings. So shines this light, yet more, for as the pane gives of its self refractions bright with living colour rippling rich and real so that this final beam, part light of origin, part glow of glass, yet equal each in hypostasis shines, thus Mary gives her God a Body-Soulour trembling nature, human, perfect, whole.
PETER J. ELLIOTT.
VALRI AND SA VFTE
VALETE 1964:
N. J. Alexander, J. H. H. Brookes, A. Clark, D. J. H. Cockayne, J. A. Colebatch, J. G. Down, J. T. Downing, P. F. Druce, C. R. Dunstone, J. W. Faulkner, R. W. Fletcher, P. B. Greenberg, J. A. Gyles, R. C. Haddon, W. E. S. Hasker, G. A. Heath, D. F. Hedger, I. J. P. Henderson, P. E. Hooper, I. R. Hopkins, P. J. Hunting, M. L. Ingpen, F. C. Jackson, L. Lyman Jones, C. S. Keon-Cohen, M. R. Lane, J. A. Langlands, J. Hinton Lowe, A. M. Mackinnon, I. G. Manning, R. E. Mather, W. S. Matheson, T. B. Minchin, J. B. Mitchell, A. G. Newman-Morris, R. M. O'Shea, M. W. Pearce, J. L. Pettit, R. D. Pratt, V. S. Ramsden, G. C. Rennie, C. J. S. Renwick, A. G. Richards, G. D. Richards, G. H. Ripper, G. G. Saba, M. C. I. Salvaris, J. Schubert, C. Selby-Smith, G. R. Shellam, S. B. Spittle, G. R. Styles, R. H. Treweeke, W. G. Wakefield, E. J. White, J. R. E. Wilson, H. McM. Wright, A. L. Yunken.
JCH VALETE 1964:
Jusmaliani Affandie, Anne Anderson, Sally Anderson, Veronica Babbage, Margaret Bone, Mary Brooksbank, Jennifer Brown, Julianne Browning, Lexia Bryant, Jocelyn Clarke, Pamela Clyne, Colette Cock, Caroline Connell, Carol Crane, Alexandra Currie, Caroline Cust, Jacqueline Dart, Penelope Derham, Angela Ewing, Catherine Fitts, Helen Ford, Patricia Fullerton, Jennifer Gibbs, Irene Graham, Kathleen Grattan, Jill Gutteridge, Judith Hampshire, Robyn Haslem, Sandra Hill, Anne Hopkins, Helena Hughes, Megan John, Susan King, Nancy Lewis, Ann Littleton, Sally Madsen, Geraldine Morris, Helen Morris, Heather Muir, Elizabeth Newton, Pamela Oddie, Gretel Pinniger, Susanna Richards, Joanna Rintoul, Dianne Robbie, Valerie Robbins, Anne Roberts, Joan Rowlands, Margot Sanguinetti, Anne Sedgely, Margaret Slattery, Merran Smith, Beverley Keys Smith, Winifred Stokie, Jean Trainor, Lucille Voullaire, Rhyl Wade, Savitri Wahjudi, Judith Whitworth, Ann Wookey.
TRINITY SALVETE 1965:
A. O. a'Beckett, G. W. Ainsworth, J. R. Bain, B. N. L. Benson, G. J. Betley, A. P. Blakey, G. V. Brown, T. F. Brown, D. C. Cowan, A. F. Cox, J. A. Darling, D. A. Ellerman, P. S. Everist, J. F. Forbes, J. R. Fullerton, T. W. Griffiths, I. J. Gude, M. T. Hamerston, R. W. Harper, P. W. Haskett, C. J. Hazzard, J. F. Henry, A. J. Higgs, A. D. Holmes, D. T. S. Hornsby, S. E. Howard, J. D. Isaac, R. S. Kemelfield, C. M. Kemp, G. M. Knight, C. P. Lang, G. D. Liddell, A. J. McIntyre, R. J. MacKenzie, R. J. MacKie, R. C. Macaw, O. Mace, B. J. Matthews, D. S. Meakin, J. J. S. Madin, C. B. W. Mitchell, I. C. Mitchell, C. L. Monie, G. Myers, R. J. Murray, P. S. Osmond, B. A. Owen, D. A. Owen, J. F. Patrick, M. Pruden, I. J. Raymond, J. J. Renwick, H. G. Richards, W. D. L. Sear, P. B. Seddon, T. I. Sedgwick, G. P. Simon, M. J. Standish, B. R. Sterling, W. D. Strugnell, W. T. L. Taylor, L. J. J. Van Eckelen, S. S. Viravadya, R. K. Watson, G. R. Wiese, B. W. C. Wilson, D. C. Withington, G. R. Worby.
TRINITY SALVE REDUX 1965: A. Clark.
J.C.H. SALVETE 1965: Penelope Baker, Jane Barnaby, Ann Brewer, Robin Bromwich, Margaret Charles, Claire Coates, Anne Dalrymple, Mary Day, Elizabeth Eaton, Joan Foley, Catherine Forsyth, Gan Sit Sang, Helen Goldsmith, Jacqueline Gurner, Rosemary Hammond, Helen Hartley, Elizabeth Herington, Janet Hose, Katherine Howells, Kate Jackson, Margaret Jones, Marie Kemp, Janet Knewstub, Patricia Lamb, Susan Lefroy, Janet Lobban, Marian Lobban, Margaret Lowing, Katherine Lubbe, Elizabeth Maddison, Jane Marwick, Jan McGuinness, Janet Mackenzie, Janet Murray, Diane Sampey, Janet Sells, Jill Sitlington, Bronte Stuart-Smith, Jane Stoney, Judith Synnot, Maria Threlkeld, Ann Thwaites, Suzanne Tonkin, Margaret Vickers, Helen Vogel, Deborah Williams.
SALVETE REDUCES:
Gerd Aagren, Ann Callow, Elaine Counsell, Barbara Dunbar.
ACADEMIC DISTINCTIONS
UNIVERSITY AND OTHER DISTINCTIONS:
ANDERSON, Anne M. — Nell Morris Scholarship in Second Year Architecture.
ARCHIBALD, A. C. — One-third share in Wright Prize in Legal History.
ARNOLD, M. Elizabeth — Douglas Howard Exhibition in Latin, Part II.
COCK, Colette G. — Dwight Final Examination Prize in the School of Geography.
DAVIS, J. M. — J. F. W. Payne Exhibition in Biology, Part I.
FEIGLIN, D. H. I. — T. F. Ryan Prize in Anatomy.
GARDENER, J. E. — Research Grant in Physics.
HEATH, G. A. — James Cuming Memorial (Minor) Scholarship in Chemistry, Part III. Research Grant in Chemistry.
HONE, G. W. — Half-share in J. R. Maguire Exhibition in Criminal Law.
JACKSON, F. C. — Hastie Exhibition in Philosophy, Part I.
LARKINS, R. G. — Walter and Eliza Exhibition in Pathology. Ramsay Prize in Microbiology and Epidemiology.
McRAE, Barbara Le C. — Organ Society Organ Prize.
MUECKE, Frances J. — John Grice Exhibition in Latin, Part I.
PELLING, Margaret — Exhibition in History and Philosophy of Science, Part II.
PRENTICE, A. J. R. — Dixson Scholarship in Physics, Part III. Wyselaskie Scholarship in Natural Science. Research Grant in Physics.
PURSER, Judith A. Exhibition in Dutch, Part II.
READ, Julia B. — Georgina Sweet Exhibition in Zoology, Part II.
SELBY SMITH, C. — Half-share in Dwight's Prize in Final Examination, School of Economics. Rhodes Scholarship.
STEVENS, C. H. D. — Nell Morris Scholarship in Architecture.
WATSON, R. K. — John MacFarland Exhibition in Pure Mathematics, Part I. Half-share in Dixson Scholarship in Applied Mathematics, Part I.
WOODRUFF, D. S. — Exhibition in Zoology, Part III. Research Grant in Zoology. Eight members of Trinity headed the class lists in subjects for which no award is made.
FIRST CLASS HONOURS 1964:
ADEY, K. R. — Physics (Med.).
ARCHIBALD, A. C. — Economics A; Introduction to Legal Method; Legal History.
ARNOLD, M. Elizabeth — Latin II; French II.
BAKER, Penelope D. — English Language II.
BLAMEY, T. E. — Chemistry IA; Physics IB.
BROWNING, Julianne I. — Chief Practical Study IV.
BUICK, T. D. — Biology (Vet.).
CARNLEY, P. F. — Ancient History II; General History IIIC.
COCK, Colette G. — Geography IV.
COCKAYNE, D. J. H. — M.Sc., First Year.
COLE, D. P. — Mercantile Law.
COLEBATCH, H. K. — International Relations A. CONNELL, R. W. — Psychology IIIA; General History IIIB.
COWAN, W. D. T. — Dynamics of Machines II.
CRESWELL, C. C. — Mercantile Law.
DAVIS, J. M. — Biology I.
ELLIOTT, P. J. — General History II.
ELLIS, L. B. — Dynamics of Machines III.
EVANS, O. M. Statistical Techniques.
FEIGLIN, D. H. I. — Physiology; Biochemistry.
FORBES, G. K. — Applied Mathematics I; Physics IA.
GEORGEFF, M. P. — Chemistry (Eng.); Engineering Mathematics I; Physics (Eng.).
GERRAND, P. H. — Engineering Mathematics II.
GREENBERG, P. E. — Microbiology and Epidemiology; Pathology.
GREGSON, A. K. — Chemistry IA.
HASKER, T. — Chemistry (Med.); Physics (Med.).
HEATH, G. A. — Chemistry IIIA.
HIGGS, Kerryn A. — Modern History A; English Literature and Language I.
HONE, G. W. — Criminal Law and Procedure.
JACKSON, F. C. — Modern Philosophy A; Finals in Philosophy.
KING, D. J. E. — Engineering Mathematics I.
LANGMAN, I. R. — Ancient History I.
LARKINS, R. J. — Microbiology and Epidemiology; Pathology.
LOWY, D. M. — Chemistry IB; Physics IA.
McRAE, Barbara — Music B.
MILLER, A. D. — Psychology I.
MINCHIN, J. B. — Greek III.
MUECKE, Frances — Latin I; Greek I.
PATRICK, Katharine A. — English Language and Literature I; General History I; General History II.
PELLING, Margaret — History and Philosophy of Science II.
PRENTICE, A. J. R. — Physics III; Applied Mathe- matics III.
PURSER, Judith A. — German II; Dutch II.
READ, Julia B. — Zoology II; Chemistry IIB.
REDFERN, M. J. — Industrial Law.
SELBY-SMITH, C. — Economics IV; History of Economic Theory.
SMITH, A. W. — Statistical Method.
TELFORD, A. B. — Chemistry (Dent.).
WATSON, R. K. — Applied Mathematics I; Physics IA; Pure Mathematics I.
WILSON, J. W. — Economics A.
SECOND CLASS HONOURS 1964:
ABBOTT, W. L. — Ancient History I; British History.
ADEY, K. R. — Biology; Chemistry (Med.).
ANDERSON, Anne M. — Building Construction; Science of Materials.
ANDERSON, Sally — Sicence of Materials.
APLIN, G. J. — Geography III; Political Geography.
ARCHIBALD, A. C. — British History (Law).
ARNOLD, M. Elizabeth — Greek I.
BAINBRIDGE, A. H. — Applied Mathematics I; Pure Mathematics I.
BAINBRIDGE, T. H. — Process Chemistry.
BAKER, Penelope D. — English Literature II.
BARWICK, Anne J. — Chemistry IA; Physics IA; Applied Mathematics I.
BISHOP, Elizabeth A. — Chemistry IIIA.
BOLTON, A. G. — Physics I (Eng.).
BOWMAN, M. Anne V. — Fine Arts A; English Language and Literature I.
BRENAN, J. O'N. — English Literature II; English Language II.
BRYCE, Jennifer L. — Music B.
BUCKLAND, L. J. — Economic History C, Parts III and IV.
BUICK, T. D. — Physics (Vet.).
CARNLEY, P. F. — Biblical Archeology III; Theory and Method of History; General History I.
CHEESEMAN, Christine M. — Microbiology.
CLYNE, Pamela — English Literature IV.
COLEBATCH, H. K. — General History II; Modern Government B.
CONNELL, R. W. — General History II.
COWAN, M. Christine — Ancient History I; Geography I.
COWAN, W. D. T. — ElectricaI Engineering I; Engineering Mathematics II; Strength of Materials IIA.
CRESWELL, C. C. — Constitutional Law I.
CUMMING, B. D. — Legal History.
CUST, Caroline E. E. — Psychology IIA.
DAVEY, G. R. — Middle Eastern Thought and Culture II.
DAVIS, J. M. — Chemistry IB; Physics IB.
DICKSON, Valerie H. Psychology IIA.
DOWLING, J. T. — Medicine and Surgery.
DOWNING, M. — French II; German II.
DRUCE, P. F. — Constitutional Law II; Finals in Law.
DRUMMOND, Amanda M. — General History I; General History II; General History IIIC; General Reading Course.
DUIGAN, Virginia P. M. — English Literature II; Logic; Ethics.
EDDY, Patricia — British History.
ELLIOTT, P. J. — General History I; Theory and Method of History; General History IIIC.
ELLIS, L. B. — Electrical Engineering IIA.
EWING, Angela G. — English Literature II; General History I.
FEIGLIN, D. H. I. — Anatomy.
FENTON, D. J. — Criminology A; Principles of Property in Land.
FITTS, Catherine A. — German IV; Russian IV.
FITTS, D. R. H. — English Language and Literature I.
FORBES, G. K. — Chemistry IA; Pure Mathematics I.
FORD, Helen — English Literature III.
GALLAGHER, D. E. — Chemistry (Eng.)
GAME, C. J. A. — Pathology.
GANTNER, C. B. — Australian History.
GEORGEFF, M. P. — Engineering I.
GERRAND, P. H. — Applied Thermodynamics I.
GIBBS, Jennifer J. — English Literature II; General History I.
GREGSON, A. K. — Physics IA.
GUY, Gillian R. — Music B.
GUY, P. A. — Economics A.
GUY, R. A. — Chemistry IA.
HADDON, R. C. — Chemistry IIIA.
HAMER, C. J. — Physics IIA; Pure Mathematics II.
HARPER, D. L. — International Relations B; Modern Government B.
HAYDON, Peta R. — Modern Government A; Geography I.
HEARD, A. K. — Chemical Engineering I.
HERINGTON, Elizabeth — Modern History A; Geography I.
HIGGS, Kerryn A. — Philosophy I.
HOOPER, P. E. — Engineering Mathematics IV; Finals in Mechanical Engineering.
HOUGHTON, D. S. — Chemistry IA.
HOWARD, P. F. — Chemistry IA; Engineering I; Physics I (Eng.).
HUNKIN, Meredith J. — English Language and Literature I; Music C.
HUGHES, Helena M. — Theory of Politics, Parts I and II.
JACKSON, Katharine A. — Physics (Med.).
KEMP, C. M. — Ancient History I; Music C.
KERR, Jean M. .— English Literature III; French III.
KIMPTON, W. S. — Dynamics of Machines II.
KING, D. J. E. — Chemistry (Eng.) .
LANGMAN, I. R. — British History.
LAWRENCE, Jennie — Economics B.
LEWIS, Nancy R. — Educational Psychology; Practical Teaching.
LEWISOHN, J. R. P. — Economics B.
LOWE, H. J. — German I
LOWY, D. M. — Applied Mathematics I; Pure Mathematics I.
McKAY, W. T. — General History I; General History II; General History IIIB; Tort.
MacKINNON, A. M. — Finals in Medicine.
McLEOD, Jennifer M. — Educational Psychology; History and Principles of Education.
McRAE, Barbara — Chief Practical Study, Part II.
MAJOR, Patricia A. — Biology.
MASON, E. Robyn — Physics (Med.) ; Chemistry (Med.); Biology (Med.).
MATHESON, W. S. — Engineeing Mathematics IV; Finals in Electrical Engineering.
MINCHIN, J. B. — Latin III; Comparative Philology.
MINCHIN, T. B. — English Literature III; General History III.
NICKSON, A. J. — English Language and Literature I; Modern History A.
OLIVER, J. G. W. — Modern Government II; Economics II.
OPPENHEIM, R. C. — Chemistry IIIA.
PARKER, Elizabeth H. — English Literature II; Geography II; Exploration and Settlement.
PAYNE, Joanna H. Chemistry IB; Physics IB.
PAYNTER, L. G. J. — Constitutional Law I.
PELLING, Margaret — English Literature II.
PULLEN, G. J. — Oral Histology and Embyrology.
PURSER, Judith A. — Medieval French Language and Literature.
PYKE, Jane — French I.
RADFORD, A. E. Jurisprudence.
RADOK, Claudia — Psychology IIA.
RAMSDEN, V. S. — Engineering Mathematics IV; Finals in Electrical Engineering.
REDFERN, M. J. — Constitutional Law II; Finals in Law.
RENOWDEN, J. A. — Biology; Chemistry IA; Physics IB.
RIPPER, G. H. — Taxation; Finals in Law.
ROBERTS, Anne L. — Pharmacology A.
SALTER, M. Anne — Professional Practice B; Technical Essay.
SALVARIS, M. C. I. — Latin I.
SAUNDERS, Cheryl A. — International Relations A.
SEDGELY, Anne G. — English Literature III.
SHELLAM, G. R. — Microbiology.
SMITH, A. W. — Economics B; Economics C. SMITH, Merran B. — Biology (Agric.).
STEVENS, C. H. D. — Science of Materials B. STOKES, A. N. — Chemistry IIA; Pure Mathematics H.
STONE, Rosemary English Literature II; International Relations A.
STUCKEY, J. G. — Physiology; Biochemistry.
STYLES, G. R. — Engineering Mathematics IV; Finals in Electrical Engineering.
TELFORD, A. B. — Physics (Dent.).
WAKEFIELD, W. G. — Practical Teaching; History and Principles of Teaching.
WATSON, R. K. — Chemistry IA.
WATTS, G. J. -- Latin II; German II
WEEKES, E. D. — Principles of Contract; Tort.
WETHERELL, R. F. — Aesthetics; Contemporary Philosophy; Greek Philosophy.
WILSON, J. W. — Economic Geography I.
WOOD, Penelope — German I; English Language and Literature I.
WOODRUFF, D. S. — Zoology III. WOODRUFF, R. K. — Physics I. WRIGHT, H. McM. — Industrial Law. WYNN, Eva E. — Philosophy I.
DEGREES CONFERRED 1964-1965:
BACHELOR OF AGRICULTURAL SCIENCE: A. B. Carnegie
BACHELOR OF APPLIED SCIENCE: J. L. Pettit
BACHELOR OF ARCHITECTURE: I. R. Jelbart
BACHELOR OF ARTS (Ordinary Degree) : N. J. Alexander, B.Sc.
Veronica Babbage
Margaret A. Black
Caroline T. Connell
Anne-Marie Ehrlich
Angela G. Ewing
Katherine M. Grattan
Fiona S. Grice
Helena M. Hughes
Jennie D. Lawrence
Frances A. Littleton
Sally Madsen
T. B. Minchin
Geraldine A. Morris
Pamela L. Oddie
H. K. Prentice
Joanna V. Rintoul
BACHELOR OF ARTS (Honours Degree):
Pamela M. K. Clyne
Colette G. Cock
Caroline E. E. Cust
J. D. Dawson
Catherine A. Fitts
Helen Ford
H. R. Jackson
R. E. Mather
Valerie M. Robbins
C. Selby-Smith
P. R. W. Thwaites
W. G. Wakefield
J. D. B. Wells
MASTER OF ARTS:
R. T. Tucker, B.A.
BACHELOR OF COMMERCE:
Alexandra F. Currie
R. McK. F. Southby
Ann Wookey
BACHELOR OF ENGINEERING: P. E. Hooper
J. A. Langlands
W. S. Matheson
V. S. Ramsden
A. G. Richards
R. G. Richards
G. R. Stiles
MASTER OF ENGINEERING SCIENCE: L. K. Walker, B.E.
N. J. White, B.E.
BACHELOR OF LAWS (Ordinary Degree):
J. Calder, B.A.
K. R. Clarke
J. A. Gyles
J. M. Hedstrom
C. S. Keon-Cohen
He is not drowning. But he thinks he is.
Wine maketh merry but money answereth all things.
It is necessary to render the subject unconscious by means of a sharp blow.
Then why should it taste different here from anywhere else?
I know them to the bottom of their souls. 1 go through their garbage every day.
1 am herewith enclosing a sample so that you may judge the quality and consistency of the Crude.
All right, darling. Go on. Jump, Dickie. Swans sing before they die — 'twere no bad thing
Thou hast a strange alacrity in sinking. I remember, it was such fun to keep them grinning like that for hours. He that sings and runs away May live to sing another day.
A. E. Radford, B.A.
J. C. Rennie
Joan H. Rowlands
S. B. Spittle
BACHELOR OF LAWS (Honours Degree) :
P. F. Druce
M. J. Redfern
G. H. Ripper, B.A.
H. McM. Wright
BACHELOR OF MEDICINE and BACHELOR OF SURGERY:
Lexia R. R. Bryant
J. A. Colebatch
J. T. Dowling
W. E. S. Hasker
M. L. Ingpen
Betty L. Mallet
N. B. Munro
R. L. C. Sutcliffe
Rhyl W. Wade
E. J. White
DOCTOR OF MEDICINE:
I. F. C. McKenzie, M.B., B.S.
R. A. Smallwood, M.B., B.S.
BACHELOR OF MUSIC:
Julianne Browning
Margaret J. Higginbottom.
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY:
N. J. Clarke, M.Sc.
M. E. Packer, M.Sc.
BACHELOR OF SCIENCE (Ordinary Degree):
F. N. Cornell
Irene J. Graham
R. C. Oppenheim
A. J. R. Prentice
Jennifer Pullen
Anne L. Roberts
D. S. Woodruff
BACHELOR OF SCIENCE (Honours Degree):
J. G. Down
MASTER OF SCIENCE:
A. McKenzie, B.Sc.
A. B. Swanson, B.Sc.
TRINITY THEOLOGICAL STUDENTS:
Combedown Student: P. F. Carnley
Henty Student: J. H. Shepherd
Kew Student: D. W. Curtis
Marley Student: R. F. Wetherell
Moorhouse Student: A. B. McPherson
Payne Student: S. A. H. Ames
Grice Student: M. P. C. Wentzell
Rupertswood Student: G. R. Davey.
Stanbridge Student: J. B. Minchin
Upton-Everist Student: P. J. Hughes
TRINITY MAJOR SCHOLARS:
A. M. WHITE SCHOLARS:
A. C. Archibald
R. W. Connell
D. J. Lowy
R. K. Watson
CHARLES HEBDEN SCHOLAR:
A. J. R. Prentice
ALBERT GUY MILLER SCHOLAR:
G. P. Simon
R. and L. ALCOCK SCHOLARS:
T. E. Blarney
T. Hasker
TRINITY MINOR SCHOLARS:
CHARLES HEBDEN SCHOLAR: H. K. Colebatch
ELIZABETH HEBDEN SCHOLAR:
P. J. Elliott
HENRY BERTHON SCHOLAR:
D. S. Woodruff
CLARKE SCHOLAR:
A. W. Smith
PERRY SCHOLAR:
J. M. Davis
ALEXANDER C. THOMPSON SCHOLAR:
W. D. T. Cowan
SIMON FRASER SCHOLAR:
L. B. Ellis
CHARLES HEBDEN BURSARY:
G. V. Brown
F. L. ARMYTAGE SCHOLAR:
O. Mace
COUNCIL'S SCHOLARS:
J. O'N. Brenan
T. D. Buick
L. J. Buckland
D. C. Cowan
C. C. Creswell
J. O. King
R. C. Macaw
W. T. Mackay
D. S. Meakin
A. D. Miller
M. Downing G. Myers
O. M. Evans
R. C. Oppenheim
D. J. Fenton M. Pruden
C. J. A. Game
P. H. Gerrand
A. K. Gregson
C. J. Hamer
R. W. Harper
G. W. Hone
P. F. Howard
C. M. Kemp
J. A. Renowden
P. B. Seddon
T. I. Sedgwick
M. J. Standish
A. N. Stokes
B. R. Sterling
J. G. Stuckey
D. C. lWithington
JCH MAJOR SCHOLARS:
Elizabeth Arnold
Kerryn Higgs
Katharine Patrick
Julia Read
JCH MINOR SCHOLARS:
Penelope Baker
Christine Cowan
Amanda Drummond
Jacqueline Gurner
Peta Haydon
Elizabeth Herington
Janet Mackenzie
Robin Mason
Margaret Pelling
Ann Thwaites
JCH NON-RESIDENT EXHIBITIONERS:
MAJOR:
Julia Bignell
Frances Muecke
Judith Purser
Judith Straton
MINOR:
Mary Cheesman
Prudence Duncan
Catherine Elder
Sue Roylance
UNION OF THE FLEUR DE LYS
President: Dr. E. A. C. Farran.
Committee: Sir Reginald Sholl, Sir Clive Fitts, J. H. B. Armstrong, F. F. Knight, R. L. Stock, H. G. Sutton, W. F. King, C. Keon-Cohen, the Hon. R. J. Hamer, M. M. Smith, R. K. Todd, P. Balmford, J. R. Poynter, W. B. Capp, J. K. Nixon, N. A. Lane, Dr. C. E. G. Beveridge, J. A. Strahan, Dr. M. R. Jones, N. M. Carlyon.
Hon. Secretary: J. A. Court.
ANNUAL GENERAL MEETING
The Annual General Meeting was held in the Junior Common Room on Friday, 28th May, at 6.15 p.m. The Annual Report and Financial Statements were taken as read and were adopted unanimously and the committee and office-bearers whose names appear above were elected with expedition.
After the meeting the Annual Dinner was held in the College Hall. The attendance was slightly less than last year, but this fact made it possible for a greater proportion of members present to meet the new Warden of the College, Dr. Sharwood. Once again we have to thank the College for providing such a splendid dinner and for the reassurance that though College cooks come and go, College potatoes endure forever.
After the dinner many members inspected the newly renovated Leeper Library which now occupies most of the first Lodge and marvelled at the splendours of the muniments room which houses the Atkinson and Rusden collections, now rescued from the basement of Behan Building.
The incoming President, Dr. Farran, proposed the toast to "The College" and welcomed the Warden on behalf of the Union. He reminded the members, in the course of an excathedra address of compelling authority, of the debt owed by the College to the three great men who had guided its destiny for nigh upon a hundred years, contrasting its rise from humble beginnings in the Indian summer of the Victorian Age with the fall of the sun from the heaven of the Victorian Empire. The Warden, responding, thanked the Union's "tame Toynbee" for his welcome and hoped that the fortunes of the Empire would not improve during his tenure of office. He said that he had come to the College with a conscious-
ness of the vital part which residential colleges played in Australian university life and of the example of the record of the autonomous colleges in the older universities. He thanked Dr. Marshall and Dr. Poynter for their work in administering the College during the preceding twelve months and for their kindness in introducing him to its mechanism. The response was supported by the Senior Student, who reported a barren year for the College on the sporting fields but expressed confidence that better things were to come.
The toast to the Union was proposed by the Solicitor-General, B. L. (Tony) Murray, who suggested that in the pursuit of academic excellence the College should not lose contact with the student of average abilities. Professor A. G. L. Shaw responded on behalf of the Union with an apt reminder that even great men sometimes forget to remove their boots.
GOLF DAY
It is pleasing to record that Trinity won the Inter-Collegiate Old Boys' Golf Day in 1964 for the first time for several years. It is hoped that this year's event will again be staged some time in November. Members who are interested are asked to get in touch with the Hon. Secretary.
NOTES
The Union records with pride the appointment of the Rt. Hon. Baron Casey of Berwick as Governor-General of the Commonwealth. To his new office Lord Casey brings the distinction of mind and versatility of talents which he has revealed in his long career of public service.
Congratulations are due to Sir Keith Hancock, who was conferred with a K.B.E., and Arthur Rylah, a C.M.G., in the New Year Honours List; John Poynter, who has been made the first Fellow of the College; Arthur Clark, foundation Professor of Paediatrics in Monash Nniversity; Bill Hare, Professor of Radiology in the University; John Feltham, Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford; John Rushbrooke, Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge; and Stan Kurrle, Headmaster of The King's School, Parramatta.
A number of members have returned from overseas during the past year. Harry Bolitho, after three years in Japan, has left again for Yale, where he will continue advanced studies
in Japanese history. Ian Hancock, back from Oxford via Uganda, is now lecturing in history at Monash. Jeremy Hearder has completed a tour of duty for the External Affairs Department in Laos and is once again stationed in Canberra. Geoffrey Stephens, also returned from Oxford, will be ordained at the end of the year.
Peter Pockley's voice is now heard in every home in the A.B.C.'s science broadcasts. He is living in Sydney.
The brothers John and David Emmerson returned from Oxford and Michigan University in August. John's visit to Melbourne was a fleeting one as he is now a Research Fellow of New College, Oxford, where he is working in particle physics.
Peter Johnson has been awarded the English Speaking Union Travelling Scholarship for 1965. He will read theology at Christ Church, Oxford.
The Rt. Rev. John Chisholm has been consecrated Assistant Bishop of New Guinea, and is living at the Anglican Mission of Dogura on the northern coast of Papua.
Alan Cornell became engaged to be married and was awarded the Solicitors' Prize of the Victorian Law Institute in the same month.
L. E. G. Sloan is the new medical director of the Royal Children's Hospital.
N. V. Henderson has had conferred on him by the President of Austria the Distinguished Service Order in gold of the Republic of Austria — Knight Cross First Class.
News has also been received of the impending return to Melbourne of Phillip Roff and Barry Connell. Phillip will leave Radley in England where he has been teaching mathematics to join the staff of Melbourne Grammar School. Barry has resigned from the AttorneyGeneral's Department in Canberra to take up a position in the law school at Monash University.
MEMBERSHIP
All former members of the College are eligible for membership of the Union of the Fleurde-Lys. Anyone who is not already a member is invited to get in touch with the Hon. Secretary at 430 Little Collins Street, Melbourne, and he will be glad to enlist him to membership. Annual membership remains at 10/- and life membership £8/8/-.
OBITUARY
We record with regret the death of an unusually large number of Trinity men during the year:
Dr. Hubert Sheppard Bush
Dr. Sidney Frederick Ridley
Dr. Mervyn John Holmes
Dr. Robert Fowler
The Rev. Kenneth Thorne Henderson
Dr. Stanley Wilson Shields
Cecil Ashley Marshall Renou
Dr. Bruce Atlee Hunt
Brian Charles Fitzpatrick
Eric Victor Mitchell
Dr. James Erskine Sewell
Jack Ellis Newton
William Quentin Cobbold Cain
NEWSLETTER
As last year, we bring you a few interpretative notes about the College doings for this year. You cannot be blamed for wondering what on earth some of the descriptions of various College activities as given in this issue really mean. Even the Editor himself admits a reverent agnosticism towards some of the more esoteric of them, but such is the way of things and such is our determination not to appear like the School Mag., where everything is obvious to screaming point and a trifle moral. Just in case you are really not sure who actually won what, I can simply reassure you that we won nothing at the top level, though the Rowing was most exciting and most of us on the bank thought it was in the bag. The Second Eighteen, the real gentlemen's team, did very well and was very Trinity about the whole affair — no practice, no nothing, just a turn-out and win. We shall be so much better next year, etc.
In the rest of the magazine you will have abundant evidence that we have really entered a new epoch. Those of you who remember the only two other changeover periods in the College's history will recall the slight apprehension and so forth which accompanied the exercise. This time the situation was, tragically, unlike the other occasions, and for just on a year the College was in the hands of a Joint-Acting Warden, a sort of Williamandmary arrangement which neither William nor Mary ever want to go through again. The election
of Robin Sharwood will no doubt give great satisfaction to all who know him personally, and one can only hope the former members will take every opportunity to make themselves known. He has a terrific task to become au fait with us all and is most anxious to do so.
The Cowan building is now complete and is a very good addition to the College collection of buildings. It is much sought-after by gentlemen seeking the privacy of "singles," but there is provision in it for "doubles" of the more traditional sort.
The task we set the architects of producing a building which somehow linked Behan and the Box was a tall order, but one must admit that it was worth the effort. The restoration of the Library has been completed except for a few lingering details about which one could quietly choke somebody, and is well used and appreciated. The heating is a triumphant success, and if anything is de trop even in the coldest weather, which, as they say, makes a nice change. The Muniments Room, formerly the Leeper Lecture Room, first on the right as you went in the main door, is now an ineffable extravaganza with deep green carpet to make a tycoon's mouth water, a stunning chandelier which seems to have escaped from La Scala, the Rusden and Atkinson collections of Australiana beautifully shelved, and an elegant board room table and chairs. The new College crest has been leadlighted into one of the south windows and this commemorates both the whimsicality and the generosity of A. E. South, through whose bequest it was all done. The rare books and the various collections have now all been salvaged from the Behan basement which can now go back to growing mushrooms for which it is admirably suited. A number of former Trinity men have been up to view all this and have been suitably impressed. You are always welcome to come and see it for yourself.
There have been a few other improvements as well. The Joint Acting Divided Highway in brick now joins the main drive to the Leeper Building and replaces the concrete strip from which everybody deviated and seems to have the effect of linking the Cowan Building in with the rest of the College — a surprising side effect but a good one. The Senior Common Room, which has grown steadily seedier as the years rolled, has had a great facelift — refurbished floor, new curtains, lighting, and newly painted walls. It has for some time
had the dismal aspect of a waiting room in the old Women's Hospital complete with dog-eared magazines, but now it is all agleam. It is said to be having terrific effects on the upper echelon.
At the same time the Junior Common Room, which never, in my opinion, really recovered from its enlargement (it took over the Dethridge Memorial, you will recall), has now been undergoing great renovations. There were many problems to be dealt with, such as the presence of the Telly, and the general, rather dreary spaciousness and lack of cosiness which is now being met, and very successfully. You will not perhaps note this at the Fleur-de-Lys Dinner, because there will be too much of everything that evening to see anything. But there have been great improvements, new coffee tables have been bought, and I hear that the T.C.A.C. has even ordered Indian rugs from India. The unsolved problem, of course, is what to do with the flipping Telly, which wrecks conversation and disorganises the room. There have been many ingenious plans for constructing a Telly Room, but no one quite knows just where this is to be. The viewing area has to be big enough to hold the crowds for all peak-viewing periods, the News, Mavis Bramston and other items of national moment, and yet cosy enough to suit the few hard-core viewers who seem to be always there. And, of course, it has to be close to the Common Room. A nice problem.
The presence of the Cowan Building seems to be causing fairly serious drainage problems in the Bulpadok. The water is fairly neatly contained and never seems to dry up. The cows, if they ever came back, would have to be equipped with goloshes at all times, and water wings for the rainy season. At the moment, you could bog a duck in two or three places.
Either Jim Court or Barry Marshall would be glad to hear from former members . who may have news items suitable for inclusion in this section of the magazine. These two do their best, but accidents will occur. If in doubt, send it in — either about yourself, or some other old Trinity man.
B.R.M.
Trinity Women's Society
President: Miss Jennifer Taplin.
Vice-Presidents: Mrs. A. Asche, Mrs. M. Letts.
Honorary Secretary: Miss Lydia Eady.
Honorary Treasurer: Mrs. A. Smithers.
Representative to College Council: Mrs. R. Webb Ware.
Committee: Mrs. K. Emmerson, Mrs. S. Alley, Mrs. D. Caro, Dr. Jean Gardner, Mrs. G. Trinca, Miss Beatrice Bodman.
Co-opted Member: Miss Colette Cock.
THE ANNUAL MEETING for 1964 was held at J.C.H. on 3rd October at 9.00 p.m., with the President, Mrs. Asche, in the chair. Mrs. Cowan was invited to become an honorary life member of the Society, and a report of the activities of the National Council of Women was given by our delegate, Mrs. Alley. She and Mrs Emmerson were re-appointed delegates for 1965.
Activities for 1965 were discussed and it was decided that no Open Day should be held, as the Council would be inviting members to a party at J.C.H. in March, and that a Book Fair would be the best way to raise money for the College. Further activities were left to the Committee to determine As sufficient capital has accrued, the Trinity Women's Society Scholarship was increased to £40 per annum.
THE ANNUAL DINNER preceded the meeting, and once again the College provided members with an excellent meal. Toasts were "the Queen" and "the College" proposed by the President, and replied to by the Principal and the Senior Student, and "Absent Friends" proposed by Miss Yvonne Aitken. Guests were the Principal and the Senior Student, Miss Joske, and the Presidents of the V.W.G.A. St. Mary's Hall, the Ormond Women's Society, the Wyverna Club, and the University Women's College Past Students' Association.
During the year members of the Society were entertained at a most enjoyable afternoon tea party on 30th March when the alterations to the College were inspected with great interest. On 1st July a Jumble Sale was held at St. George's Hall, Malvern, resulting in a profit of £154/11/-.
RECOLLECTIONS OF JANET CLARKE
HALL, by Enid Joske, has been read with great interest by our members, both here and overseas. The Society is extremely grateful to Miss Joske and members are reminded that
copies are still available at J.C.H., price 10/- (post free).
COMMON ROOM AND LIBRARY APPEAL:
This fund continues to grow and has now reached the figure of £3,654/5/8. All members who have so generously supported this appeal are thanked most sincerely, and we are reminded that the College needs our continued support. Money raised voluntarily attracts a Commonwealth grant of £3 for every £1 so raised, and so our efforts achieve a worthwhile result.
THE BOOK FAIR has been postponed until next year when it will be our good fortune to have the opportunity to combine with St. Hilda's College and run a Book Fair organised by Mrs. Jackson who has had considerable experience in this field. The support of every member of the Society will be needed if this venture is to be a success. At present, the most urgent need is for depots where books can be left and sorted, and if any member can offer such accommodation, the Committee would be extremely grateful. Dr. Eden has kindly made room available at J.C.H. for the immediate reception of books, so that members can begin the essential collecting of secondhand books without delay.
NEWS OF PAST STUDENTS
Marriages:
Elizabeth Bakewell to Dr. Clement Smith. Marilyn Baldwin to Mr. L. Panichi.
Julianne Browning to Mr. Graeme Jamieson. Jean Holman to Mr. Neil MacLean.
Louise Judell to Mr. Alexandre Somers.
Susan Whitney King to Mr. Robin Gorton. Geraldine Morris to Mr. Bill Richards.
Margaret Muntz to Mr. Keith Smith.
Julian Riordan to Mr. John Laver.
Joan Rowlands to Mr. Rory Treweeke.
Denise Shand to Mr. William Logan.
Beverley Keys Smith to Mr. Fred Wolmersley.
Olive Wykes to Mr. Dudley Mence.
Births:
Mr. and Mrs. P. Balmford (Rosemary Norris) — a son.
Mr. and Mrs. G. Bennett (Barbara Letheren) — a daughter.
Mr. and Mrs. B. Capp (Josie McCutcheon) — a son.
Dr. and Mrs. P. Clark (Adrienne Petty) — a son.
Dr. and Mrs. A. Day (Hilary Oliphant) — a daughter.
Mr. and Mrs. F. Derham (Margaret Dettmann) — a son.
Mr. and Mrs. J. Feltham (Elizabeth Richards) — a son.
Mr. and Mrs. L. Green (Jan Uglow) — a daughter.
Dr: and Mrs. J. Grove (Jannette Hatwell)a son.
Mr. and Mrs. D. Happell (Jennifer Shaw)a son.
Mr. and Mrs. J. Havre (Merryn Cook) — a son.
Dr. and Mrs. L. Hill (Barbara Bott) — a daughter.
Mr. and Mrs. M. Kanter (Ann Murdoch)a son.
Mr. and Mrs. R. Lester (Harriet Cook) — a son.
Mr. and Mrs. B. Loton (Jill Kemelfield)a daughter.
Mr. and Mrs. K. Mason (Lossie Cook) — a son.
Dr. and Mrs. G. McKenzie (Barbara Meredith) — a son.
Dr. and Mrs. G. Playford (Mary Dettmann) — a son.
Mr. and Mrs. D. Price (Josephine Yencken) — a daughter.
Dr. and Mrs. R. Sheil (Mary Lou Kent Hughes) — a daughter.
Mr. and Mrs. P. Shattock (Virginia McKee) —a son.
Mr. and Mrs. R. Todd (Helen Grutzner)a daughter.
Mr. and Mrs. T. Tyler (Mary Mackney)a daughter.
Mr. and Mrs. R. Ward-Ambler (Barbara Bult) — a son.
Mr. and Mrs. J. Weigall (Dorothy Webber) — a son.
Mr. and Mrs. J. Woods (Susan Home) — a daughter.
Obituary:
The Society records with deep regret the death of Ann Lindgren, who died earlier this year of pneumonia in Algiers. Ann, who left College at the end of 1958 and was a Life Member of the Society, will be greatly missed by her many friends.
HONOURS AND AWARDS
Mrs. Whitney King was awarded the C.B.E. in the New Year's Honours List in recognition of her service to the community for the past 25 years. Mrs. Whitney King, who is a Past
President of the National Council of Women, is the only woman on the Interim Council of La Trobe University, has been a member of the Government's Family Welfare Council since 1954, and is President of the Free Kindergarten Union of Victoria.
Dr. Kate Campbell shared the first £5,000 Britannica-Australia Award in Medicine in recognition of the discovery of causes of blindness in unborn or prematurely born babies.
Dr. Mollie Holman, of the Department of Physiology at Monash University, won the Royal Society's Edgeworth David Medal for an outstanding contribution in the field of physiology, in this case for her work on the physiology of smooth muscle. This medal is awarded to an Australian research worker under the age of 35 for work done mainly in Australia and its territories, or contributing to the advancement of science.
GENERAL NEWS OF PAST STUDENTS
Ann Bolitho (Bevan) returned from Japan this year, but she and her husband are bound for America later in the year.
Helen Bowring flew to the U.S.A. in September, 1964, and spent from September to early December in Washington, then a fortnight in California, before returning home for Christmas.
Anne Brown has been appointed Field Officer to the Free Library Service Board.
Celia Burgess (Steeper) is at present in Djarkata where her husband is Third Secretary at the Australian Embassy.
Sybil Burns has chosen an unusual and adventurous method of returning to Australia. She has embarked on the converted windjammer, the New Endeavour, which is attempting to retrace Captain Cook's voyage to Australia.
Rosemary Dawe (Sutterby) has also returned to Melbourne after three years in England.
Susan Deane and her family have moved to Beenleigh, near the Gold Coast in Queensland, and is doing some part-time medical work.
Sali Dening (Rogers) is settled with her family in Bath, Somerset, U.K.
After spending some time with Margaret McDonald and Helen Holmes in India (staying with Helen's parents), Sally Dishon is now touring Europe.
Elizabeth Feltham (Richards), chief organiser for last year's Fair, left for England with her husband and two small sons on 11th August. Her husband, Mr. John Feltham,
donor of the famous Feltham Bequest (latter day adjunct to the Teligny Cup) has been appointed a Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford.
Iris Friederich (Wilcock), who was back in Melbourne for a few months last year, is back in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, and is teaching Latin again.
Joan Gardner and Professor Rubbo have written a book called "A Review of Sterilization and Disinfection."
Jenny Happell (Shaw) is in the U.S.A. Her husband has been teaching at a school in Pennsylvania, but will soon be commencing a course at the University of Wisconsin.
Wylga Hemmant (Long) and her husband are now living in London after a number of years in India, and is enjoying numerous visits to the Opera and Ballet.
Vera Jennings has retired from her position of Senior Lecturer in the English Department, Melbourne University.
Jenny Landale is at present visiting Israel where her father is the Australian Consul.
Suzanne Lodge is working in London for her Ph.D.
Pat Long (Dravers), her husband and three children are living in the Australian Embassy, The Hague, Holland.
Valerie McDowell and her husband have made an interesting trip to the mission field in New Guinea, where they slept in village huts, ate native food, and generally shared the life of the New Guinea people.
Elwyn Morey, who has taken up her appointment as Associate Professor of Education at Monash University, is the first woman associate professor at Monash. Elwyn was previously on the staff of Melbourne University, first with the Psychology Department, and then with the School of Education, as Senior Lecturer in educational psychology, and is President of the Australian Pre-School Association (Victorian Branch), and a member of the Family Welfare Advisory Council.
Margaret Molt (Gutteridge), who was with her mother in Melbourne early this year, has left Edinburgh and is now living in Hampstead in "a most attractive converted coach house." She has given up work for the time being, apart from giving a paper at the International Protozoology Meeting in London in July/ August.
Mary Newsome (Reynolds), now living in Greenwich, London, paid a short visit to Melbourne this year.
Judy O'Flynn, in Surrey, England, is leading a busy life as she had twins in May of last year, and finds time for gardening and for her music.
Vivienne Oliphant is another overseas traveller, touring abroad with her parents.
Joanna Pyper is still working with the Northern Health Service, centred in Edmonton, Canada. Last year she spent some months in Fort Simpson, in the North, but was returning to Edmonton at Christmas and was expecting to be sent away again, possibly to Innvik on the Arctic Circle.
Joan Rigby went to Columbus, Ohio, after Easter, her husband having been invited to work with the U.S. Geological Survey, which is housed at the Ohio State University. They have a house only a block from the Campus. They live in the midst of lovely trees, squirrels and bird-life, but notice great speed and noise and high cost of living. They expect to be in Columbus for three years, returning via South America and Europe.
Freda Ross (Friday) is living in Weybridge, U.K., with her husband and three small daughters.
Everil Taylor (Murray) is living in Suva, Fiji, and expects to remain there for about four years. She is completing her final year of Diploma of Education from Armidale University, and also plans to do some teaching in a convent in Suva.
Ailsa Zaimiddin has published a book entitled "How to Cook Indonesian Food."
Helen Willis (Turner), Peg Morris (Hyett), Marjorie Morris and Isabelle Seymour (Terry) are all living within a stone's throw of each other in Canberra and form the nucleus of quite a large (if fluctuating) number. of Trinity Women in Canberra.
"The Fleur de Lys" was set up and printed by Austral Printing and Publishing Company for the editors, Katharine Patrick, Alan Archibald and John Brenan.
We wish to thank all those who have helped prepare this magazine: first our printer, Mr. Boneham, for his advice, particularly with the new cover, and for his tolerance in awaiting late copy; Colin Stevens, our cartoonist and designer of the back cover, with John Wilson, Terry Sedgwick and Mr. Graham Kidd who provided other drawings; Andrew Maclntyre for his continual work on the cover design and photo; Ted Blarney for collecting and printing the photographs, and all the photographers; Ross Murray and George Myers for reading the proofs; all those contributors whose photographs and articles we did not print; Peter Gerrand and Hal Colebatch for editorial advice; Mr. J. D. Merralls for his help with the College Records; and finally, the staff of Austral Printing and Publishing Company.
To all members of Janet Clarke Hall and Trinity College, past or present, we wish a merry Christmas and prosperous New Year.
Peter Field.
TERRACE HOUSE
