Opening Doors to the Future: Stories of Prominent Australians and the Influence of Teachers

In Opening Doors to the Future Phillip Hughes recounts the experiences of a number of well-known Australians with their teachers.

From current research we still do not know enough about teaching to guarantee that all teachers will be effective. A more personal study such as this may reveal new possibilities.

ISBN 10: 0-86431-701-8 ISBN 13: 978-0-86431-701-8

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780864 317018

Includes interviews with: John Abernethy Peter Andrews Paul Brock Lyndsay Connors General Peter Cosgrove, AC, MC Fabian Dattner Stephen Downes Phillip Hughes Dennis Lillee

John Marsden Carmel Niland Claire Smith Dr Charlie Teo Mark Wahlqvist Roderick West Dr Fiona Wood Richard Woolcott Rusty Young

Opening Doors to the Future

Phillip Hughes has been writing on education since 1958 – mostly in academic journals. In 1998 when he wrote the story of his own encounter with three teachers he received more mail and comment than on any of his other publications. Most people retained vivid memories of their experiences. He noticed that for most of the respondents the stories about teachers of other people moved them to recount their own experiences. This book may well do the same.

Phillip Hughes

Everyone has memories of their teachers – some good, some not. Education is one of our most universal experiences. In Australia almost all the population attends school for at least 10 years and 80 per cent for 12 years or more. Teachers are often the first significant adults in our lives outside the home. How important are they in our lives? Do they have lasting effects?

Opening Doors to the Future Stories of prominent Australians and the influence of teachers Phillip Hughes

Australian Council for Educational Research

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29/9/08 12:25:54 PM

Opening Doors to the Future Stories of prominent Australians and the influence of teachers

Phillip Hughes

ACER Press

The work undertaken by Phillip Hughes was funded by the Research Foundation of the Australian College of Educators. The publication of this book was funded jointly by the Research Foundation of the Australian College of Educators and the Australian Council for Educational Research.

First published 2007 by ACER Press Australian Council for Educational Research Ltd 19 Prospect Hill Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124 Copyright © Phillip W. Hughes 2007 All rights reserved. Except under the conditions described in the Copyright Act 1968 of Australia and subsequent amendments, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers. Edited by Susannah Burgess Cover and text design by Divine Design Typeset by Kerry Cooke, eggplant communications Printed by Hyde Park Press Cover photograph by Guy Lavoipierre. Thanks to Camberwell Primary School. National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data: Hughes, Phillip W. (Phillip William), 1926- . Opening doors to the future : stories of prominent Australians and the influence of teachers. Bibliography. For tertiary students. ISBN 9780864317018. ISBN 0 86431 701 8. 1. Teachers—Australia. 2. Mentoring in education—Australia. 3. Influence (Psychology). 4. Australians—Education - Biography. I. Title. 371.100994 Visit our website: www.acerpress.com.au

Contents Foreword

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Acknowledgements

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1.

Stories of significant Australians and the influence of teachers Phillip Hughes

2.

Strength and integrity Carmel Niland

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3.

Winning the daily battle Paul Brock

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4.

No-one can read a landscape like Peter Peter Andrews: recognising crisis

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5.

A kind of force that needs to be directed Claire Smith: archaeologist

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Gifts of head and heart Richard Woolcott: diplomat and public servant

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7.

A case for the Coroner John Abernethy: Coroner for NSW

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8.

Advanced Australian fare Stephen Downes: restaurant critic

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9.

Teaching: the best job in the world, the worst job in the world John Marsden: writer and teacher

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10. The man who came back Dennis Lillee: cricketer and public figure iii

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Contents

11. Venturing all Fabian Dattner

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12. Influences positive and negative Mark Wahlqvist

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13. The unwilling student Rusty Young

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14. A memorial to outlast bronze Roderick West: headmaster

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15. Warrior or peacemaker? General Peter Cosgrove, AC, MC. Former Chief, ADF

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16. The necessary heroine Dr Fiona Wood: plastic surgeon

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17. Keeping open the doors for others Lyndsay Connors: educator and advocate

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18. Delaying death … or prolonging life Dr Charlie Teo: neurosurgeon

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19. Opening doors to the future Phillip Hughes

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References

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Index

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Foreword I am a student in one of your classrooms today In June 2005, Sophie Palavestra, a Year 12 student, opened the National Forum, Engaging young Australians with Asia, with a view of her future: Most of all, I want to be wise over what to believe about me and my world. I want to know what the wisest people on earth believe. I want to know how to be a success with my life … My schoolteachers are very important to me because they tell me how to deal with the future.

She then went on to ask: Do you know what to teach me? Do you know what I need to learn? Are you confident that you can design a curriculum which will equip me to live in my world? My name is Sophie. And I am a student in one of your classrooms today.

(Bruniges, 2006)

No-one is neutral This book explores the effect teachers have had on some well-known Australians. Teaching is one of the more mysterious processes between people. The work of a doctor may be very crucial in our lives but the process for doctor–patient is comparatively clear: diagnosis—treatment—result. An accountant’s work preparing tax returns for clients is detailed but even more transparent. For a teacher, the interaction with a student is much less direct and the effect much more difficult to trace. How much of what happens in a student’s learning is because of the teacher, student, home background or even chance processes? We know less about learning than we do about the ills of the human body or organising tax returns. Educational research can tell us much about teaching. The



Foreword

qualities of the good teacher have been derived from many years of observation and measurement. Hopkins identified a set of necessary characteristics of the good teacher. They are: • commitment • love of children • mastery of subject didactics • a repertoire of multiple models of teaching • the ability to collaborate with other teachers • capacity for reflection. (Hopkins, 2002) Geoff Masters quotes the research by John Hattie that distinguishes expert teachers from those who are merely experienced (Hattie, 2003). In contrasting ‘expert’ teachers with merely ‘experienced’ teachers Hattie observes that expert teachers are better at relating lesson content to prior lessons, other school subjects, underlying principles and students’ interests. They are also more flexible and opportunistic in pursuing the learning needs of individual students. ‘Expert’ teachers work harder at collecting and analysing feedback on the effectiveness of their own teaching and they make better decisions when planning lessons: developing general plans but allowing detail to be shaped by students’ performances and reactions.

(Masters, 2004) Hattie’s own comments are very strong on the effect of teachers on the achievements of students: ‘Excellence in teaching is the single most powerful influence on achievement’ (Hattie 1992). These are useful insights but they do not tell us what the key ingredients in individual student situations are. This book approaches the question from a very different viewpoint. Instead of looking at many students to note the combined effects of their teachers or at many teachers to identify common characteristics, I have selected individuals and their recollections of particular teachers. These individuals have been chosen from many avenues of Australian life and are people who have succeeded in their chosen careers. Hattie says that in general terms teachers have the most powerful influence on achievement for students. What do people feel about the influences in their own lives? Do teachers play an important role in the lives of significant achievers? We do not end up with simple answers. Most of the people whose stories are told here have positive memories of teachers. Some have negative memories of teachers, some have both positive and negative experiences to relate.

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One aspect is clear. No-one is neutral about teachers they have known. Teachers do play a very important role in these recollections. Is it possible to learn from these individual memories? Are there lessons that we do not gain from formal studies that involve many students and many teachers?

Your efforts, your work, and the generous heart … Albert Camus is one of France’s most distinguished writers and philosophers. He had to face the difficult task of leading a resistance group during WWII but returned to his writing as soon as peace came to France. When Albert Camus was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1957, he paid a special tribute to one of his early teachers, Monsieur Germain, dedicating one of his books to the teacher. In a book published posthumously he records his interchange with Monsieur Germain. I have just been given far too great an honour, one I neither sought nor solicited. But when I heard the news, my first thought, after my mother, was of you. Without you, without the affectionate hand you extended to the small poor child I was, without your teaching, and your example, none of this would have happened. I don’t make too much of this sort of honour. But at least it gives me an opportunity to tell you what you have been and still are for me, and to assure you that your efforts, your work, and the generous heart you put into it still live in one of your little schoolboys who, despite the years, has never stopped being your grateful pupil. I embrace you with all my heart.

Monsieur Germain replied. I do not know how to express the delight you gave me with your gracious act nor how to thank you for it. You have always shown an instinctive reticence about revealing your nature, your feelings. You succeed all the more for being unaffected, direct. And good on top of that! I got those impressions of you in class. The pedagogue who does his job conscientiously overlooks no opportunity to know his pupils, his children, and these occur all the time. An answer, a gesture, a stance are amply revealing … So often the child contains the seed of the person he will become.

(Camus, 1965)

What are the important influences in our lives? Albert Camus carried the memory of a particular teacher all his life, even when being awarded the Nobel Prize. The teacher, too, remembered the pupil and showed

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in his remembering those qualities which made him a good teacher. This is not a universal experience. Views of the value of schools and of teachers vary widely. The Australian press recently carried a story from the tsunami disaster which was very positive. Tillie Smith, aged 10, was on the beach in Thailand when the 2004 tsunami struck. Like all the others she saw the first wave, which came suddenly and then receded. The others with her were relieved as they saw the threatening water retreat. Tillie remembered her primary teacher speaking of the character of a tsunami and describing the massive follow-up to the first wave. She screamed her warning that a bigger wave was to follow. Some believed her and retreated: some did not and were overwhelmed by the major front of the tsunami. In December 2005 Tillie returned to receive the thanks of the people who survived because of her warning. We don’t always have such powerful examples of the good effects of particular teachers. Popular fiction is often very harsh in assessing the value of teaching. In his book, School Days, Robert Parker focuses on the case of a mass killing in a school, a killing carried out by two of the students. The facts are clear but the reasons are a mystery. Two of the main characters discuss the nature of the school experience for one of the boys involved: ‘Hard times,’ I said. ‘The hardest,’ she said. ‘And while he is going through puberty and struggling like hell to come to terms with the new person he’s becoming, running through it all, like salt in a wound, is the self-satisfied smirk that keeps trivialising his angst.’ ‘They do learn to read and write and do numbers,’ I said. ‘They do. And they do that early. After that it’s mostly bullshit. And nobody ever consults the kid about it.’

(Parker, 2005)

Consult the kid? Harsh judgements. Where does the truth lie? Perhaps we don’t ‘consult the kid’ frequently enough. I reflected on my own memories of particular people, including some teachers, whose influences on my life, like that of Monsieur Germain, were important. These memories were rich enough to encourage me to consult other Australians about major influences in their lives. I remembered the times when I

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had listened to ABC Radio interviews in which others reflected on the important influences in their lives. Very often these influences were from within their own families. Also frequent were the recollections of the impact that teachers had made on their lives. This prompted me to include three stories in a booklet published in 2004 by the Australian College of Educators. It was called How Do Teachers Influence People? and asked for reactions from readers to the stories. The responses made it clear that the idea was of interest to many people. They were generally very positive. More importantly, the responses showed that these stories raised memories in the readers’ minds about their own lives and the influences that had been important. Many, but not all, of these powerful influences were teachers. Many, but not all, of the memories of teachers were positive. It is the nature of these personal memories which is pursued in this book. My hope is that the book might bring out more stories from people—good and bad—about teachers who have made a special impact on their lives.

Memories: places or people? Writing this book has also forced me to look back again on my own life and to question what things remain important to me. Perhaps ‘things’ is not the right word. Things that seemed most solid tend to pass, leaving little trace. I went back to the town where I grew up. I had lived in two different houses. Neither of the two is still in existence. One of them has been replaced by a petrol station, the other replaced by a characterless block of flats. The primary school classroom where I spent six years has been knocked down and much of the high school I attended has also gone. The interesting thing for me was to realise that these tangible things, once so solid and significant to me, mattered less than the memories about them. Those memories lasted, although the buildings did not, and it was the memories that were important as they indicated which aspects of my experience had had most effect. This thought on what is important was reinforced for me in the 2003 Canberra bushfires. The fires had rapidly come closer to the west of Canberra where we live. It became clear that we may have to evacuate our home and that the fires would prevent us from taking our car. We would have to walk, taking only what could be carried easily in the haste of evacuation—just one small suitcase each. What would we choose from all the things in the house? Furniture, crockery,

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crystal, cutlery, linen? Clearly not. What we packed was a selection of family photos and records. They were not valuable in themselves but they connected us to the memories of people and special times together. The household things were dispensable. The keys to those memories were precious. This book plays a similar role to the suitcases packed for an emergency. It is an attempt to recognise the contributions in life that are important to us in building a useful and satisfying life, regardless of change.

Opportunity for some In looking back over 80 years I am very grateful that various people and institutions gave me so much help. My family could not afford to keep me at school beyond the primary level but nevertheless they valued the idea of education. When the time came to leave primary school my winning a bursary made all the difference between continuing or leaving. At the end of high school a scholarship took me to the University of Tasmania. Three years later, a Rhodes Scholarship took me to Oxford. These three chances provided the foundation for a career in education. None of these stages would have been possible without the support of many people. My family were particularly supportive, but there were also some very good teachers. At any of these three change points it would have helped my family if I had left school and begun earning. They were prepared to forgo that help and actively encouraged me to continue. The family support was vital but would not have been enough on its own. Good teachers gave me not only the encouragement, but also the knowledge and insights, needed to continue. This combination of a helpful family and good teachers is powerful.

A sense of injustice Many people have not had the same opportunities to build a life. A life that is both useful to society and satisfying to the individual. I have come to understand the penalties these people face because of the lack of an effective education. It took me some time to recognise this unfairness. When I left primary school to go on to high school, most of my companions, two-thirds of the group, did not continue their education but went on to various types of work. It was an expected



Foreword

outcome then and I did not find it surprising. Our society took it for granted that not many people needed a secondary education and that even fewer needed a university education. This has changed during just one lifetime: now all people require a secondary education to open up work opportunities. Many continue on to university or technical education. Without an effective foundation in education opportunities are limited: not just for work but in many aspects of life. I have had opportunities to visit and work in many countries, in Europe and North America and, more recently, in Asia and the Pacific. In many countries the unfairness is dramatic and obvious. In India, in cities such as Mumbai, extremes of wealth and poverty exist within a hundred metres of one another. India has made great strides in education but still many millions of people have limited opportunities. Worldwide, more than 100 million children have no school and many others, particularly in Africa and parts of Asia, have very poor schools. These children all need better opportunities from education. Their societies, and our society, will be better places when that is possible. What is very disconcerting for me is that the same inequalities exist in our own society, in Australia. The contrast is not so dramatic or on such a large scale. The majority have access to good schooling and make effective use of that access. There is, however, a substantial group, perhaps as many as 20% of the age-group, who take very little away from their schooling. For the people involved this lack is just as destructive in Australia as it is for those similarly deprived in Africa. Over the past five years I have been involved in the evaluation of a new curriculum in all the schools in one Australian state. During this evaluation process, I have met and talked with hundreds of students. Such experience has many bright spots. Many students and teachers are working effectively together in courses which seek to provide suitable learning. However, for a substantial proportion of students throughout Australia this time at school is not successful. They leave school early or, if they complete the secondary years, leave without any qualifications they can use. In most cases these students are easy to identify. They are the ‘disengaged students’ who lack the motivation that will help them to learn and, increasingly, they fall behind other students. The effect is cumulative. What begins as a small gap separating them from other students becomes wider and more obvious. Many of them come from backgrounds which provide little help for their learning. Later, these students are restricted in their opportunities in all aspects of their lives. The world has changed and those who lack an effective education are heavily penalised. This does not seem to offer the ‘fair go’

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which Australians have come to expect. Is the gap between the engaged and the disengaged students bridgeable? Some of the ways in which disengaged students can be helped lie outside the school. Others are open to help from within the school. The basic concern in this book is to explore ways in which teachers can help students, all students, make a success of their education and thus give them a better chance in life.

Looking both ways Finding ways of improving opportunities for all means looking back, as well as forward. In our future we will see the impact of technological changes. Can we find technological ways to reach people? Of course we can, and will, and these will help, but they are not sufficient. Our past experience shows the individuality of learning; the variety of ways in which people think and react. The complexities of learning require human interaction so a reluctance for learning can be turned into genuine engagement. It is not only the reluctant learner who will benefit. Most of us gain our best insights from other people: from their teaching; from their friendship; from the care in families; from their contributions in music and literature and art.

Influences: good and bad In this book, then, it is in the lives of particular people that we explore the personal influences which have motivated and moved them. Some of these influences are through teachers and the nature of these influences is important to assess. The memories about teachers are not always good and positive. For some people such memories may dominate. Where the memories about teachers are bad memories, should the account be included? The practical answer has been yes. We need to be as conscious of the lessons learned from negative situations as we are from those that inspire and lead to success.

References Bruniges, M 2006, Teacher professional judgement in teaching and learning decisions, (In press). Camus, A 1965, Notebooks 1942–1951, Editions Gallimard, Paris.

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Hattie, J 2003, Teachers Make a Difference: What is the research evidence? Paper given at the Australian Council for Education Research Annual Conference on Building Teacher Quality. Hattie, JA 1992, ‘Measuring the effects of schooling’, Australian Journal of Education, Vol 36 (1), pp. 5–13. Hopkins, D 2002, A teacher’s guide to classroom research, Open University Press, Berkshire, pp. 164–84. Masters, G 2004, What makes a good teacher?, Perspectives, ACER, 14 April, 2004. Parker, R 2005, School Days, G P Putnam’s Sons, New York.

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Acknowledgements I need to thank many people for their help. The people whom I interviewed and pursued by post, email and phone were unfailingly helpful. I hope the words do justice to some remarkable people and to their teachers. The ACE Foundation has encouraged this book from the beginning. ACER editors have been constructive and helpful and the quality of the text owes much to their interest and professionalism. Every time I travel to another country I give thanks for the ABC. Nowhere else, apart from Britain, am I aware of a broadcaster that so consistently tries to give an unbiased view of national and international events. I have been very impressed also by the revealing portraits of prominent people, Australian and otherwise, who are interviewed by ABC commentators such as Peter Thompson, Margaret Throsby, Kerry O’Brien and Caroline Jones. Some of the people in this book, such as Charlie Teo, I first saw on the ABC and that interview encouraged me to meet him in person. These starting points made it easier and more meaningful for me to set the teacher–student interactions discussed in my own interviews with the participants against the backdrop of their lives.

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1 Stories of significant Australians and the influence of teachers Phillip Hughes

Passion, respect, care and commitment The picture that emerges from research into highly effective teachers is a picture of individuals who are passionate about teaching and learning, who respect students as learners and as people and who demonstrate care and commitment. They are more inclined than ‘experienced’ teachers to establish a closeness to students. Outstanding teachers also work to enhance students’ self-concept and self-efficacy as learners. They set challenging goals and encourage a shared commitment to achieving those goals. And while both ‘expert’ and ‘experienced’ teachers are successful in promoting surface learning of facts and procedures expert teachers are more successful in promoting deep understanding of concepts and principles.

(Masters, 2004)



Opening doors to the future

Starting early: sent home at five Much of the motivation for this book came from my reflections on particular teachers. Some of this influence went unrecognised by me at the time. They became significant only in retrospect in the context of particular decisions in my life. We often recognise turning points in our lives only as we reflect on them later and, equally, it is only later that we identify the key influences on those turning points. I have been directly linked with education, schools and teachers for 75 of my 80 years. It could have been more. I went along to begin school in Devonport at age five, only to be sent home until the legal starting-age of six. Since then the connection remains unbroken. By coincidence, some of my work from 2001 through 2004 took me back to the same school, Devonport Primary School in Tasmania. In a further coincidence one of the people featured in this book, John Marsden, spent time at the same school. His fondly remembered teacher there was, for a time, a fellow student of mine in the small school-within-a-school, which contained six grades in one room. In every one of these years one question has recurred: What makes a good teacher? My interest then is strictly self-centred. I am just as concerned now about this question as when I met my very first school-teacher, Miss Maguire, who was not merely content but proud to teach in the same kindergarten for over 30 years. My concern now is much broader. When I began school, 10% of the total Australian population were involved in education, just over 0.5 million people as students and staff. Australia now has over 20% of its population involved in education: approximately 4 million people. It is one of our largest national enterprises. The most fundamental change in that time has not been in numbers but in the increased importance of education to the lives of individuals. Education has a major influence in many aspects of these lives—their employment, their health and longevity, their participation in the community, their participation in crime and drug abuse and their family stability. Whereas education was once an optional extra for many people it has now become a necessity. Has the role of the teacher remained as important in such a situation or do other factors, such as home background, dominate? In my case I want to consider three people whose teaching had a special impact in my life. There could have been many more as there have been many opportunities to learn from others.



Stories of significant Australians and the influence of teachers—Phillip Hughes

It is important that we study teachers with all the benefits of current research. Statistical studies have an important role to play. However, I believe the study of teaching ought not to be entirely a scientific and analytical study. Like teaching itself, its study should include humanity and warmth. I begin this reflection with memories of Devonport Primary School where I started my formal progress in 1932. The main character in this part of the story is Alison Smith.

Alison Smith: is that your best? When Alison Smith came to my school, I was in Grade 1. She was a severe and uncompromising figure who always seemed to wear the same dress, grey cotton, with short sleeves and a severe, almost military cut. Later thought informs me she must have had several similar dresses. I also assumed she was nearing 60. Later calculation tells me she was 28. Her formal education was brief. It ended in Grade 6 in a little country school in a farming district near Sheffield, called The Nook. She became a monitor in a nearby primary school and learned her vocation by understudying older teachers with whom she worked. Her other learning, too, in literature, history, science, religion, art and music depended on what she did for herself. From being a monitor at age 12, she became an assistant, teaching some of the children in a large room controlled by a more senior teacher. Finally, after 14 years of experience, she was appointed as a teacher in charge of a one-room school, six grades of six or more children. She taught in that room for the next 32 years. That one room was to be my primary school for six years, following the kindergarten of Miss Maguire. Miss Smith’s one-room school was a Model Small School, a separate part of Devonport Primary. Frequently a group of 20 or more teachers would spend days sitting in neat rows at the back of the class to observe the patterns of teaching. These patterns were complex enough to be worth watching for she would teach one or two of the grades for a time, having set each of the others to work on their own tasks, and then she would move to another group. There was a timetable in a frame under glass above the fireplace, which gave the order of lessons for each day. It was followed absolutely. The front wall was lined with blackboards, prepared with meticulous care each night, and enough blank spaces for development the next day. One cupboard held her store of books. In addition there were maps that rolled down from above the blackboard, and hanging charts made by her from



Opening doors to the future

brown wrapping paper, with the same strong, neat figures and letters to introduce words or phrases or tables, or poems. Not what we would call a rich set of resources. What is it that makes me think of her as a good teacher? I remember surprising amounts of the information she taught me—the multiplication tables, the dates of Marlborough’s battles, the words of Tennyson’s Lady of Shalott, the capes and bays and rivers and mountains of England. On the former, we had a mnemonic, BROM, Billy-goats Run Over Mountains, 1704, 1706, 1708 and 1709 for the battles, Blenheim, Ramillies, Oudenarde and Malplaquet. When I learned the phrase by heart together with the dates I had no thought that in the future I would stand in both Blenheims, the palace near Oxford presented to the Duke by a grateful nation and the village in Belgium where the battle occurred. As I look back it is not these things as such that stand out, not so much what I remember, but my feeling as to what she knew and remembered. For every one of the 36 children in that room there was the certainty that at all times she knew just what we were doing. Knew what we were doing and cared what we were doing. To her, schooling was a precious privilege, hard-won, an escape from the limits of her little farm where she would have been unpaid labour for the rest of her life. That sense of infinite possibilities, of a world opening out through education, was somehow conveyed. On one occasion I had completed some homework to show to her. I hadn’t done it particularly well as our family had just invested in our first radio. It was 1938 and the Australian Test team was in England, playing at Leeds, and in difficulty. The family gathered around the new radio to listen to the broadcast. I should have been doing my homework but Australia was batting and in trouble on a dark day with a rain affected pitch. I listened instead to the radio account of Bradman scoring 103, an innings which helped to win the match. Next morning I completed my homework, hurriedly. We had to go forward in pairs to show our homework to Alison Smith. In those circumstances I waited to go forward with my friend Max whose work was always messy and ink-stained, no matter how he tried. I felt the comparison might help. Miss Smith went through his work carefully, not commenting on the ink-stains which were as much a part of Max as his fingerprints, but pointing out the good things he had done, the interesting words he had used and also the parts to improve. This response cheered me. I passed forward my work, confident it was better. She looked at it carefully. There was a silence which seemed to last for ever. She said quietly: ‘Is that your best?’



Stories of significant Australians and the influence of teachers—Phillip Hughes

She didn’t wait for a reply. I didn’t have one. She knew it was not my best. I knew it was not my best. That question is one which keeps coming back to me at crucial times in my life. ‘Is that your best?’ After she retired from Devonport Primary she taught for a further 15 years in a church missionary college. Altogether she had 61 years of teaching. My feeling is that she would remember the pupils she taught in every one of those 61 years. In the meantime I had completed secondary education and gone on to university and a science degree, then Oxford and my return to Australia. I taught and worked first in Victoria, then Tasmania and ACT, as well as having the opportunity to teach and work in many overseas countries. I still remembered Miss Smith. In 1980 I returned to Tasmania to become Dean of Education at the University of Tasmania. This was a role which took me to all parts of the state. In 1988, on hearing Miss Smith had been sick, I began to look for her, finding her eventually in an old-people’s home in the North-West of Tasmania where she had been sent after a long illness in hospital. Directed to the lounge in the home, I found myself looking into a circle of old people. They were all silent, nodding in sleep or staring blankly in front of them. I could not identify my Miss Smith among those blank faces and asked a nurse to point her out. She took me to a grey-haired woman. At the second look I could recognise Alison Smith’s face, but the grey eyes were dull and unaware. She took no notice of the nurse’s greeting, and glanced at me with no sign of recognition. I hesitated and then leaned towards her. ‘I’m Phil Hughes, from your class.’ Silence. No response. I repeated my words, but without much hope of a response. Then, the eyes came alive, as though a light had come on. ‘Phil! I always knew you’d get to either Oxford or Cambridge.’ We talked for a few minutes but it wasn’t easy for her. She was in pain. She had had enough of life, but now and then the vitality emerged. She told me a story from the past. The teachers who came to watch me used to ask if I was nervous, teaching in front of them. One of them told me one morning I had looked tense the day before. I didn’t tell him but an elastic band had broken and I was afraid I’d lose my knickers. I kept my arm close to my side to hold them up.



Opening doors to the future

The light of memory in her eyes faded and she slumped back in her chair. We talked a little more, with occasional flashes of liveliness, but she became more tired. I left. Her obituary was sent to me just three weeks later.

Doris Brown: the irrelevance of Shakespeare After Devonport Primary I was one of the 30% who went on to the high school and one of the 5% of the age group to continue for the full five years. One of the teachers there was Doris Brown. She had been one of the earliest women in the state to get a bachelor of arts degree and she spent her whole career as a teacher, most of it at the same school, Devonport High. Today she would have become a principal—then she worked under the direction of a variety of men, with what I now realise was lightly disguised resentment. For more than 35 years she taught at that school, taking English, history, Latin, mathematics and girls’ hockey. Her hockey teams dominated the state competition for 20 years. There was an energy and restlessness about her, sometimes appearing as sarcasm, which could be all the more cutting because of her careful choice of words. I remember her partly because of Shakespeare. He was part of the English course and thus part of our studies. The year was 1941 and there was war in the African desert with Australian troops battling to prevent the German forces from reaching Egypt and the Suez Canal. Three of my brothers were in the Air Force, two of them seconded to the RAF and flying in the dangerous skies over Europe. War was about to come even closer when Japanese planes bombed Pearl Harbor. In our home we had built a bomb-shelter in case of an attack. These struggles dominated my imagination. Why should I study Caesar in ancient Rome? Or Shylock in Venice? Or the murder of a king in medieval Scotland? The only reason I could see was that it was in the course and would be on the exam-papers. To my mind there was one clear purpose: to get a credit in the exam and increase my choices when I left school. Doris Brown had another purpose. She was determined that we would come to know Mark Antony, Portia and Lady Macbeth, not as distant figures but as real people, with love for a friend, with a desire for justice, with overwhelming ambition and crippling remorse. She used a variety of approaches which took us into strange worlds, exotic worlds that became more like our own, the closer we looked. Every time we commented on remoteness, she found a way to make Shakespeare’s words and characters speak



Stories of significant Australians and the influence of teachers—Phillip Hughes

to us, with a penetration we had never experienced before. The freshness that she revealed in Shakespeare’s words still strikes a chord.

If you really have something to say, say it! Another interaction with Doris Brown remains clear in my mind. In 1943 I was asked to speak on behalf of the students about to leave school, to thank teachers for their work and help during our time at school. I thought a modest beginning would help. You will have to be kind about my speech for I am not a good public speaker.

Doris Brown came to me afterwards and I was hoping for some complimentary words on my speech and on my modesty. I didn’t get them. Phil Hughes. When you are asked to give a speech, don’t apologise. If you really have something to say, say it! If not, remain silent.

That is another lesson I have put in practice throughout life. I have had to make speeches in many places; never embarking on one without remembering that admonition. If you have something to say, say it! I saw Doris Brown again forty years later when I was a professor at the University of Tasmania. She was still in Devonport and, like Alison Smith, her last days were spent in a home for the aged. She remained as sharp as ever. I retold that story. Those bright brown eyes sparkled. She smiled. If more people believed that, we would have fewer speeches and they would mean more.

Is that all you want to take from Oxford? From the high school I became one of the 2% of the age-group to continue to university. Three years of study was focused on science and mathematics and it was in these areas I saw my future. In 1947 I was awarded the Rhodes Scholarship and went to Oxford University. My purpose was to study mathematical physics as a basis for a career in science. In 1947 it took six weeks to get to England on an ocean liner. My mail from England took some weeks to get home. On that first voyage I was uncertain how I would manage in this new environment after the comfortable and intimate atmosphere of Tasmania.



Opening doors to the future

Nuclear physics was then flourishing and Oxford offered great opportunities in that field. In contrast to Tasmania there was not a given set of lectures but a wide spectrum from which to choose. In the first of my weekly visits to my tutor he asked which lectures I had in mind. I indicated my choices in mathematics and in physics, with a strong focus on quantum mechanics and relativity. He agreed to the relevance of these choices but then raised his eyebrows and then made a comment which took me by surprise. Those lectures will help in your work here. Is that all you want to take from Oxford?

‘Is there something special that I have missed?’ I asked, thinking of more mathematics. Did you know that C S Lewis is lecturing on Milton in the first term and Lord David Cecil on The Victorian Novel in the next term? I might add some others to the list later.

I had never heard of C S Lewis.

Live in fragments no longer I had heard of ‘Paradise Lost’—but never read it. I had heard of Milton as the poet who had written ‘Paradise Lost’, but I knew little about him. More from curiosity than expectation, I went to the large lecture-hall in The High to see for myself. I learned later that there were 100 students enrolled in the course. There were 500 students attending the lectures. At first, I didn’t see why. There were no dramatics, no fireworks, not even a visual aid, certainly no PowerPoint presentations. There was just a middle-aged man in a neat blue suit speaking quietly and clearly, and, as I later realised, with beautifully modulated emphasis. While I had never read ‘Paradise Lost’ I went from the lecture to borrow a book of Milton’s poems. The language was difficult, seeming archaic at first sight. I didn’t really follow it, not at that first reading. Lewis lectured once a week. I went each time but with gradually different feelings. Surprisingly to me, I felt new sensations. The words of the poem, which were sonorous and beautiful from the beginning, took on meaning as well. At first the meaning related to Milton’s own context, the England of his day. Soon, the meaning was extended to the classics and the Bible, whose threads ran through the verses. Finally, the meaning connected with my life; with my own perceptions and ambitions. As I thought about the changes in my thinking and feeling, I came to realise the power of teaching in new ways. C S Lewis never



Stories of significant Australians and the influence of teachers—Phillip Hughes

spoke to me as an individual outside the lecture-room but every word inside that room began to take on new meanings. His lectures had turned my ambitions back from a career in science towards one in teaching. I was fascinated by his unfussed skill with words, the precision with which he could build links with the past, the evocative magic with which that past could speak to me as a person. It was only much later that I rediscovered C S Lewis, but then it was as a powerful writer who is able to express in that form the same magic of language to engage with the most important issues of life. I continue to be his student without ever having met him as an individual. His book The Screwtape Letters played a major part in the beliefs I hold about life. I am intrigued to see his writing successfully translated to the screen in major films, an outcome which would surprise him. Much later in E M Forster’s book Howards End I found a statement, which summed up the essence of C S Lewis as a teacher. Only connect. Only connect the prose and the passion and both will be exalted … Live in fragments no longer.

That power to connect prose and passion, learning and meaning is one aspect which makes a good teacher into a great teacher.

Choosing a direction Leaving Oxford in 1950 after eighteen years of formal education, I still had to decide the direction for my life. On return to Australia three very different work offers were made. One was to be in the Department of Foreign Affairs, the pathway taken by Richard Woolcott, also featured in this book. The offer tempted me with the prospect of interesting and useful work overseas. One was in a university physics department, either in Tasmania or in Canberra. In many ways that was the logical sequel to my formal studies at Oxford and in Tasmania. In both places there were opportunities in nuclear physics and good people with whom to work. The third was as a teacher at the Naval College, then situated at Flinders Naval Depot in Victoria. Teaching seemed to me a special challenge in terms of its opportunities to relate to people. Teaching won the day. This led me back to Tasmania in due course and then to many other places but always to teach.



Opening doors to the future

I am happy with that choice. Fifty-six years later, after a career which has allowed me to work in every Australian state and territory, in France, England, the United States, the Arab Gulf States, Asia and the Pacific countries, I am still following the implications of that choice. I know the power of teaching from the changes in my own life.

References Forster, E M 1955, Howards End, Penguin Books, Harmondsworth, UK. Masters G 2004, What makes a good teacher?, Perspectives, ACER, 14 April, 2004.

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2 Strength and integrity Carmel Niland

Difficult choices There is a long step between speculating on the influences in your own life and asking other Australians to do the same. My memories of particular people who had touched my life were very personal. How would I be received by other people in asking them to reflect on the major influences in their lives? Would they wish to share their reflections on issues long past and on persons who had made a significant impact on their lives? The answer turned out to be ‘yes’, and I gradually built up a list of people who were prominent in various areas of Australian life.

Women—a special role In deciding on a list of people to approach I was interested in people who had made a significant impact on a particular area of life in Australia. One of the most significant changes in life in this country has been in the role of women. Carmel Niland was one of the first names that people mentioned when I enquired who might be helpful. One aspect to strike me forcefully was that I could equally have

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chosen the other Niland, Carmel’s husband John. He occupies a place in Who’s Who in Australia immediately after Carmel. His achievements in public life are impressive also. Not very many married couples rate separate entries in Who’s Who. In this case the entries are both substantial even though the detail of their achievements is very compressed. Carmel Niland as a senior and experienced public servant is very much part of the changing women’s story of recent years. When taken with Claire Smith, an academic; Fabian Dattner, a businesswoman; Lyndsay Connors, a public education leader and Fiona Wood, a plastic surgeon and Australian of the Year, there is a range of roles that illustrate the social changes for women. These stories can reveal something of the achievements and challenges from this major social and cultural change. Education in general has been both an influence on, and a recipient of, the changes for women. During my primary school years the range of employment for women was very limited. My mother had been a teacher before she married and this was one of the very few avenues of employment for women outside the home. Teaching gained from the entry of very able women. For many of them that was both a fulfilling and a frustrating avenue—fulfilling because of the opportunity to influence whole generations; frustrating in the lack of advancement to positions of leadership. Like Doris Brown, many women served under the charge of men who were often less able and more poorly qualified.

Change—by revolution or by increments? During the lifetime of Carmel Niland, and in significant part because of the influence of people such as her, women are now not only teachers, but surgeons, physicians, lawyers, psychologists, airline pilots, soldiers and police. Her life has been an example of that transformation, showing both the benefits and the frustrations that so often accompanied the process. There is no sense in which Carmel Niland is just an example. Her story is of a remarkable individual who in interaction with other people has transformed the social scene. What is of particular interest is that this is not a story of a planned and systematic change but rather a series of changes of attitude in Carmel and in other people. Carmel herself, after passing through and contributing to that revolution, feels that revolutionary change is not always, perhaps not often, the best way to go. In many of her significant achievements the final result comes from incremental change—incremental, but carefully conceived and performed.

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Strength and integrity—Carmel Niland

Carmel’s own career is an example of gradual changes which accumulated to a major transformation in her attitudes and in her capacity. In that transformation her education experiences played a major part, but not always in consistent and deliberate ways. The list of posts for Carmel is substantial: teacher in Sydney; graduate assistant at the University of Illinois; high school teacher in New York; teacher in Canberra in the new Education Authority; technical teacher in Sydney; Coordinator of the Women’s Coordination Unit, followed by a series of highlevel posts culminating in her time as Director-General of Community Services. Among the many special positions which she occupied was a period as Deputy Chancellor of her original university, the University of New South Wales (UNSW) from 1989–92. Her husband John was Vice Chancellor and President of UNSW in the period immediately following, from 1992 to 2002, constituting an unusual sequence of contributions. Hidden behind her apparently steady rise is a story of developing capacities and attitudes that made Carmel Niland one of the most powerful and effective public servants of her time.

Mixed messages In our discussions Carmel described her school experiences in mixed terms. She found much that was confronting but also had experiences and interactions which had profound and long-term effects. She came from a Catholic family. Her birth in 1944 occurred shortly after her father left for overseas in the army. He returned to a career as a doctor in Randwick. Carmel’s mother had six more children in the years that followed. For this reason Carmel spent considerable time in her grandparents’ home at Coogee. Her grandmother was Irish and her grandfather English and she remembers from that period the nostalgic memories which they maintained. Her Catholic background ensured that when she began school at the age of four it would be at the local parish school, St Brigid’s, moving later to the Brigidine Convent nearby. Carmel found the strong discipline and the frequent use of corporal punishment very confronting and resented it very openly. The Irish Catholic nuns were often not well educated themselves and operated under a strict regime, which Carmel found unreasonable. She has retained from that time a sense of the importance of fairness which has made her a powerful advocate against injustice. Reading became an important part of her life because it provided an avenue away from a situation she found uncomfortable. She remembers clearly the feelings of resentment and anger which she took away from school, feelings that were not softened until she

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returned to the school in 1986 at the invitation of the Order. At that time many of the former graduates advised the Order about directions for the future. Carmel now recognises that in addition to the negative reactions she also took from the school positive messages that became part of her life. The women at the Convent may often have been harsh but they were independent and effective in what they did, with very little help from others. As she said in her interview with Susan Mitchell appearing in the book, Tall Poppies, Too: While the nuns were giving you the conventional religious message you were also being shown extremely strong role models. You were being shown that women could run schools, teach chemistry, read science, play basketball, captain the cricket, do the gardening, fix the electric light and a whole range of other things. They were bosses, and cleaners, and sometimes all those roles simultaneously.

(Mitchell, 1991)

When she was part of the Women’s Electoral Lobby many years later that realisation of the power which women could wield was already in her understanding. The example of the sisters was powerful even when their words were not.

Outstanding teachers Carmel had three outstanding teachers at the school. She speaks vividly and warmly about them: Mother Albeus in the fifth grade; Mother Thomas in the Fourth Form and Mother Loyola in the Fifth Form. Her own words form the best tribute. Mother Albeus was Irish and brought back memories of Carmel’s grandmother. Like many of the nuns her deep religious commitment was not accompanied by a strong initial education but she had a lively mind and an interest in continued learning which more than compensated for this beginning. She enjoyed intellectual engagement and encouraged her students to do the same, not feeling challenged by this relationship. For me, she provided two invaluable types of learning. When I questioned religious teachings, which was frequently, she was prepared to listen and discuss just as she was for other fields of questions. For her part she stressed also the value of rote learning of that knowledge which she judged as important and through her I learned by heart many great pieces of literature, both religious and secular, as well as the arithmetic tables. This combination of inquiry and knowledge is something I have come to value. That was, and still is, an important part of my life.

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Strength and integrity—Carmel Niland

The work begun by Mother Albeus was built on by Mother Thomas, now known as Patricia Keating. Carmel first met this teacher in her Grade 5 year when she began to take elocution lessons as a means of dealing with a high-pitched voice. The experiment was a success, far beyond the original target. Speech and drama became interests through primary and secondary school. The side benefits were substantial: a growth in self-confidence, a capacity to make public presentations, and an ability to address differing audiences successfully. These were lessons with an immediate gain—a gold medal from AMEB in speech and drama. Most importantly, for the long term, Carmel was sharpening the skills and capacities which would make her a formidable advocate for her chosen causes. For Mother Thomas it was not enough to have a strong line of argument. The manner of its presentation was important. She taught me what it meant to show dignity and to build a presence, how to be bold but not brash.

Mother Thomas became Carmel’s teacher of English, ancient history and religion in the Fourth Form and it was here that Carmel felt that all the work came together and ‘blossomed’. In spite of her sceptical attitude she obtained top marks in religion. She broadened her reading of the classics through writers such as Tacitus and Suetonius and developed a love of the history of Greece and Rome, ‘a life-long gift’. Jane Austen became and remains a favourite, with her evocative atmosphere, her clear and crisp analysis of character and her intolerance of prejudice. Mother Loyola, Joyce Fraser, became a valued teacher in Fifth Form, where she extended Carmel’s love of literature to the more recent poets, moving from Donne and Shakespeare to Gerard Manley Hopkins. She was a contrast to many of the sisters as she had a high level of education and understanding, and provided a confirmation of the strengths Carmel had developed with Patricia Keating. I learned not just to perform in public, but how to express complex ideas simply, but without distortion, how to conduct myself in a variety of situations, how to sustain an argument. Debating was and remains a strength for me. Although I was sceptical about religion, I developed a good understanding of theology. These were all to be a base for the life I have lived.

These teachers made a lasting impression but one which was obscured for many years by her negative reactions to those teachers whose approach had seemed bigoted and cruel.

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One of the most valuable long-term lessons from this time was a feeling for what characteristics were helpful in public presentations and arguments. Carmel was known in public life for the quiet force of her arguments, without histrionics but with deep feeling. The capacity for clear, logical argument was established through both the example of Mother Thomas and the chance for Carmel to engage in debate.

Widening the horizons Carmel continued on from school direct to the University of New South Wales, a place which was to be important to both her and John throughout their lives. She says that her horizon was limited by the feeling that the most important outcome from university was to become married. She was soon to discover a suitable candidate. John Niland was President of the Student Union, an attractive figure and one with unexpected common roots with Carmel. She described for me a visit they made to Ireland in the late 1980s when she discovered that John’s family came from the same part of the country. She completed her degree at UNSW and then went on for a Diploma of Education at Sydney. It was at that time that she and John were married. At that stage she saw teaching as a temporary occupation before beginning a family. Carmel had a teaching post at a Sydney high school, but this was brief as John obtained a scholarship to the University of Illinois where they travelled in mid 1966. The seat of the university was then exclusively at Champaign-Urbana, a very different site to Sydney. The twin towns were a small urban environment of about 80 000 in a large rural setting in the midst of the cornfields of Illinois. The university, one of the ‘land-grant’ universities, had over 30 000 students, a very large number for such a small town. It was, and is, one of the great public universities and was then a very lively academic setting, attracting many of the US and overseas top scholars. It had become a favourite destination for many Australian students who no longer looked exclusively at Oxford and Cambridge. Both John and Carmel commenced Masters degrees and Carmel managed to obtain a graduate assistant position to aid the finances. To assist further she began to fill in supermarket competitions and managed to win $1000, a substantial sum, sufficient to buy a car which widened their travel opportunities. The USA was a very exciting setting at that period with the racial equality movement in full swing. The university setting and their travels in the US had a radical effect on

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Strength and integrity—Carmel Niland

Carmel’s thinking. She had taken it for granted that she should be ready to assist John in his studies while also taking on the household chores. Now she began to ask herself where her priorities should lie. When Carmel finished her Masters degree in theatre and education, John opted to write up his PhD at Cornell University in Ithaca. Carmel obtained a job teaching at a junior high school in New York. Their first son, Adam, was born in this period. It was not until Adam was almost two that they returned to Australia, this time to Canberra where John had obtained a readership at the Australian National University (ANU).

Liberation in action Canberra in the 1970s was in a period of major change and the Australian Capital Territory was expanding rapidly. It was the early days of the new ACT Schools Authority which had separated from the NSW Education Department. The universities were also in a period of rapid growth. John took up his post at ANU and Carmel went back to teaching. Carmel’s first experience with a job application in technical education had been frustrating. The interview committee was more concerned with how she would juggle both job and family and chose, instead, a man with inferior experience and qualifications. That injustice crystallised her attitudes. She heard that a former friend, Gail Wilenski, was helping to develop an organisation to give greater opportunities to women. Gail welcomed Carmel and they, together with Susan Ryan, became an important part of the Women’s Electoral Lobby. Her memories of this period are very warm. Women from many backgrounds joined together to obtain more equitable opportunities for women in every sphere of Australian life. Another of these women was Lyndsay Connors whose story appears later in this book. The Whitlam Government came into office with a mandate for change and what had just been hopes for change rapidly became realities. Carmel remembers this as an exciting period with a realisation that dreams could become realities. This was a crucial time as women took a much more active and public part in Australian life. Some of the WEL members, like Susan Ryan, went into politics and were prominent in the legislation which further broadened the opportunities for women. Others like Carmel and Lyndsay Connors looked to become leaders in other fields. In looking back Carmel is struck by the impact of the new opportunities in education that were opened up for women aided, at that stage, by the abolition

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Opening doors to the future

of university fees. In the story from Lyndsay Connors, she, too, emphasises the sudden recognition that what had seemed out of reach had become possible. This heady period seemed destined to close for Carmel even before it had begun. She had her second baby, Joshua. At the same time John was offered and accepted a chair in industrial relations at their familiar university, UNSW. He had to move to Sydney while Carmel was left with the two children and the task of organising the move, still retaining her teaching job until the move occurred several months later. At first this was a major disappointment to Carmel. Her opportunities seemed to be closed off yet again.

Recognising your own worth On returning to Sydney after so many years, Carmel felt discouraged at the thought of beginning all over again. At first this seemed the case as she found a job with technical and further education again. All her study and experience seemed to have counted for nothing. She remained at the technical college for two years before being invited to establish the Women’s Coordination Unit. This also involved redesigning the Women’s Advisory Council in the Premier’s department. Taking on this task was in one sense the ideal opportunity but it involved also a difficult balance: to manage her home and children while at the same time fulfil the demands of a responsible job. The pressures were heavy, but they also provided Carmel with an understanding of the heavy load borne by many women. What she also recognised was her own capacity to carry a heavy load. That quiet selfconfidence that developed was to become increasingly important. Carmel recalls the challenges in carrying out a complex task while unsure of the extent of the political help that she could call upon. Her budget was very small and she had to use her ingenuity in finding ways of carrying out an ambitious program. A major aim was to increase the representation of women on key committees. In doing so she was helped when she discovered that there was a record kept of all the people appointed to government boards and statutory authorities. For Carmel this provided a unique opportunity as she was able to predict when a vacancy would occur. She remembers clearly an early victory which opened up other opportunities. A strategic opportunity occurred through some impending vacancies on the Sydney Cricket Ground Trust. No woman had ever been on the Trust. I looked for a nominee that would be very hard for the Trust to resist. I finally persuaded Betty Cuthbert to be a

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Strength and integrity—Carmel Niland

nominee. I knew that her prestige with the public as one of Australia’s most successful Olympians would make her impossible to resist. That appointment was a massive step in changing attitudes. After that it was easier to persuade the decision makers that there would be a woman on all key committees including interviewing committees for appointments.

Carmel quickly learned how to circumvent the lack of funds by using a variety of media outlets including some like The Australian Women’s Weekly, which many feminists disdained. Carmel’s concern was to find ways of reaching women who were not touched by the radical literature. Wider opportunities still opened when Carmel was appointed as President of the Anti-Discrimination Board in 1982. Her keen sense of fairness and her appreciation of the harm done by discrimination made it an ideal post for her. What had been a demanding preparation had found an ideal setting in which to operate. Carmel went into private enterprise for a period with her own consultancy firm. This venture occupied her time and efforts from 1989 until 1998. Even in this period she had many calls back to public life including being asked to conduct the Inquiry into the Resignation of the Minister for Police. Finally, in 1998, Carmel was persuaded to return to the public service as Director-General of the Department of Community Services where she remained until her retirement in 2002. John Niland retired as Vice-Chancellor and President of UNSW in the same year. They remain active in a number of academic and business associations. Carmel remains as thoughtful and concerned with public issues as ever and is still mindful of the influences that helped her to shape a valuable life. School for her had been a difficult time and yet she is now conscious of how much she gained from particular teachers and even from the difficulties which she faced.

References Mitchell, S 1991, Tall Poppies, Too, Penguin Books, Melbourne. Who’s Who in Australia 2004, Crown Content, North Melbourne.

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3 Winning the daily battle Paul Brock

Never give up The story of Paul Brock has two distinct sides. One of these sides is a smooth catalogue of success, the type of Australian story we all enjoy. He was brought up in a large and happy family. His schooling was uniformly successful. At the end of his schooling he joined the Marist Brothers Order, proceeded successfully through his novitiate, and then completed four years of academic study with distinction at Sydney University. Simultaneously he also undertook theology and philosophy qualifications at Champagnat College. This preparation was followed by 14 years of teaching in Catholic schools in NSW. A university career, work in Commonwealth education and a senior post in NSW education followed. In addition to success in his academic, teaching and administrative roles he might well have represented his state in cricket, and he has a passion for music and is a very competent pianist. He was appointed to the position of Director of Professional Practice following a very successful period as Director of Strategic Research in the NSW Department of Education. James Cook University awarded him an Honorary Doctorate of Education in recognition of his eminent contribution to

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Winning the daily battle—Paul Brock

education and human welfare. The ABC published a book featuring Paul’s life, entitled A Passion for Life. His career reads like a sequence of successes. That impression does not reveal the full story of his achievements nor does it tell of the hurdles that Paul overcomes daily.

News no-one wants to hear Over 10 years ago, Paul was delivered devastating news. On a visit to his doctor to check what seemed a minor problem, a sore arm which he thought may be a tennis elbow, his doctor delivered what Paul later described as ‘a hammer blow’. The diagnosis was motor neurone disease, with the probability of 30 months of life—a life of a rapidly deteriorating quality. Paul is still alive after more than eight years but has progressively lost muscle control so that he can perform very little physical activity and must call upon his carers or his family for every activity. His body may be conveyed in a wheelchair but his mind and spirit remain unimpaired. In speeches and in writing Paul shows the urge to communicate and the power of words as fluently as ever. His spirit remains unconfined.

Family—the power of communication Paul belongs to a Catholic family. His father had been a Presbyterian who converted during his courtship to the Irish-Catholic girl who was to become Paul’s mother. She had not continued her schooling beyond the primary years and was intent on seeing her children would have the opportunities she missed. I was blessed by having parents wholeheartedly committed to educating their six children to become fully literate, in the richest sense of that word. My late Dad, Ken Brock, who was Editor of the splendid, but now departed, daily newspaper The Newcastle Sun, was held in the highest esteem within Australian journalism for his integrity, professionalism and fearless fairness. Dad had a love of, and a passion for, reading, and was a really superb writer. My mother Pat, still firing on all cylinders at 87, instilled in us all—through both precept and practice—an appreciation of the power of written and spoken communication.

Discipline and insights: those who transform themselves Paul attended Catholic primary and secondary schools. Two aspects stood out: the impact of strict discipline and the personal influence of some teachers. A

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Opening doors to the future

particularly powerful insight was from his observation of the deliberate and selfgenerated change in teachers who have had to adapt to new circumstances. Great educators are those who, while conserving the best of the past, enhance and even transform themselves through creatively responding to change experienced in the present. Brother Kenneth Moreland had taught me in 1955 and had made a substantial contribution to the 155 cuts of the cane that I had received during First Form. (The winner in our class 1A scored over 300 hits.) But he also had those qualities of empathy and engagement which captivated us as young students. Nearly 20 years later, the man under whom I served from 1972–74, while retaining all his admirable qualities, had grown profoundly as an educator. He now adopted and implemented educational ideas that were the very cutting edge of progressive educational thought. The cane was never seen. He too knew the name of every boy and girl from Year 7 to Year 12. His transformation from the cane wielding young teacher of 1955 to the dynamic, wise and empathetic brilliant school Principal nearly 30 years later constituted for me a most powerfully lived-out embodiment of the value of life-long learning for teachers.

The church was one of the ‘four pillars’ of Paul’s life, together with education, music and sport. Every day for him began with piano practice and most of them included cricket or tennis. Of the six children, two became priests, one a nun and one a teacher in a Catholic school. Paul’s father had the chance of university education himself, winning a scholarship to Sydney University. In those depression days he could not go to Sydney to take up the scholarship but always maintained an emphasis on education for his children. Paul entered the Marist Brothers Order on 31 December 1959, having been School Captain of what was then the largest Catholic boys’ secondary school in Australia, Marist Brothers’ Hamilton (Newcastle).

Building a career: truth, justice and moral growth Paul’s novitiate followed directly after his school career. Following 18 months spiritual training in Mittagong and six months teaching at Marist Brothers High School Darlinghurst, he spent four years as a fulltime student at the University of Sydney doing a BA Hons degree, as well as undertaking theology and philosophy qualifications at Champagnat College, Dundas. Then in 1966, he took up his first teaching position at St Joseph’s College, looking after Dormitory 7 students. These two different places, Sydney and Champagnat, provided very different lessons for Paul, but both were valuable in their own way. The latter provided a theology background. The former deepened his insights into literature and history.

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Winning the daily battle—Paul Brock

From my great University of Sydney scholar-teachers in the early to mid 1960s I developed a passion for English and history; a profound belief in the scholarly importance of always trying to get to the truth of things; and the understanding of the role that contexts, perceptions, and the constant interplay between the claims for objectivity and the claims for subjectivity play in the pursuit of truth, justice and one’s moral growth. That what one sees through the kaleidoscope of life depends on the interrelationships between the bits of glass, the mirrors and lenses, and how one interacts with the kaleidoscope by swivelling its circumference. That passion for English and history has never left me. Of course in my subsequent educational career, English was to play the greater part.

Paul felt considerable empathy for the young boys who were beginning at St Joseph’s College. He had found it traumatic at the age of 16 to leave home, and enter the Order. In the early weeks particularly, I had been so lonely at Mittagong. So, I reckoned I knew how some of the boys, especially from the bush, must have felt. Within the obvious limitations, I tried to make the dorm as homely as possible. The Fourth Division master Br Francis Edward, who died so unexpectedly some years ago, helped me to find my feet as a dorm master.

The conditions also made it impossible for him to pursue his major sporting love, cricket, at which he had excelled. Before his other interests took precedence Paul was a possible state cricketer. Having had to ‘give up’ a potentially promising cricket career in 1959 had been nearly as big an issue for me as had been taking on poverty, chastity and obedience. I had lived for cricket.

Planned spontaneity: he knows my name In the new setting he found other people whom he could admire and from whom he learned. My first Headmaster, Br Elias (known later as Br Charles Howard), was the best principal I ever knew: a superb educator. In all my career I have worked with only five people who displayed lateral thinking brilliance: Br Elias is one of these. Soon after leaving SJC Br Charles became Provincial of the Sydney Province of the Marist Brothers. His talent was later internationally recognised when he was elected Superior-General of the Order. Through sheer hard work, Br Charles Howard was able to memorise the Christian name of every boy in the College (and there were 800 of them!)—and their parents—without exception. I

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personally watched him as he built up that skill. He was driving from Brewarrina to Bourke to attend yet another fund-raising dinner. I was sitting beside him with the names of the 100 or so who were attending the dinner. We went over and over the Christian and surnames, and he then had me test him until he made no mistakes. Few things demand so much discipline as planned spontaneity. The subsequent impact upon the attendees was powerful. As the Old Testament puts it somewhere ‘Yahweh knows me because He knows my name’.

The power of expectation For Paul, intellectual stimulation was provided not only from his confreres but also by some of the highly intellectually gifted St Joseph’s College students. He taught the top level English to the first HSC class (1967) and was immensely impressed by the intellectual calibre of those boys. My students included Robert Durnan, Jack Waterford (later both Robert and Jack were to be significantly involved in seeking ways to improve Aboriginal health and advance other social issues). Other students included Peter Barrett, Chris Quail, Stephen Wilson (also a wonderful sprinter), and Peter Thompson, a distinguished presenter on the ABC.

At St Joseph’s College Paul developed his most important principle for education: always have the highest expectation of a student. One of the worst things one can do as an educator is to lower one’s expectations of students to some ‘lowest common denominator’ mediocrity. To accept ‘necessary’ as being ‘sufficient’. To accept ‘sufficient’ as being ‘satisfactory’. To accept ‘satisfactory’ as being the upper limits of students’ capabilities. The College’s motto said it all for me. In meliora contende: always strive for the better things. I know that not everything was perfect at SJC, and that there is a tendency to sweep any unpleasant aspects of the past under the carpet. But we all participated in some wonderful achievements at the College precisely because, from the Headmaster down, the staff was committed to the goals so nicely articulated in that College prayer that all of us—boys, Brothers and lay staff—would recite after Mass.

Music, art, creativity and imagination A further experience left a lasting impression of the power of the arts in education. The second educational truth that I had confirmed was my profound belief in the crucial educational importance of music, art, creativity and imagination—and how powerful

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Winning the daily battle—Paul Brock

these could be in developing a student’s sense of achievement. Against considerable scepticism at best and opposition at worst, Br Kenneth, the Nuns and the Brothers set aside all Wednesday afternoon in Term 2 of the ‘old’ three term year for every student in Year 11 and Year 12 to produce musical dramas. Thus each student was an actor, or a singer, or a writer, or a lighting technician, or a costume designer or a carpenter, or a musician etc. The productions were magnificent and became a feature of Lismore community life. Indeed I look back upon my own production of ‘Godspell’ as one of the most thrilling experiences of my whole career.

Paul saw that this shared sense of achievement had a ‘fantastic’ effect on the subsequent academic achievement of the students. This was particularly true of those students who, up until Term 2, had been dragging their heels academically. They now had a tremendous sense of satisfaction and confidence in their ability to produce and they approached their academic studies with renewed zest and sense of purpose.

Staying in touch with reality Paul left the Order in 1975. He taught English at a number of Catholic schools before becoming a lecturer at the University of New England in 1979 in the English Department, lecturing in British, Australian and American literature and with special responsibility for teacher education. Many of his colleagues impressed him with their scholarship in their chosen specialty, their commitment to the importance of their area of study and the high priority most of them placed on teaching. Paul tells a story to illustrate the combination of teaching and scholarship which he admires. It relates to his colleague, Jack Walton, who had piloted a Spitfire during the war, lying about his age in order to gain admission. Jack came to Armidale after the war to begin an academic career. Like a few of us academics, he was passionate about staying in touch with real teachers, real students and real schools. So he asked the NSW Department of Education district officers to arrange for him to teach a regular history class somewhere in the region. So they assigned Jack to Peel High School down in Tamworth. No doubt with a twinkle in his eye the head of History assigned Jack to History Year 11 Class which consisted of five of the most difficult kids. ‘Let’s see you tame this lot’ was in the mind of the teachers in the school. But Jack was too smart for them. He engaged his students’ interest in history by beginning with an exploration of their family history. One of the kids’ grandparents owned a famous pub near Tamworth, so

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Opening doors to the future

the class went there, interviewed the grandparent and looked at all the old photos and memorabilia in the pub. Kids began to feel that history might not be ‘all bunk’ as Henry Ford had claimed. As the students developed their family trees they discovered that each of them had at least one of their ancestors born in England. Jack contacted the local record offices in each of the English cities nearest to the birthplace of these ancestors. ‘Wouldn’t it be great’, said Jack, ‘if we could all go to England and look up these records and visit the places where your ancestors lived.’ The kids were really turned on, so Jack wrote to Qantas to see what chance there was—other than Buckley’s—for Qantas to sponsor such a trip. To his surprise, Qantas agreed, asking only of Jack that he write a history of Qantas that could be printed on a plastic A4 card and placed in every aircraft seat. Qantas would fly them to England and back without cost. Which they did. All of them. And all of these students went on to complete their Higher School Certificate and continue to university or TAFE. What a teacher!

Broader horizons Paul continued at the university during the 1980s. During this time he also had valuable experience in England and the USA. In 1990 he became Consultant Adviser to Education Minister John Dawkins. In 1992 he became Special Adviser to the Australian Language and Literacy Council, providing advice on the framing of national language and literacy policy and practice across a wide variety of education, employment and training contexts. He worked both formally (through tabled parliamentary reports) and informally with Ministers Beazley, Baldwin, Free and Crean.

This opportunity has been a real highlight of my life With a change of government in 1996 this body, like most Commonwealth advisory bodies in education, was abolished. Paul successfully applied for the position of Director of Strategic Policy in the then NSW Department of Training and Education. Soon after there was a restructure across the portfolio and he became Director of Strategic Policy in the amalgamated Department of Education and Training, responsible for developing long-term strategic policy in key areas of education and training. Later his responsibilities broadened, with a renaming of his position to that of Director of Strategic Research. This work involved him in a number of strategic research projects including helping prepare the NSW Government’s White Paper, Securing Their Future: The NSW Government’s

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Winning the daily battle—Paul Brock

Reforms for the Higher School Certificate and undertaking the Review of the Languages Policy in NSW Schools. Another project is identifying professional teaching standards for public education and training in NSW, within the contexts of best national and international policy and practice. Paul is married to Dr Jackie Manuel. Together they have written four books on literature. He has three daughters whose education gives even more point to his daily concerns. In total he has now written over 20 books and monographs (several of these have been co-authored), around 80 articles and chapters in books and is a valued speaker at conferences in Australia and overseas.

Keeping on: MND never takes a holiday For the past ten years, this achievement has been at a time when Paul was severely and increasingly affected by the motor neurone disease. Paul continues an exacting professional life, partly because of assistance provided by his department, but particularly because of an indomitable spirit. He depends heavily on his professional carers and comments on their devotion to their task. The support of his family has been a powerful factor in the will to live, and the determination to be useful to others is very much a part of Paul Brock’s life. Paul comments on the ‘hammer blow’ that was dealt to him by the disease. I live in a world of ever-diminishing circles. MND is an incurable, terminal disease rarely mentioned by the media. Probably because those of us with MND tend not to hang about very long. On average, those of us with MND survive for only 30 months after diagnosis. Mind you, when people with MND commit suicide—it makes the front pages and then appears on TV programs like ‘60 Minutes’. MND progressively kills the neurons that carry the messages from our brain to the muscles in all of our four limbs and those that control swallowing and breathing. And so, all of these muscles become progressively paralysed until we die. MND never takes a holiday.

In the face of this Paul speaks of his determination to ‘keep on keeping on’.

Transformation: the task ahead In my lifetime hospitals have been transformed by technology, changed work practices, and vastly shorter patient retention rates. Monasteries have fundamentally changed since I first commenced my 16 years in religious life in 1960. Even prisons are in the main very

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Opening doors to the future

different. And the school? As John Goodlad said: ‘Schools have not changed basically since they moved indoors!’

Paul Brock fights a battle for his life against MND daily. He still makes time to fight another battle: bringing high quality education to all. ‘Never give up’ is an appropriate motto.

Reference Brock, P 2004, A Passion for Life: An inspiring story of resilience and hope, ABC Books, Sydney.

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4 No-one can read a landscape like Peter Peter Andrews: recognising crisis

A beginning in crisis Peter Andrews’ earliest impressions are of crisis. He was born in 1940 and grew up near Broken Hill where his family owned a number of properties. It was not an easy area in which to farm as early clearing of trees had led to continuing erosion. It was wartime in Peter’s youth and there was always a sense of threat and shortages were constant. Peter was involved in the farms from his earliest memories and the property became his first school as well as his home.

Education at home Peter’s first schooling began at home, on the Broken Hill property. Beyond the reach of a school, home education was the only option apart from correspondence. Peter was lucky to have two excellent teachers at hand. Peter’s mother was a qualified primary teacher and she taught him through the primary school years. This was no easy option for Peter as his mother felt deeply about the need for a thorough basis of knowledge and skills. At the same

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time she found ways to interest and excite him about learning. Teaching of such quality on a one-to-one basis is rare and precious. Peter’s father broadened this strong base with the experience of the farm, its environment, its products and its animals. This combination of a personal tutor for his basic education and a whole learning environment with an expert guide was strong and effective. It lacked only in one essential ingredient: the challenge of interaction with other young people with all its social learning.

The value of integrity Peter has a vivid memory of his first formal school, St Peter’s in Adelaide. He had to fly by small plane to the capital city. As a small boy it was a formidable experience, with school seeming to be in another world and with entirely unknown teachers replacing his mother and father. For the first time, too, he found he had to relate to other children and adults. I suffered from a feeling of social awkwardness and found it difficult to live with strangers. I had so many gaps in my social skills. I found the headmaster, Mr Clayton, very helpful at this time. Mr Clayton was called ‘Cricketer’ by the boys due to his fondness for using cricket analogies for ordinary life.

The word he emphasised for cricket and for life was ‘integrity’. A quality that Peter values still. ‘Cricketer’ Clayton was not content with a distant role but had a special awareness of the problems this small boy faced, so far from home.

That boy can do things He encouraged me to keep bees and I joined with some other boys in practical activities, including building cubby houses. Watching me at work one day, Mr Clayton said to one of the other teachers ‘That boy can do things!’ I remember feeling surprised and wondering if he was right. I had never had that feeling about myself.

Mr Clayton had seen the social awkwardness in Peter but he had also seen his potential, which was the result of his early experiences and the way he faced up to problems. These experiences provided a way ahead for Mr Clayton. Peter was put into situations where he had to cooperate with other boys using his areas of strength.

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No-one can read a landscape like Peter—Peter Andrews

In many lives some phrases linger in the memory. This is certainly the case for Peter, ‘That boy can do things!’ expressed a judgement based on the headmaster’s experience of many boys over a long period. The realisation of that capacity was to be a key to Peter’s view of himself and his way of working throughout life.

That enthusiasm was important to me With the new confidence Peter developed from his practical activities, other teachers were able to build on a base. One of my teachers was Mr Jolley, who taught me science. His brother was Derek Jolley, a noted race driver. Our Mr Jolley was obsessed with carbon molecules. He used their link to powering engines to show the importance of carbon for the environment. I realised that everything that lived needed that energy. The other boys laughed at Mr Jolley and his enthusiasm for science. That enthusiasm was important for me. Connecting that carbon cycle with the nitrogen cycle gave me a scientific base, which still serves me well today.

What was a joke to some others was a vital lesson for Peter: the interconnectedness of the world we live in.

Learning outside school: how to look at an interconnected world Peter’s school experiences began to pay off in his outside life. The family’s Gawler property took his attention after school. Peter made a success of the 70acre property as a breeder of thoroughbred horses, making his property into one of Australia’s premier horse-breeding studs. He began to believe the words of his headmaster. He also met Dr Peter Irwin, a veterinary practitioner, who combined scientific knowledge with a careful observation of the natural world. He was to have a long-term influence. Peter Irwin was one of Australia’s most prominent vets and took a personal interest in educating Peter Andrews. Peter Andrews, perhaps because of his early schooling, has retained this capacity to learn from others. This sense of inter-connection in the natural world became increasingly important to Peter. Dr Irwin was to remain a significant influence in his life, with his veterinarian’s scientific knowledge complementing Peter’s practical understanding of the land and its complex interconnections. The management of biodiversity was the basis of Irwin’s approach and one that Peter found most valuable in giving him a platform of science on which to extend his

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practical capacities. When Peter came into contact with the writing of the German scientist Wilhelm Rippel, he found still another source of ideas for his activities, activities which were soon to expand into a new setting.

Reinstating the natural system: it’s a learning curve every day In 1989 Peter Andrews moved to Tarwyn Park, near Bylong in NSW. It was a property badly degraded by erosion and poor natural water flow. Using forces and patterns inherent in the natural water flow, Peter has restored Tarwyn Park to health and produced several top horses in the process. Peter Andrews has developed the Natural Sequence Farming approach, which he calls ‘reinstating the principles of the natural system’. Over the last 15 years at Tarwyn Park, Peter has achieved a remarkable turn-around on a property. This turn-around has been achieved by a man without a formal scientific education but one who has been prepared to learn from scientists such as Peter Irwin and simultaneously from his observations of the landscape and his own practical experiments. He has had to be prepared to change his thinking but he has done so on the basis of long-term observation. The more I watched the landscape and thought about what I saw, the more I came to realise that its patterns were the opposite of what I had believed.

The result of the watching and the thought, together with the preparedness to change, is the success of Tarwyn Park. Can this success be repeated elsewhere? Many well-informed people believe that a social and ecological disaster is unfolding in Australia, not for want of water, but because it is misused. Could this remarkably and atypically productive Hunter Valley farm hold the key to a solution?

The learner becomes the teacher The lessons that began in his home and were reinforced at school became the basis for his teaching of others. The feeling of urgency that had come from his experience with his farm and his interactions with others has been the motivator for him to become a teacher of others. Many people have come to see what Peter has done at Tarwyn Park. One such group included the then Deputy Prime Minister, John Anderson; billionaire retailer

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No-one can read a landscape like Peter—Peter Andrews

Gerry Harvey; television presenter Ray Martin; a representative of billionaire Dick Pratt, together with representatives from the CSIRO, the University of Sydney and ATSIC. This is an unusual group to consult a farmer who has no formal qualifications. Instead he has a startling example, a farm which has returned to a healthy state from one where salt had made it a desert. When I spoke with Peter Andrews I had recognised the enthusiasm. His farm and its transformation provides the justification of his confidence.

The literacy of landscape Peter’s assessment of the national needs is bleak. The current drought has made most people aware of the danger we face of long-term irreversible change. Peter believes that our methods have exacerbated the effects of the drought, making it worse rather than solving the problem. He speaks with much of the enthusiasm and conviction of an Old Testament prophet and his predictions are at last being heeded. His concern extends beyond the threat to landscape and production to touch on the future of our society. For many years his predictions have been ignored. Many people are now paying heed. Peter believes many of the measures being used to stem salinisation are in fact exacerbating the problem. His solutions are unconventional. His toleration of weeds, his approach to the use of water and his unorthodox approach to conservation are recommendations which once were ignored but are now considered seriously. He is seen as an eccentric no longer. Professor David Goldney, of Sydney University, says: I’ve been watching his work for 20 years and nobody can read a landscape like Peter.

(SMH, 6 December 2002) Peter wants to see Tarwyn Park replicated on a large scale. As Peter talks, he conveys a sense of what the landscape was like before European settlement. The wetlands stored water in normal periods which enabled the surrounding land to thrive even in the periods of drought. These periods, currently being described as a crisis, he sees as being a normal part of our environment but which our current approach is continuing to make much more drastic. In our current system the water that once was stored in the wetlands is now lost through evaporation.

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At its simplest—and the Andrews’ theories and methods are not simple— Peter acknowledges that we cannot return our rivers to the pre-European state but we can return to the principles for the rivers and their environment that have functioned over that period. His early experiences at home and at St Peter’s showed him the benefits of specialised knowledge and the importance of ‘doing things’, putting ideas into practice. Equally importantly, Peter has kept on learning, from his experience, from close observation and by building a network of scientists who are ready to listen as well contribute. Peter Irwin began the interchange, but Peter Andrews has continued that process with many other specialist scientists. His links are extensive in America and Europe, as well as Australia. They also bridge the gap between theory and practice. Peter works closely with veterinary surgeons in Australia, Europe and the USA and with scientists at universities and bodies such as CSIRO. Mr Clayton saw what Peter needed as he struggled to make his way in the foreign environment of school. That boy can do things! That phrase has become a description of his life. Peter no longer needs to wonder if the Cricketer was right.

Reference ‘The great water crisis’, Sydney Morning Herald, 6 December 2002.

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5 A kind of force that needs to be directed Claire Smith: archaeologist

Claire Smith’s story might have ended in disaster. Instead she has created a career which she did not foresee, but one which came from her capacity to survive difficulties. There are at least two Claire Smiths.

The committed academic One Claire Smith is an ambitious, clear-sighted academic, whose strong commitment to research and teaching has been converted into rapid advancement, nationally and internationally. Her CV shows the archetypal academic in midcareer. Claire matriculated from Booragul High School then later entered the University of Newcastle. In her first university year she discovered a new and special interest, the excitement of archaeology. In this pursuit she moved to Armidale, to the University of New England, to complete her bachelors degree. This she achieved with First Class Honours in 1990, winning the University Medal in that year. The title of her thesis was Designed Dreaming: Assessing the relationship between style, social structure and environment in Aboriginal Australia.

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Since completing her Honours degree Claire has moved quickly up the usually steep academic ladder. In 1993 she won the Judy Ewing Memorial Prize (shared) for personal contribution by a student to the University of New England and the wider community. In the period 1994–98 she held one of the highly regarded Australian Research Council Postdoctoral Fellowships—quite a step in the four years since her career began. Her PhD was completed at the University of New England in 1996. Its title was Situating Style: an ethno-archaeological study of social and material context in an Australian Aboriginal artistic system and was based on her fieldwork in the Barunga-Wugularr region of southern Arnhem Land. The thesis won the David Phillips Memorial Award for a postgraduate thesis in Aboriginal studies. In 1998 she was appointed to a lecturing position at Flinders University and promoted to Senior Lecturer in 2001. Claire moved quickly from her success in the Australian academic field to make her mark internationally. In 1994 she was appointed junior representative for South-Eastern Asia and the Pacific for the World Archaeological Congress, the key international academic body. In 2000 she was appointed Deputy Academic Secretary for the 5th World Archaeological Congress, which was held in Washington. For 2002–03 she was awarded the prestigious Fulbright Fellowship, held at Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of Natural History and American University, Washington, DC. Claire’s time in Washington was important for her, making herself known in this new environment and in making contacts who were to be of continuing importance. It also broadened her view of what it might be possible to achieve in an academic career. These may have been important in her next achievement when, in 2003, another long step was taken, to President of the World Archaeological Congress. This is a post usually held by a very senior academic in a major international university. In 2004–05, she took leave from Flinders University to take up a short-term appointment as a Visiting Senior Lecturer at Columbia University, New York. Claire had established herself strongly, not just in a political sense but academically. Her publications include the co-edited volume Indigenous Cultures in an Interconnected World, published in 2000, The Archaeologist’s Field Handbook, co-authored with Heather Burke, and published in 2004 and the authored book Country, Kin and Culture. Survival of an Aboriginal Community. In addition she has an imposing list of achievements: publications in major international and national journals, chapters in books, book reviews, editorials, documentaries,

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A kind of force that needs to be directed—Claire Smith

CD-ROMS and Websites, exhibitions and presentations at conferences at every level in many continents, documented coverage by various media and funded research projects. Unsurprisingly this goes together with a list of academic prizes. This is an impressive list of achievements in just 14 years since her first degree.

Searching for the way ahead The other Claire Smith is still an impressive individual but not the purposeful, ambitious academic with clear goals. Her other life has been an odyssey, beginning in uncertainty and exploring many by-paths before reaching her present confidence and clarity about life-goals. Her early career gave little indication of an academic bent. She describes her upbringing as ‘working-class’. She was resentful of these class differences and it made her occasionally difficult and somewhat rebellious at school. Her parents, Anne and Jim Smith, were self-educated. They were well-read and Claire remembers her family sitting in their lounge room chairs, each reading a book. Her father was a jazz musician as a young man, and spent several years in Japan and Malaysia as part of the Australian occupation forces. Both parents valued schooling and while they had not been able to take the route of tertiary education themselves, it was always made clear to Claire and her younger sister, Jo, that they would be expected to take this path. Claire’s parents were both intelligent and capable, but they had ended up in jobs where they could not use their abilities. The parents’ frustration was clear to the children. Education was the key to a good life. The value of hard work and persistence was also impressed upon them. While Claire’s parents clearly directed her towards tertiary education, it was uncharted land to them and even now they are slightly puzzled as to how their daughter is succeeding in such foreign territory. They always thought I would do interesting things but were worried about financial security. They are still not convinced as to the security of a university post.

Primary school School for Claire Smith was a very mixed experience. Booragul Primary School was a reasonably happy experience and left one very clear memory. The principal, Mr O’Neil, always showed a personal interest in her progress and treated her with

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a respect that impressed as well as surprised her. She still remembers a comment he made to Claire’s mother which came to mean more across the years: Claire can do anything she wants. Mr O’Neil’s words supported what Claire’s parents had felt: ‘We were surprised and we weren’t surprised,’ says her father. ‘We always knew that she would do something. That comment was an external confirmation of something that we had believed intuitively. We had wondered what might be Claire’s limitations, if she was really special, and his response meant that we became more focused and more determined in pointing Claire towards a wider world. In a sense, he gave us the strength and confidence to continue our effort.’

The notion that she ‘could do anything’ became something Claire carried in her mind. It was to prove true to a degree that Mr O’Neil may never have anticipated. Supporting this idea, her sixth grade class teacher, Mr Schafer, took a similar interest and treated her as having special competencies. When her own class work was finished, she was allowed to sit in with the teacher of a younger class, as an assistant ‘teacher’.

High school Booragul High School (now known as Lake Macquarie High School) was not such a supportive experience. Year 1 went smoothly enough but in her later years she came to feel more and more negative about school. Her rebellious attitude to school was powerful but was moderated by particular teachers in some areas. She still remembers her classics teacher, Beverley Nairn, her science teacher, Alex Linton, and her music teacher, Bill Turner, who all showed a personal interest in her progress, an interest which must have seemed misplaced for some time. Claire wonders now why they were so helpful, given her attitude. She attributes it to the fact that she was always polite, even when she was marking out a rebellious course. She describes herself as ‘a wild student’, with regular smoking and truancy as well as occasional drunkenness as her means of rebellion. She felt uncertain, without a dominant sense of direction. Her predominant feeling? ‘There must be more to life than this!’ Her economics teacher, George Kirkby, impressed her with his sense of social justice, and his willingness to be steered by his own moral convictions. In particular, she remembers an incident when he disobeyed an instruction from the

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A kind of force that needs to be directed—Claire Smith

headmaster to place the names of children whose parents had not paid school fees on the board until the fees were paid. In this confused period her parents were supportive, but puzzled, and uncertain how to deal with this daughter who seemed so hostile to much of her life and much of their lives. It was only much later that Claire was to realise the extent of the interest of some of her teachers. After I was interviewed in 2003 on ABC radio, two of my high school teachers, Beverley Nairn and Bill Turner, who I had mentioned in the interview, got in touch to say how pleased they were by my success. I have the impression that they were genuinely pleased but somewhat surprised, too.

In her fifth year at the school, Claire’s wildness culminated in a flight to Sydney. [I was] looking for action, for a life that was more fulfilling than that of my parents, and with more varied experiences. Like many other restless teenagers this eventually led me to take refuge at the Wayside Chapel.

This was a refuge which proved to be important. Claire was assigned a counsellor, Gary Jackson, more often called Jacko. Jacko made a deep impression on the 16-year-old Claire. He was a person who listened to her and was not quick to tell her what to do. She likens his entrance into her life to pouring oil on troubled water. Over a period after she returned home, he persuaded her to put effort into her schooling, rather than resist her situation. On one visit to her parents’ home, his car broke down, so he stayed while it was repaired. When he prepared to leave, a week later, Claire’s father asked him to stay as Claire was so settled and happy when he was there. He stayed for life, to become her husband in 1981. ‘Jacko makes me feel OK. Whenever he is around everything is right in my world.’

The university path: guaranteeing a prosperous life? Claire completed her studies at school well enough to qualify for Newcastle University. I enjoyed my school studies, even though at that stage I didn’t work hard. I just wanted Jacko to see that I was clever.

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She did not take up her university place, feeling unsure of what was required but certain that she needed money to do what she wanted. For eight years she and Jacko wandered, working on the land, doing house renovations, clerking, bar-work, cleaning. They spent extended periods working in a travel agency in the Northern Territory, on a seasonal basis. They were both seeking a life of adventure and broad experiences, as well as financial security, and saw this part of their lives as a series of adventures, working with different types of people in interesting places. Finally she felt she had enough life experiences and had the financial security that would allow her to go to university. She took up the place offered at Newcastle eight years earlier. At the time these years seemed wasted. I’d always planned to go to university, but didn’t know where it could lead. In my childhood, I had not known anyone—other than some of my school teachers—who was university educated. So, I was always pointed towards a university education, but had little understanding of how that education could, in practical terms, turn into a career, especially in terms of my own life. In the end, my decision to go to university was a flight into a still unknown realm, and a rebellion against a life of what I was then beginning to see as limited career options. My intention was to take a degree that would guarantee a prosperous life and I enrolled in Economics. Australian prehistory was the first term of an Economics History 1 topic. However, other students said it was really interesting, so I turned up, against my ‘better’ judgement of how I should spend my time. One of the major topics was on Australian Aboriginal people.

Overturning my ideas When I entered university I had the normal stereotypes of Aboriginal people. I thought they were backward and primitive, with no culture worth studying. I seriously considered skipping this part of the topic. The teacher, John Fisher, challenged my preconceptions. He was inspiring. He overturned my ideas entirely and I decided during that first term that I wanted to specialise in that area. At the time I didn’t even know it was called archaeology. Now I teach Australian Aboriginal archaeology and conduct research into the richness, complexity and diversity of Aboriginal cultures. I spend my life trying to teach people the lessons I’d learnt from John Fisher.

Claire wanted to continue with this new interest, archaeology, but had to move for this, either to the University of New England, Australian National

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A kind of force that needs to be directed—Claire Smith

University or the University of Sydney. She chose UNE but decided to settle for external study for two years, so that she could continue to live close to her parents in Newcastle. She worked hard to achieve high distinctions, and did achieve them in most subjects, but the pressure of study, and a crisis of confidence in an academic future, caused her to take a break during 1985 and 1986. At this stage, she still wasn’t really aware of the career options that would become clear later. She picked up her studies in 1987 and in 1988 went to Armidale to complete her degree and to do Honours. Now the results began to show the calibre of the person, with a pattern consisting mostly of high distinctions. In retrospect she says: My motivation was to do well in order to understand, not primarily for high marks—but I also wanted to get the high marks.

Constructing a future: ‘A kind of force that needs to be directed responsibly’ Claire’s results took her into the academic path in which she has succeeded so well. Even today, Claire is still not absolutely sure of her direction, long-term. She now sees academia as the safe route, but also is becoming aware of other possibilities. When she reaches a new level, she finds there are new vistas beyond. At the beginning of my university career, all I hoped for was my own office, my own area of knowledge and a level of autonomy. When I got that office, I began to look at other offices, and other possibilities within the university system, such as in administration. I am still considering the pros and cons of those options. At this point, I still see my future as being based in the academy, but there are other jobs that I could take that would allow me to make a difference to other people’s lives. Pursuing knowledge for its own sake seems a little self-indulgent to me now (though I love to do it). At this stage, it seems more important for me to make it easier for other people to pursue knowledge, on an equal footing with people from the West, than to pursue knowledge myself. Sometimes I think of myself as containing a kind of force that needs to be directed responsibly.

Claire has a strong sense of social justice, which she attributes to her parents. She feels a need to try and equalise some of the inequities that exist in the world. For a time she did not feel that this could be done from within a university. The chance to extend the range of her experiences has changed that view.

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Being President of the World Archaeological Congress is wonderful, as I have a mandate, as well as a personal need, to work towards global equity and to further social justice issues—and I’m certain that what we do in WAC will become a model for other disciplines. The world is full of people with good hearts and energy, who just need an appropriate mechanism to help them so that they can help others.

Claire can do anything she wants Which is the real Claire? The high-achieving, self-deprecating academic or the rebellious girl? Like many simplifications, she is neither. Claire Smith is a much more complex character, benefiting now from the circuitous route she took to the top. There is no doubt of the reality of the disciplined scientist, seeking better understanding. There is, too, the fire and drama of the girl who rebelled and ran away, seeking still to find meaning in life. Claire and Jacko’s son, James, was born six weeks before she was due to submit her Honours thesis. She completed her thesis on time and was awarded First Class Honours and the University Medal. Since then Jacko, Claire and Jimmy have usually been together as a family during the extended fieldwork that an archaeologist needs to do. Claire feels that being a family unit was a real advantage when conducting fieldwork with Aboriginal people, especially when she was doing her doctoral fieldwork with the Barunga community in the Northern Territory. It made her more approachable, and each one of them found their own place in the social system. One of the most important moments of my life was when Phyllis Wiynjorroc, the senior traditional owner of Bagula clan lands around Barunga, gave my son the same name as her father, Lamjerroc. It is an incredible honour. It also bound us to the community for life, and Phyllis tells Jimmy that he has to work for her people when he is older.

Claire, like all the people who know her well, stresses the importance of her partnership with her husband. Jacko is my life-long teacher, really. We plan everything together. I might be the one delivering the paper or presenting the project, but the concepts (and sometimes the words) are actually developed jointly. In a very real sense, everything I do emerges from my relationship with Jacko. If he encourages me on a particular course, I pursue it. If he discourages me, I stop. I know I look for his praise, for him to say ‘I’m proud of you’. I’m not sure why but that is more important to me than any award or recognition. It means that I am living a worthwhile life, somehow.

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A kind of force that needs to be directed—Claire Smith

In her current life, Claire travels extensively, but when she is away she and Jacko speak regularly. Claire’s success is grounded in an unwillingness to be frustrated by the obstacles that are in her way. She assumes that everything will come to pass in the way she envisages, that people will share her vision and do their part to further it, and she is surprised whenever it turns out otherwise. A guiding principle in her life, and perhaps uniting the two Claires, is the desire to lead a life of interesting experiences, but experiences which are also of value to others. The desire to do something useful for a wider world emerged from her fieldwork with Aboriginal people in the Barunga region of the Northern Territory, when she came face-to-face with some of the gross inequities of contemporary living, and much of her current life is to ensure that she is able to find or develop the means by which she can help to reduce these inequities. Mr O’Neil might be surprised at the success of his prediction. He would also be pleased.

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6 Gifts of head and heart Richard Woolcott: diplomat and public servant

The pre-ordained path? Richard Woolcott’s life looks at first to have followed almost pre-ordained paths. It is now hard to conceive of a different career for him other than as a diplomat, a career he has pursued with distinction for more than forty years and to which, in retirement, he is often called to return. His years of service to Australia covered the period from the beginning of the Cold War, until after the fall of the Berlin Wall. He was at the scene, and often personally involved in, many of the key events of the time. The death of Stalin was one such event. The expulsion of the Australian Embassy from Moscow following the Petrov affair in Australia occurred during his first overseas posting. The Cuban missile crisis in 1962 occurred during his time in New York. Indonesia’s invasion of East Timor occurred during his period as Ambassador to Indonesia. The establishment of diplomatic relations with China after a break of many years involved him closely, as did Australia’s role in the Vietnam War. He

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played a leading role in the birth and development of one of the most important international bodies for Australia, the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation forum, APEC. He had six years representing Australia at the United Nations in New York, including Australia’s last two-year period on the Security Council (1985– 86). His final four years were as Head of the Department of Foreign Affairs, including the period of amalgamation with the Department of Trade, leading to the current Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. This career looked likely to stop abruptly. Woolcott survived a life-threatening illness, acute pancreatitis, in 1995. He not only finished his time with the Department with distinction but retains a very active role in ‘retirement’. He has been an adviser to seven Prime Ministers. He is appreciated for his gifts, yet has retained an independence from politicians when he sees the need, as shown in the lead-up to the 2004 election when he drafted a public statement signed by many prominent Australians, asking for ‘Truth in Government’. Because of the names involved with the statement it received wide publicity. Oddly, in spite of a background that seemed to ensure a career of public service, he might never have become a diplomat but could have followed a life in journalism and writing.

Family and school Richard’s family were supportive but, because of circumstances, not close. His father was a man of wide interests: a qualified dentist, an outstanding sportsman, an accomplished artist, a serving naval officer. His career in the navy meant that he was often away from home. Richard’s mother was on a property out of reach of school, so that his schooling began at Cranbrook in Sydney and continued at Geelong Grammar. His mother died when Richard was just 20 but left strong memories of a gentle lady and one who began to open horizons for her son. My mother told me that even when I was a child of eight she used to find me lying on the floor staring at maps of countries beyond our shores.

That curiosity and concern about the world outside Australia still persists, well beyond the requirements of his professional career. Richard Woolcott is generous in giving credit to others for the opportunity to be a part of major movements in world affairs. He recognises not just many world leaders, but also his family, his colleagues and his teachers. Despite a demanding career Woolcott spent as much

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time as he could with his wife and three children. His Danish-born wife, whom he married in London in 1952 and who accompanied him on all his overseas postings, has been, and still is, a source of strong support and valued advice.

Schooling: constraining the wild spirit His experiences in schools were not so consistent in their impact, perhaps because of an individuality which sometimes brought him into conflict with authority. Geelong Grammar was not congenial, to begin with, nor were his values always consistent with those of a traditional Anglican private school. In some ways it was a cold, monastic, somewhat chauvinistic institution. Being wartime we had butter and sugar rationing. We had corporal punishment, compulsory boxing, cold showers six days a week, no female students, and glassless wooden windows in our dormitories. Our knowledge of the female was derived from the clandestine study of the illustrations in Gray’s Anatomy, which we had discovered in the school library. Counselling, so common now, did not exist then. Even when one of the boys committed suicide with a .303 rifle and another was expelled for having sexual intercourse with a maid at the school, there was no counselling; such events were just part of the experience of growing up. Being wartime we dug air raid shelters, did community service and military and seamanship training.

The Headmaster, James Darling, was a traditionalist but one who felt his boys should be open to wider experiences. He encouraged the boys to extend their minds and to think about issues that many other schools would not have been addressing in those days. He also assembled a team of talented masters who encouraged me and others to read widely, to stretch our minds and to make full use of the English language. It being wartime he also imparted to us a sense of patriotism, collective effort and service, which was later to be of value when I came to represent Australia overseas.

Companions in the same house at Geelong were Peter Henderson, also to become head of Foreign Affairs and a youngster called Rupert Murdoch who was to become an achiever in other areas. Richard was an athlete, like his father: at the Combined Schools Sports he was part of a team of four runners who established an Australian schoolboy record for the mile medley, a record that lasted for some twenty years.

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Gifts of head and heart—Richard Woolcott

Not by nature cautious or deferential In spite of his traditional background, Richard’s thinking was far from traditional. I do not think I was cut out to be a diplomat. I was not by nature cautious or deferential. As a schoolboy I was adventurous, often irreverent and scornful of authority. Being opposed to corporal punishment, I once broke into the office of A V Jennings, the Junior School Head Master at Geelong Grammar, and broke all of his canes, leaving them in a neat pile on his desk. This led to my getting ‘six of the best’ and bleeding buttocks from the Headmaster, James Darling. My housemaster, Ted Pinner, who nicknamed me ‘Chesty’— presumably because I was fit, energetic … and tended to wear my shirt unbuttoned— cautioned me after I had jumped off the house roof into a hedge for a five shilling bet, missing a rug I had spread out on the hedge to break my fall, that I had a reckless, selfdestructive streak.

Richard still remembers Dr Darling saying to him: ‘If you saw a notice on the lawn saying “Do not walk on the grass”, you would never be able to resist the challenge.’ In spite of this rebellious streak, he found the school stimulating. At the school I was fortunate to find a beneficial balance between intellectual and athletic pursuits; between mind and body, study and sport. I was encouraged to read the Bible from cover to cover and all of Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets. I once acted Ophelia to the Headmaster’s Hamlet! During a school holiday I toured the Western District of Victoria in a substantial production (for a school) of ‘Julius Caesar’, which the Headmaster rightly regarded as a means ‘of bringing Shakespeare to the bush’. I also started studying Russian as an additional subject when Geelong Grammar in 1945 became the first school in Australia to introduce a Russian language class, taught by an extraordinary refugee teacher from Eastern Europe, Dr Parnes. At the end of my first term my mark was minus 98. Dr Parnes was very strict and took a mark off for every single mistake. At the end of term three I was minus 16 and Dr Parnes noted in my report ‘considerable improvement’. At the same time I represented the school at football and athletics and I was, I confess, with some reluctance, captain of boxing.

Some of the contradictions remained. I was privileged to win the prestigious Howard Fulford Divinity prize, to the chagrin of the school clergy who were aware of my agnosticism. The prize was Benson’s 1927 biography of Sir Frances Drake which fired my interest beyond Victoria into the world which

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Drake had circumnavigated in the 16th century. I was also chairman of the somewhat pompously named ‘Historical and Philosophical Society’. So, I believe I was fortunate to be educated at a school that gave me such a range of opportunities.

In addition to James Darling himself, and Dr Parnes, other teachers made a profound impact.

Constrained but not tamed Over the years my wild spirit was constrained, if not entirely tamed. I was influenced, in particular, by two masters, Charles Manning Hope-Clark and Peter Westcott. Both were highly intelligent, unorthodox and gifted teachers. Clark made Australian History interesting and stimulated me to question matters I would otherwise have simply accepted. Westcott instilled into me an appreciation of the nobility of the English language. Apart from Shakespeare and the Bible, he introduced me to a range of poets and modern writers, who in 1944 and 1945 were not encompassed within the Victorian matriculation syllabus at that time; poets like T S Eliot and Judith Wright, and writers like Aldous Huxley, Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, Patrick White, Douglas Stewart and even writers like Russia’s Mikhail Sholokhov.

Building a brave new world I must have been precocious because I still have a copy of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World which I purchased with saved pocket money in 1944. Manning Clark used Greek and Roman history lessons on Monday mornings to dissect critically the Sunday sermon and to introduce his students to the philosophies of Plato, Kant, Hobbes, Rousseau and Max Weber, as well as Marx and Engels. They widened my intellectual horizons and made me think about life and society beyond the school gates.

Other experiences at school also left their mark. Poignant memories linger of friends from school. Some only two or three years older than myself were cut down in the prime of their lives in World War II. To this day I remember the service for a prefect, John Maslin, who was killed in action in late 1944. My first cousin, Lee, the only other male child in my family, was in the RAAF and he was killed over Europe in 1943. This drove home to me the tragedy of war. I still remember taking part in a debate in 1945 in which I spoke with youthful passion about the necessity when the war

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was over of creating an international structure that, unlike the failed League of Nations, could prevent future conflicts. But, although I was developing ideas about Australia’s place in the world even then, I had not thought of applying to join the foreign service.

A republican, an agnostic and an egalitarian I finished secondary school at the end of 1945, the year in which World War II came to an end. It may seem strange that I left an Anglican establishment Public School as a republican, an agnostic and a young man with a knowledge of Marxism, imbued with egalitarian sentiment, a social conscience and a clear idea of the Australia in which I wanted to live. Although I had not thought of a career in diplomacy, I was possessed of a real interest in Australia’s brief history, the realities of its location on the globe and how this interaction between our history and our geography would influence our future.

That awareness of the interaction between the geography and history of Australia was to be a lasting interest.

University: a sense of direction The University of Melbourne, at the end of the war, provided a contrasting setting, although Richard nearly missed this opportunity. During the school holidays in September 1945 he had enlisted in the Navy, without telling his parents. His father was angered, seeing this as ‘misplaced patriotism’ because the war in the Pacific was about to end and he feared Richard might be called up. This did not happen and he enrolled in a Commerce course at The University of Melbourne in February 1946. At a young age I was attracted to the idea of trying to influence the way Australians saw themselves and the way other people saw us. World War II in Europe and the Pacific came to an end during my final year at school. When I reached Melbourne University I was already conscious that Australia would need to adjust to a changing post-war neighbourhood. Looking back I perceived, if dimly, even then that Australia had come to the end of something and the beginning of something else. Great Britain, which had been so powerful and given and taken so much from its colonies, would never recover its former power. The outworn husk of the British Empire was breaking open and the real Australia, full of latent vitality and a certain rawness, would have the opportunity to find its own unique place in the growing community of nations.

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In that period, priority was given to the admission of returned servicemen under the Commonwealth Reconstruction Training Scheme. ‘Wet behind the ears’ was the disparaging epithet directed at the ‘pink-cheeked boys and girls fresh from school’. Richard’s university life was a broadening experience for him. He continued his athletic success, being one of only two newcomers to the University Blacks football team in 1946. The Blacks were the Victorian A grade amateur championship team, undefeated for two years, and the Inter-Varsity champions. In one of those odd coincidences Richard played in the Inter-Varsity match against Tasmania in 1946: I played with the Tasmanian (and losing) team. We were not due to meet formally before this book was written, almost 60 years later. Richard lived in Trinity College, another institution from which he gained much pleasure, experience and knowledge, especially from the Dean, Professor A G L Shaw. His interests were further extended to include Australian art, which became a life-long passion.

Freedom to explore For me, University life offered a new freedom and an opportunity to explore a range of latent interests. All the values and gentlemanly ethics I had absorbed at school were suddenly under challenge but they were mostly ingrained enough to survive.

One of his studies was later to prove critical to his future. He had begun Russian at school and continued it through university, largely to avoid French or German. His teacher was Nina Christensen, who he describes as a patient and warm-hearted teacher, whose joy in the great Russian writers and poets was infectious. Another career could have opened up for Richard. His success as a footballer brought him a place on the list of the Richmond Football Club. He encountered there a teacher of a very different type but one who had proved himself highly effective. Jack Dyer had been one of Victoria’s most effective and colourful footballers, earning the name ‘Captain Blood’. His intentions were always clearly expressed if not always grammatically orthodox. One piece of advice he gave Richard was: ‘Anyone or any team which come second is a looser (sic)’. Richard has interpreted this statement in his own life.

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Whatever task I have been given, whether small or important, I have always strived to do it well, to carry it out as effectively and successfully as possible.

Which career? His possible sporting career was short-circuited when Richard went on his first overseas visit. He attended a summer school in Oxford, which confirmed and strengthened his interest in writing. He began to experiment with short stories. To enable himself to develop this interest further, Richard became a cadet journalist with the Melbourne Herald Cable Service. A news interview with Sir Peter Heydon, a senior diplomat in London, brought a fundamental and final change as he saw the challenges and opportunities of diplomacy. In 1950, he applied successfully for diplomatic training in Canberra. His earlier choice of the Russian language at Melbourne University helped his selection as a diplomatic trainee in 1950 and also his appointment to Moscow in 1952. In his studies for his diplomatic course at Canberra University College he again encountered stimulating teaching, with A D Hope, Heinz Arndt, Finlay Crisp and, once more, Manning Clark. Not all his experiences were so constructive. The cadets were frustrated by traditional ceremonies organised by the warden, a dedicated monarchist. These ceremonies included formal flag-raising which did not impress the republican Woolcott. Subsequent activities almost truncated Richard Woolcott’s diplomatic career before it began. The history of the Australian National University records the event. Professor Jim Davidson, who was then a resident, was celebrating with three cadets the appointment of one of them, Richard Woolcott, to a diplomatic posting to Moscow. After an evening on the town they rolled up in front of the homestead about midnight in Davidson’s Riley tourer, continued their revels in the common room with much din and bawdy songs, and brought proceedings to a climax about one in the morning by chopping down the flagpole at the front of the building with the evident intention of using it as a battering ram.

In spite of this incident Woolcott proceeded on his appointment, travelling first by ship to London. Only one further adventure threatened his progress. With another trainee, he missed the ship after a stay in Marseilles, necessitating a hasty hitchhike across France, culminating in a ride with a truckload of pigs.

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The absentees contrived to be at Tilbury to claim their luggage and report to Australia House as scheduled. That was an atypical beginning to a very successful diplomatic life. In that professional life, Richard Woolcott was advisor to seven Prime Ministers, from Robert Menzies to Bob Hawke and to twelve Foreign Ministers, from Richard Casey to Gareth Evans. He acted as special envoy for Prime Ministers Holt, Whitlam and Hawke. Gough Whitlam commented: No Australian diplomat I have known combines a greater range of experience and breadth of contacts. He ascertained the facts and faced them. He spoke well and he wrote well. He has represented Australia long and well.

Unusual retirement Even after ‘retirement’ his services as special envoy are called upon by John Howard and by Alexander Downer. This life at the top provided unprecedented chances not just to observe but to take part in the making of post-war history. Richard Woolcott does not see his task as finished. I have devoted much of my working life to promote Australia’s engagement with Asia. Now, in retirement, I would like to devote much of my remaining productive time in this life to continuing to promote a deeper understanding of Asian countries and cultures … We are where we are—not where we were or where our ancestors came from.

Unleavened bread and great happiness Manning Clark was a continuing influence in Richard Woolcott’s life, retaining a link during his later career as professor and historian in Melbourne and Canberra. He wrote to Richard more than 20 years after their time at Geelong. Canberra 15 September 1967 Dear Dick In my life as a teacher there have been years of unleavened bread and years of great happiness. I cannot think of anything which has given me such pleasure as your CONFRONTATION of life. I think back to the days at Corio, then later at Melbourne, and the days here, during all of which your face gave me hope and encouragement so you

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Gifts of head and heart—Richard Woolcott

can imagine how much pleasure it has been for me to see others realise your great gifts of head and heart.

The student remembers the teacher—the teacher remembers the student also, with pleasure.

Reference Woolcott, R 2003, The Hot Seat: Reflections on diplomacy from Stalin’s death to the Bali bombings, HarperCollins Publishers, Sydney.

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7 A case for the Coroner John Abernethy: Coroner for NSW

An ancient institution: a modern task The office of Coroner is one of the oldest institutions of the English legal system, and with white settlement, it became the law of this country. Coroners have been around at least since the Articles of Eyre in 1194, during the reign of Richard the Lionheart and possibly since the time of Alfred the Great, well before 1066. The essence of their work is the explanation of unnatural death and the detection of hidden homicide. That work is just as relevant today and events have made John Abernethy, the Coroner for NSW, widely known.

The Coroner An ABC television series which featured John Abernethy pointed out the variety and drama of the cases that routinely appear before him. He took over the task as Coroner in January 2000. His experiences have been challenging, calling for the will to proceed with care and attention to detail, even when the pressure for quick answers is heavy.

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A case for the Coroner—John Abernethy

The ABC series focused on the responsibilities facing the Coroner who, together with his specialised team of pathologists and police officers, has to unravel the truth behind cases that may focus on a single individual or involve multiple deaths.

The man at the centre The television series attracted great attention in Australia. The range of cases featured was great: the death of a fourteen-year-old from a heroin overdose; the death of a 78-year-old woman in a nursing home; serial murders in a state forest; and the Bali bombing. John Abernethy appears as an imperturbable man, quietly but effectively in control of his work, conscious of the personal and social aspect of his work, yet pursuing calmly and with determination his tasks of description and explanation. What sort of background produces such a person? John Abernethy came from a close family. He was born in Wagga Wagga in southern New South Wales. His father was a bank officer and his mother a registered nurse. He has a younger sister, Myra. During John and Myra’s early years, the family lived in many NSW country towns, including Barraba and Muswellbrook, before settling at Epping in the northern suburbs of Sydney. As a child, John’s sister required intensive treatment and hospitalisation, in effect forcing his father to come to Sydney rather than continue to progress through the bank as a country officer. John’s recollection is that his father, a real country boy from Quirindi, hated Sydney. His love of his only daughter ensured that he made the best of the city, never really indulging his preference for the bush. Myra, known to her friends as Mikey, has been one of the major influences on John’s life. Her positive attitude to her many hospital treatments and her unfailing dignity have been as inspiring to him as they have been to many friends. John has spent most of his life in Sydney but shares his dad’s love of rural NSW, particularly that part of it west of the Great Dividing Range. His love for rural settings remains, but now shows itself in different ways, including an unfinished love affair with rural France. John was brought up a strict Presbyterian but left the church as a young man. He did not return to any church until recently when he became a convert to Roman Catholicism: … a faith I have embraced with enthusiasm, despite an acute awareness of its negative aspects.

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The primary school: both poetry and prose John attended Epping Public School. His primary education was with skilled teachers and his recollections of it are all positive. He well remembers the Principal, Mr Chambers, and his First and Second Class teachers, Mrs Coverdale and Mrs Holmes. His early progress was satisfactory, without being outstanding, and because of his age and only average progress the school advised his parents to allow him to repeat the 6th Class. He believes that the impact of this decision was a major influence on his future. With the stroke of a pen he went from being one of the youngest in both age and development to one of the oldest. Instead of struggling to keep up with older students he gained real confidence in his own capacity. He vividly recalls his 6th Class teachers, particularly his second one, Mr Johnstone, who imparted to him a love of poetry, especially the Australian poets such as Banjo Paterson, Henry Lawson, Adam Lindsay Gordon, C J Dennis and John O’Brien (or Father Hartigan: ‘Around the Boree Log’). He recalls that his first 6th Class teacher, Mr Archie Doyle, was very firm about the theory of English— parsing and the like. John valued this precision as well as the poetry that stirred his imagination. He wonders now if contemporary education, by minimising the teaching of grammar, has really let down many students who will never be able to understand how to write correctly in their own language.

Epping Boys’ High School: ‘Stickability’ John went on to Epping Boys’ High School. It, too, was a good period for him, with positive memories. He still maintains links with friends from both schools by meeting annually. One of these boys he first met in First Class. John’s time at Epping was academically successful, culminating in the achievement of a strong Leaving Certificate and qualifying him to enter university. John’s final year was characterised by being elected a Prefect of the school and becoming a member of the First Fifteen. Three teachers from his high school stand out in his memory. One was Barry Jenkins who taught modern history, that is, history from the American Revolution on: the French Revolution, the growth of India and China, the American Civil War, the Industrial Revolution and the growth of the Labour Movement and the causes of World Wars I and II. The teaching was lively and insightful, highlighting issues such as the impact of colonialism, including its

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A case for the Coroner—John Abernethy

abuses. Jenkins encouraged vigorous debate on the issues, not being content with history solely as an assemblage of facts. Another influential teacher was Jim Woodfield who taught French. He was unashamedly Australian and his approach to language teaching was based on its structure and vocabulary—as languages were taught in those days. He nevertheless managed to impart a love of France and its culture and language. That love was infectious. John still travels to France when he can, particularly to Paris, but also to the hills and villages of rural Provence. John keeps up his facility in French for these times. He likes nothing better than singing both national anthems at the opening of matches when Australia plays France at rugby. The Headmaster at Epping Boys’ High School, H M McGregor, also made a lasting impact. He seemed to John to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of his school, recognising every boy in a school of 1000 and knowing how each one was progressing through the grades. Mr McGregor addressed the school assembly each week. One continuing word and idea in those addresses stands out in John’s memory: ‘stickability’, the capacity to keep on no matter how tough the task is. John recalls: ‘He was a man to look up to.’

The law: a hard road It was John’s father who first mentioned the idea of law as a career for John, introducing him to a friend who was Clerk of Petty Sessions and who managed a country courthouse. This helped to define his choice of career. On leaving school John joined the NSW Department of the Attorney General and of Justice. He worked for that Department until 1984 when he became a Stipendiary Magistrate. With the commencement of judicial independence to magistrates in 1985 he was appointed a Magistrate of the Local Court. As a young man, he studied law part time, effectively by correspondence, through the Law Extension Committee of Sydney University. As many people have discovered it is very demanding to study a complex tertiary course at night, after a tough day at work. Work itself was demanding enough. During this time John was at various times Clerk of Petty Sessions at Grenfell, then at Blayney and finally at Cowra. In spite of these pressures from work on his studies, John succeeded. His recollection of the course in law is not so positive. Students were virtually left to their own devices to unravel the mysteries of the Law of Contracts, Torts, Commercial and Constitutional Law. They were simply required to present

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themselves in Sydney each six months for a series of examinations. ‘Stickability’ was a necessary quality, one he possesses in abundance. He graduated in 1975, as a barrister. John Abernethy describes himself as ‘no academic’. The study of law was not easy for him and the nature of his course did not make it easier. One of his regrets, though, is that he has never continued his studies to gain postgraduate qualifications. His professional progress was earned the hard way. After his appointment as a magistrate in 1984 John served as a Relieving Magistrate for three years and then as a Magistrate at Fairfield and at Parramatta, two of the busiest courts in the State. After nine years as a magistrate on the general bench he found himself tiring of the negative aspects of the work, particularly the ‘revolving door’ of the sentencing of criminals. He found that no matter how constructive a sentencer tried to be there were only so many options. Further, he observed with real concern that the same people seemed to keep returning to court, no matter which option was exercised. An appointment as Deputy State Coroner, a full-time coroner, came up in 1994. (In NSW the State and Deputy State Coroners are by law drawn from the ranks of the magistracy.) In due course he was appointed Senior Deputy State Coroner and then, in 2000, NSW State Coroner.

Rooster or feather duster On reflection, John believes that coronial work should be positive—making some sense out of violent and unnatural death—for the good of the family and the community. The ability to make recommendations for positive change is also an aspect of coronial work that appeals to him. A broken marriage and a heart attack have been a high price to pay for a career and he readily acknowledges that he has made mistakes. Retirement looms and he knows he will enjoy it: Rooster one day, feather duster the next. John Abernethy knows the saying reflects a truth, but he will leave his post with the knowledge that he has always focused on the task at hand, putting to one side the irrelevant factors. The next trip to France, this time with wife Kathleen, beckons. ‘Stickability’ is not just a slogan but a way of life for him.

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8 Advanced Australian fare Stephen Downes: restaurant critic

Bête noire of the restaurateurs Advanced Australian Fare is the title of Stephen Downes’s 2002 prize-winning book, sub-titled ‘How Australian Cooking Became the World’s Best’. This uncompromising claim about Australian cooking is characteristic of the man who has been called the ‘bete noire of Melbourne restaurateurs’ because of the uncompromising standards that he sets. Stephen was Australia’s first full-time food writer, although there are now many others in the field. His regular writing over a 30-year period has been featured in the Age, Financial Review, Herald Sun, Weekend Australian and many periodicals. His words have been described as crucial in defining Australian cooking and in providing direction to Australian restaurants. His most recent book is 100 food experiences to have before you die which was launched in September 2006. His work has often been controversial when he disparaged the efforts of some well-known and fashionable restaurants, feeling that they had lost their way. He has not been content merely to describe events and institutions but has also taken a major role in Australia’s food revolution. Stephen Downes sees his writing not

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just as a means of earning a living but as a means of saying publicly what he believes is important in our day-to-day life. [W]hat I’ve tried to do quite simply and within my own means is to help people arrive at some sort of framework by which they can go out and say ‘this restaurant is good value for money or bad’.

(O’Donnell & Knox, 1996)

He is now growing in his optimism about the changes: … critics probably have succeeded in helping consumers to be more discerning judging by the quality of the most successful bistros and brasseries in Australia.

This does not reduce his continuing commitment, one that is expressed always with precision and sometimes forcefully. Yet this man who has made writing both his profession and his pleasure says that his choice of vocation did not come easily.

Influences? Just me and luck What is the recipe for this man and his influence? At first when asked about other influences on his ideas and attitudes, particularly the influence of teachers, Stephen Downes did not see them as significant. I almost entirely credit me and luck.

The inner suburb of Ivanhoe in Melbourne was the setting for early life. Stephen’s father was a distinguished scientist, his mother a reluctant housewife. Her care was, however, thorough as she carried out the myriad tasks of looking after the household. Her cooking was not the example which led to Stephen’s career: I came from a gastronomic wasteland.

A wasteland in those terms, perhaps, but an exceedingly lively one for the family activities. The local primary school and the local Methodist church provided activities not just for the day-times but for every night and much of the weekends. While neither Stephen’s school nor his church is remembered with great fondness there is recognition of the tasks that were clearly defined and rigorously carried out and that still have an impact on his approach to life.

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Advanced Australian fare—Stephen Downes

Grim but effective: the first essentials of learning Stephen’s recollections of his schooling are mostly without affection, as he remembers that the fear of punishment was the major motivator for him. You either learnt the seven times table, how to parse a sentence, how to spell ‘liquefy’ and were neat with your nibbed pen or you got belted. We all knew what was preferable.

In spite of the bleakness of this judgement Stephen remains grateful for the effectiveness of his learning. Most of my teachers were unremarkable in their characters. We were taught technical aspects of everything—from grammar to long division … they are the first essentials of learning and they seem to be overlooked these days … I studied in classes of 50 and more. And learned well. What I find remarkable looking back these days is how much detailed theoretical stuff they conveyed then to large classes, from loads of maths and physics equations to clear thinking and how to go about it. Techniques all the time, how-to’s. It was that era: at Scouts you learned how to tie a dozen knots, how to survive in the bush, etc. Ironically, the only thing we were never tutored in was sport, which is supposed to be a national obsession. I don’t think the personality of the teachers was at all part of the equation. How they went about their jobs and what they were supposed to teach were the important parts of the equation.

No such thing as genius: only by knowing the how-to is originality released In retrospect Stephen sees this predominant concern with knowledge and technique as important, as laying a basis for creativity. There is no such thing as genius, even if there is something called aptitude. Mozart was a ‘genius’ because his father taught him thousands of hours of theory by the time he was nine. Only by knowing the how-to is originality released.

High school, in Stephen’s mind, for the most part continued this pattern. Most teaching and most teachers were unremarkable. Two of his teachers, however, are remembered with warmth, both of them teachers of English. Miss Eileen Hyatt was one.

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She seemed old although my perceptions may have been inaccurate. She was very strict in her control. She was always very precise in her speech and exact in her directions to the class.

A love of language: we were all so moved But there were special occasions when he saw a different Miss Hyatt, when he saw that technique without feeling was not enough. Miss Hyatt led some special sessions for lunchtime charity events that were advertised within the school. Money was collected at the door—sixpence to go in, for ‘social service’. They were small theatrical performances and drew huge numbers of kids, standing room only, perhaps up to 50 to 60 kids in one science room. Miss Hyatt sat on a chair on a table, just reciting poems and reading excerpts and whole pieces in her beautiful, slow, well-rounded, empathetic and articulate locution using varied writers and poets. The menu might be from O Henry or Shakespeare. She really made those stories live and that’s what the kids loved. We were all so moved by Miss Eileen Hyatt.

Forty years later, Stephen remembers not just the stories but the feelings they aroused: ‘Perhaps that is where I developed a love of language.’ Now his writing is the special gift that he values above all his qualities. I write so that I can listen to the sounds the words make and I think a lot of writers think similarly. If you love music, it’s obviously a way to love writing.

Miss Hyatt may be speaking still. As Stephen said: ‘I hope she rests well.’ Eileen Hyatt was not alone in going beyond the pattern of efficiency to make a personal impact. The other English teacher he remembers with affection is Mac Ronan, also an effective teacher, but one who added a touch of whimsy to his teaching. Occasionally he would break the formal mould, bursting into songs such as ‘Oh Dem Golden Slippers’, ‘just for fun’.

Taking the practical pathway At the end of his schooling Stephen felt that his life needed some fun. He had done well at school but his results faded towards the senior years, requiring two attempts to qualify for entry to Melbourne University in science. His father was clear as to Stephen’s future. It would be in science. Stephen had other ideas. His

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piano lessons had become very important to him and he impressed his music teacher, Eric Truswell, so much that he recommended Stephen should go to Europe to study, perhaps for a career as concert pianist. Stephen remembers a dinner at which his music teacher hosted his parents and himself and at which the teacher pleaded with the parents to support this venture. The plea was not welcome and was not heeded. Science was the chosen path; music could be a personal pursuit. In 1968 Stephen finished his science degree at Melbourne University and now had to decide on a career. He had loved the university life but his heart was not in the field of study he had been bundled into.

Finding the right pathway A short period of teaching gave him time to think about his future. One criterion helped: ‘I wondered what would annoy my parents the most.’ He explored a variety of options before he went as a graded reporter to the Age newspaper. This gave him a good grounding and like many young Australians he went to England where he soon found other journalistic opportunities. London delivered a special gift as it was there he met the young French girl from the Loire Valley, Dominique Delouche, who became his wife. After a London sojourn they moved to Paris where he worked with Agence France Presse, on the sports desk. Sport was not the only new sphere to explore: the couple were living in one of the major centres of food in the world and new horizons began to open. The Parisian domestic period played a major role in setting the future directions of Stephen’s life as he became conscious of what bourgeois French cooking and the wide range of Paris restaurants could conjure up from fresh and high quality ingredients. A different experience followed. Their first son was born to Stephen and Dominique in Paris in 1974, shortly before he returned to Melbourne and the Age.

Finding the right direction Melbourne and the Age offered a new opportunity, one which Stephen had not expected. By 1979 he had become a food-writer without meaning to do so and almost without noticing. The paper had a vacancy in its restaurant section and Stephen found himself in it with little notice and no long-term intention.

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I never wanted to be a restaurant critic, to become one in 1977 was a complete accident, but I actually knew something about food and cooking so I could do it well.

Many others in his field were asked to ‘do restaurant reviews’, almost as an easy assignment, with the added bonus of ‘a free night out with my wife’. That easy response was not Stephen’s style. His writing is direct and clear, carrying not only information but impressions and a sense of his audience. That careful writing, respect for and pleasure in his topic and concern for his audience were the ingredients that were to make him a major influence on Australians and their approach to food and restaurants. His writing does not always please those who are at its focus—the restaurateurs—but it has become highly valued reading for their customers-to-be. Writing has become his livelihood, through his columns and his books. It is more than a livelihood even though he has another career option in his work— teaching business-writing to classes at Monash University. Writing is also his love, his means of expressing himself. Stephen does not remember with pleasure much of the teaching he received. Yet the care for detail, the wish to get the facts right, which were part of his experience, remain major characteristics of his writing. But correct language and accurate description are not the only features of Stephen Downes. The flair for words and the intention to entertain, as well as inform, are also essential elements of his style. Stephen believes many of these extras come from his love of music. This style goes beyond detail to make his writing not only entertaining but influential. The teachers who imparted a care for words played their part, even though, for some of them, a somewhat resented part. Miss Eileen Hyatt has a great deal about which she would be pleased: seeing in her student the capacity not merely to communicate the facts but to enlighten and entertain as well. Her voluntary sessions and her love of good writing had a long-term victory.

Reference O’Donnell, M & Knox, T 1996, Restaurant Criticism. Stephen Downes – 2 daggers, 4 pools of blood. Viewed at: www.miettas.com.au/restaurants/critics/downes.html

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9 Teaching: the best job in the world, the worst job in the world John Marsden: writer and teacher

Love is off the curriculum John Marsden is one of Australia’s most successful writers with acceptance worldwide. He has been awarded more than 20 prizes for his writing. Among these awards was his appointment to the prestigious post of Visiting Writer at the Citeé Internationale in Paris. His books appeal to young children through to teenagers and adults. His books for young people are not condescending. Many observers classify them as controversial, often dark. John’s response is that they deal with the real world and that young people, like others, need to see it as it is. It is difficult now to envisage any other career for him than as a writer, an unusually prolific and very professional writer. Since his first published work in 1987 he has published at least one book every year. When The Other Side of Dawn appeared, the seventh and final volume of his Tomorrow Series, the

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Age newspaper greeted it with the comment: ‘All in all a great conclusion to the best series for Australian teens of all time’. His world-wide sales total more than 3 million copies. Looking back now he sees many factors which led him in this direction. My mother read to us every night and encouraged a love of books. Both my parents enjoyed language and word play. I had several excellent teachers, in primary and secondary school, who made English interesting and challenging … My interest in writing faded for a while after I left school but was reactivated by the famous Australian author Nigel Krauth when I was in his English class at Sturt University. He gave me 30 out of 30 for my essay and wrote at the bottom: ‘Few could say more better’.

That succinct praise confirmed a choice that had not been easy. While writing was a possibility that occurred to him early in school because of his great pleasure in books, it was only after many other trials that he came to it as a profession. Another career that had attracted him and that he followed for many years was teaching. His early motivations for choosing teaching were not entirely positive. [O]ne of my main motivations was the desire to prove that the teachers I had in secondary school were wrong, and that it was possible to teach in a creative and lively way, with results as good or better than my teachers had achieved.

In retrospect John acknowledges that his own role at school was not always the best, describing himself as ‘pretty obnoxious as a teenager’. Even so, he feels strongly that schools have often not dealt effectively with the emotional lives of students. Some people will be emotionally stunted because we don’t deal with so many vital aspects: life, power, sex and money don’t feature. We teach biology, not feelings. Love is off the curriculum.

This concern for a more holistic curriculum for schools, one in which feelings rank together with facts, is a characteristic that he carried into his approach to life and that still influences his ambivalent attitude to teachers and schools.

Searching for direction John Marsden was born in Melbourne in 1950. His father was a bank manager and his moves to different branches meant many different homes and schools.

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Looking back he realises that his parents gave him a strong sense of values and a respect for self-discipline that was to become very important in his life, helping him through difficult times. Schools proved to be more mixed in their contributions. He attended three different public primary schools: Kyneton in Victoria, Devonport in Tasmania and Eastwood in Sydney, before going into Grade 6 at The King’s School, Parramatta, where he completed his secondary education.

Best job—worst job in the world John Marsden’s own words best describe his love–hate relationship with teaching: I think teaching is the best job in the world. It is also the worst job in the world. Teachers had a particularly powerful impact on me, I think more so than for most people, and partly because of the conditions of my home life. When I talk to my contemporaries, many seem to have few memories of their school days, but I can name and give considerable details about virtually every teacher who taught at my secondary school, as well as quite a few of the teachers who taught at my different primary schools. Some of these teachers had a positive and inspiring influence on me, and some were negative and destructive. I think a crucial issue was whether I felt safe in their classrooms. My Grade 3 teacher frequently attacked students with the cane, and I still think, rightly or wrongly, that I was one of her preferred victims … In particular I remember her habit of sending the potential victim—often me—to the Deputy Headmaster, to get his cane, which I then had to bring back and proffer to her, so she could then use it on me. There was something particularly cold-blooded about this exercise, and it affected me, in ways which I am still trying to resolve today.

In Grade 4 he experienced a complete contrast. Although both his Grade 3 and Grade 4 teacher had taught side by side for decades, one used the cane every day while the other did not use it in her entire teaching career. In Grade 4 he felt that he was in a ‘benevolent and safe’ place, and for the first time he was able to release his creative energies. The teacher allowed us to start a class newspaper, and I began writing stories and poems for it. As I was the editor of the class newspaper, all of these stories and poems were published, and it was then that I decided that I liked writing, found it a powerful activity, and started to dream of becoming an author.

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Not just for me but for all students John wrote later of the experience of meeting his Grade 4 teacher, Marjorie Scott, after some years. [W]hen I went back to Devonport a few years ago, and talked to the Grade 5 and 6 kids at the primary school, they secretly arranged for her to come in and be there, so we had a surprise meeting. It was lovely to see her. She was in her seventies, but in her alert face and lively eyes and good humoured expression I recognised at once what a great teacher she would have been, not just for me, but for all students.

In Grade 6, he experienced a similar atmosphere. He felt appreciated and liked and respected by the teacher, and he had a year of glorious achievements, with academic success, and more creative opportunities.

Everything changed Secondary school brought changes that were very difficult for John. The confidence built up so carefully in the primary school did not survive. In secondary school, everything changed. I lost confidence in maths and science, mainly due to extraordinarily bad teaching, and I never really regained that confidence. Only in the English class did I find relative security and stability over the next six years, and so that was the only subject in which I consistently did well. As the years in secondary school continued, I became more and more angry and disgusted at the standard of teaching. Many of the teachers were lazy, bored and unimaginative. Many were cold and impersonal, several were bullies, and two were suffering from illnesses that I now recognise were some form of dementia. There were a few inspired teachers at the school, but I was not lucky enough to have much contact with them. But I did have some teachers who were competent.

Two good factors came from this experience: he learned to teach himself and later, when he started teaching, he was determined to show ‘that it was possible to teach in a creative and lively way’. Some teachers took a personal interest in him but he is still ‘angry and bitter’ about some of his teachers from both primary and secondary school.

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Teaching: the best job in the world, the worst job in the world—John Marsden

Only in retrospect In retrospect he realises that many teachers provided him with a good foundation but John left school without a clear sense of direction or any idea of what he wished to do. The next years were traumatic as he searched for work which would provide some sense of meaning. He tested out a very large number of jobs: in abattoirs, in hospitals, in morgues and even in a haunted house: 37 jobs in 10 years. For a time he studied Arts–Law at Sydney University but dropped out, feeling it led him nowhere he wished to go. I learned lots of stuff that proved to be useful. I guess I wasn’t ready for university but got very frustrated trying to find something that I enjoyed. I suffered from depression and when at 19 I began to entertain suicide as a possibility I realised that I should act positively and began to see a psychologist. I was admitted to hospital. That experience helped me to be more positive.

John’s mind turned again to teaching and he entered Mitchell CAE, now part of Sturt University, as a mature-age student to study for a teaching career. I loved teaching from the very first day, partly because it was creative, partly because it involved working with people in a positive atmosphere, and partly because every day was different.

John taught in schools from 1978 to 1990, first at All Saints, Bathurst, and then at Geelong Grammar. He taught for much of the time at Timbertop, the bush campus. It was there in 1985 that he turned his hand to writing but largely as a part of his teaching, rather than as a separate exercise.

I felt I needed to bring things to life for my students While he was teaching at Timbertop John was frustrated by the complete lack of interest in reading from his Year 9 students. I felt I needed to bring things to life for my students. When my students seemed uninterested in a story involving killing animals I took them to an abattoir to see the blood and death on the killing floor. One thing I regret. I used corporal punishment sometimes. I deeply regret that. I could have done better with some students.

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He wrote a short novel aimed entirely at his Year 9 audience. This succeeded with them so well that he looked for a publisher and found one who welcomed the new writer. That publication began the sequence of books which have made him the world’s most successful author of teenage fiction. John sees his background as the ideal preparation for a novelist. He has always been an avid reader but he accompanies his adventures in reading with an insatiable curiosity about people. The feeling aroused in John Marsden by his teachers is clear. His expectations were high and they determine the way he thinks of teaching. John may have made the move from teaching to writing but he still sees teaching as an important part of his life. At his beautiful property, the Tye Estate, he invites potential writers to begin their preparation through his writing workshops. He sees books as an avenue into life and teachers as playing an essential role in making students aware of the treasures available.

Fulfilling the dream Perhaps it is impossible to separate the teacher and the writer in John Marsden. The passion to communicate, to make meaning out of daily life, however complex: these are the qualities which make both good writing and good teaching in John Marsden. Good teaching and poor teaching have both made their impact. Some experiences still reverberate. The writing dream has come true but the attraction of teaching continues. He has a part-time job teaching at the inner-Melbourne Fitzroy Community School. John summed up some of his experience when he talked with me at a launch for one of his books, just before Christmas 2005. The first year I was at school showed me what education should be like and then six years at Kings showed me what it shouldn’t be like.

Recently John Marsden announced that he is starting a school at his Victorian estate. The love–hate relationship remains but is more dominated by love.

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10 The man who came back Dennis Lillee: cricketer and public figure

Red with English blood Cricket is not always exciting or dramatic but Dennis Lillee was certainly one of those cricketers who could catch the imagination by creating a sense of drama. There was always an element of theatre in watching this fast bowler. Those who watched or listened received the unique sense of excitement and threat that he brought to the scene. Near the end of one day’s play, when Lillee had taken several wickets in quick succession, commentator Michael Charlton described the atmosphere in this way: ‘Lillee is running in again, his arms red with English blood … ’ Lillee’s career was as remarkable as the stories that gathered around him. In all first-class cricket he has taken over 800 wickets and scored over 2000 runs. His 70-test career produced 355 wickets at the impressive average of 23.92, taking 10 wickets in a test on 7 occasions and 5 wickets in an innings 23 times. In the course of one year he took 84 test wickets, a world record which lasted until late 2005. These achievements were in spite of one substantial period away

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from test cricket because of an injured back and a further period in World Series Super Tests. Lillee is still very much part of the game, both as an administrator in Western Australia and as one of Australia’s best cricket coaches. His election as president of the Western Australia Cricket Association makes him one of the country’s leading administrators, a position which Lillee himself would not have expected after the days of his hostility to out-of-date customs. He still retains a practical interest. There is little about the mechanics of fast bowling that Lillee does not seem to know and he has made a very successful career in coaching others in the art of his mastery. In 2004 he made headlines by his coaching, bringing Brett Lee back from a slump and into top form again. This story of success hides the massive effort made by Lillee to overcome two major crises and an unpromising beginning. What is most remarkable about him is his capacity to come back from situations where his career seemed over.

The raw beginner: prepared to work at it Lillee grew up in a sporting family. His father, Keith, a truck driver, encouraged both his sons to play all sports, although Australian Rules and swimming seemed the likely choices to continue. A visit to the WACA at age 11 gave a new impetus. The West Indies were playing and the express bowler Wes Hall caught Lillee’s imagination. So much so that, at the end of play, Dennis jumped the fence to talk with the big bowler. Wes Hall spoke warmly and candidly to the youngster, taking his questions seriously. That talk with Wes Hall was to be a lasting inspiration.

Interest through enthusiasm Dennis had other mentors. He went to Belmay Primary School and was impressed by one teacher in particular. He still remembers clearly his primary school teacher, Ken Waters. He dressed immaculately, was always punctual and was respected because he clearly loved his teaching. He aroused interest through his enthusiasm for teaching and had few problems in discipline because the guidelines for behaviour were made clear. He gained respect because he gave respect. His love of sport, particularly Australian Rules, was infectious and he encouraged sport at the school through organising teams and giving time to coaching. Representing the school was seen as important, with an emphasis on

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putting the team first. The qualities he encouraged were dedication to the task, through attending every practice session, being punctual, dressing like a good player, with clean shorts and jumpers, well-polished boots and all sprigs intact. He said: ‘Enjoy your sport but remember that winning the match and then winning the premiership is your goal’.

Dennis Lillee learned those lessons well. He feels privileged to have had Mr Waters as a primary school teacher, but he is conscious, also, of other teachers who he felt were just going through the motions. For him any task undertaken must be done well. He went on to Belmont High School and again found teachers who impressed. Mrs Clarke was the French teacher and impressed me through her caring approach to every student. She had loads of patience and was such a lovely person who helped everyone. I also had Arthur Tonkin who impressed me as my geography and maths teacher. He had good discipline, was always humorous and enjoyed helping those students who were not so talented as long as they were prepared to work at it.

On the cricket field Dennis made rapid progress. His early success was as a batsman but he found he could bowl fast although early on he was erratic. He still took enough wickets to catch attention of the state selectors in 1969. On selection day he was playing in a grade game and his father, Keith, had instructions to listen to the radio and sound the horn, but only if Dennis was selected. The horn blasted out. He was on the way.

Success and crisis In his last season as a selector in 1971 Don Bradman took note of this prospect, particularly when he took 6 Queensland wickets in the state game. Lillee was selected in the Test side for the Sixth Test. He was uncertain of the tactics as much attention had been given to bumpers and asked Bradman if that was to be his emphasis: ‘Keep to your usual style and you will succeed.’ He did, taking 5 wickets for 84 in his first test innings. That game was the herald for a successful period, first in Australia, next in England. From the raw beginner Lillee became one of the world’s best fast bowlers. There was one problem. In his early days he was a tear-away bowler depending on sheer pace and hostility rather than variety and highly honed skills.

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He had great success but at a price, a price which came from the enormous stress that was being placed on his body. After successful series in Australia and England he went on the tour to the West Indies. In a practice match he collapsed. ‘I think my back is broken!’ he told captain Ian Chappell. He was partly right. He had three breaks in his spine. Back in Perth, Dennis was put into a plaster cast for several weeks and then into a back brace for some months. Bowling was out of the question and Dennis had to decide on his future. His wife, Helen, encouraged him to continue in cricket, even though the income for the future was so uncertain. It had always been difficult because top cricketers were paid poorly. He worked in a bank, then began a contract cleaning business for 13 hours per day but his back caused him to stop. He was appointed captain-coach of Perth in the grade cricket even though he could not bowl. He had a successful season as a batsman working very hard on his physical fitness, doing twice as much exercise as had been prescribed to strengthen his back. Towards the end of the season he began, tentatively, to bowl again but in a different style. He now bowled off a shorter run, concentrating on variations in both pace and swing. In late 1974 he came back into the Australian team and in the series against England he and Jeff Thomson dominated the results leading to a 4:1 win. Don Bradman commented: Dennis’s comeback is one of the most inspirational stories in Australian sporting history.

Still another crisis A further major crisis for Dennis was the revolution of World Series Cricket, in which he had a leading role. Lillee initiated the moves that were to tear cricket apart for some years. He saw that the old system did not provide sufficient reward for the players who were the heart of the game and he negotiated with Kerry Packer for a three-year contract to play in an untried format, World Series Cricket. For a time it appeared that this venture would be a failure as few people came to the early matches but with leading players from around the world joining in, the crowds grew. Eventually the Australian Cricket Board compromised with Kerry Packer, granting him the rights to broadcast cricket in return for abandoning the World Series Cricket. Lillee and his companions returned to test cricket again for the 1979–80 season but under much more generous pay conditions. Lillee, Marsh and Chappell played a leading role in Test cricket for the following seasons. What

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had threatened to be a disaster for cricket and for the players such as Lillee, who were central to the breakaway, ended with an even stronger international competition. The same persistence which had overcome the injuries had been effective once more. When Dennis Lillee departed from international cricket in 1984 he was still performing at the top level.

The will to succeed It is not just talent that gets people, including athletes, to the very top level. It is will and discipline as well. This is especially true for elite sport. Athletes must achieve in their youth, when their bodies are at their peak but their minds are still maturing. There is no second chance. Lillee gives many indications of his motivation: love of the game, pride of playing for Australia, challenge in facing the ‘old foe’, England. These are part of the answer to his achievements, but not the whole story. One of the most striking features of his life is the capacity to overcome hurdles which would have stopped most people. What influences provided the spur which enabled them? Lillee himself identifies many people who helped him through these times or were influential in the attitudes he developed. His father provided a firm guide when Dennis himself was a raw beginner. His wife, Helen, helped him through the very difficult times when the chances of a physical recovery seemed remote. Rodney Marsh provided staunch friendship as well as making part of a famous combination: ‘Caught Marsh, Bowled Lillee’. Dennis retains a clear picture, too, of the teachers who helped him and who he saw as genuine in their interest. His memory of Arthur Tonkin is clear: He enjoyed helping those students who were not so talented as long as they were prepared to work at it.

Ken Waters made a lasting impact with his insistence on giving one’s best. Dennis Lillee had moved a long way from his Perth home to make an impact on cricket at the world level but still retains a lively memory of those beginnings and their influences.

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11 Venturing all Fabian Dattner

The power of words Fabian Dattner’s first book in 1992 was called Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained and the title says much about her approach to business and also to life. In speech, in writing, in action, Fabian is never neutral, never non-committal. She loves the power of words and their capacity to influence people and change lives. Throughout her life she has been touched by those who value words, both for their own sake and for their effect on the lives of others. Her father was always stressing to Fabian the power of words, when used well. He had served in the military forces during World War II and was impressed by the speeches of Winston Churchill. Fabian grew up in Eltham, outside Melbourne, in a home where there was a continual flow of people, particularly artists, and their conversations were her daily experience. As a child she remembers sitting under the dining table and enjoying the flow of words. Those people argued passionately about the arts, about business, about life and politics. At school her most influential teacher opened her mind further to the impact of language through great literature. Her

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first employer, a publisher who produced books as much through his love of words as by the necessity of gaining an income, demonstrated in practical terms the lasting strength of the written word. Her mother, a skilful painter throughout her life, was a contrasting influence, illustrating the power of images through art. These influences created the positive philosophy by which she lives. When we discussed her approach she said: I know the power of praise and the way it can build confidence. It has been for me a way to build strong teams.

The agent provocateur Fabian describes herself as a change specialist, an agent provocateur and she has developed these roles through lessons from life, sometimes hard lessons. She has known both spectacular success and frustrating failure. In 1990 she was named by the Bulletin as one of Australia’s top 100 contributors and when Susan Mitchell wrote her book Tall Poppies, Too, Fabian Dattner was one of those special blooms. In both 1995 and 1998 she was a finalist in Telstra’s Business Woman of the Year Award. She followed her 1992 book with two more. In 1996 she produced Naked Truth: An open letter to the Australian working community which was based on 5000 interviews in 3000 organisations in over 30 industries. Three Spirits of Leadership appeared in 1999, in partnership with Jim Grant and Ken Luscombe. These books are in addition to keeping a punishing schedule of consultations and facilitations with over 500 organisations in Australia and elsewhere. This high profile woman has succeeded in a tough area, but her philosophy is not the customary business approach. Rather than lauding competition as inherently good she emphasises two qualities, ‘compassion and wisdom through self-knowledge’. While still recognising and relishing such pleasures as a good wine, a powerful motor-bike and elegant clothes, she regrets the current propensity to measure success solely by material gain. This may be a tough balance to strike in a business where one noted Australian entrepreneur, when asked for his secret for success by an audience of impressionable school students, rasped: ‘Go for the jugular!’ To balance this catalogue of success Fabian experienced frustration when a combination of circumstances brought her near to bankruptcy.

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School was a contrast: fixing the length of skirts Surprisingly, given their outlook, her parents sent Fabian as a boarder to a very conservative Anglican girls’ school, St Catherine’s in Toorak. This community, with its strict rules and support of convention, proved difficult for her. Fabian gained her first insight into the nature of leadership. She rejected the imposed rules seeing that a shared vision would better determine how a community might live and work together. Rules at St Catherine’s were fixed and detailed, prescribing even issues such as the length of skirts and the nature of what the girls wore beneath those firmly fixed lengths. Fabian’s learning to this point had been essentially in the family, with people who were passionate about ideas and encouraged children to think. Her early learning in the secondary school came with difficulty. [T]wo teachers stand out in my mind. Where one teacher always seemed to be soft and appealing and to smell nice, the other seemed shrewish and always to smell of chalk. The first, an English teacher, was a wonderful woman, thoughtful, humorous and encouraging … She knew I loved books and writing and always encouraged me despite my Becketstyle imitations and the other ghastly romantic rubbish she had to read. By stark contrast I always seemed to be getting into trouble in the other teacher’s class and, as a result, hated that subject. In reality, I suspect that both teachers were doing the best they could and I was seeing them through the entirely subjective lens of puberty. Now, however, it is an interesting insight into how we store memories and the extent to which our frame of reference colours our thinking for the balance of our lives. English has always been important to me and, because I was lovingly introduced to it from an early age, I have generally done well at it. By contrast, no-one in our house was particularly good at maths.

(Mitchell, 1991)

A class full of A-grade students? This contrast in teachers made a lasting impression on Fabian. For her, the teacher who encouraged and inspired was the model and she reserves a special dislike for any teacher who ‘saps students’ self-confidence and lacks the capacity to inspire’. This was to guide her approach to teaching people. The other aspect of this story, however, is that it should be the responsibility of the teacher to have a classroom full of A-grade students. I certainly expect anyone learning

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from me to perform brilliantly and if they don’t I hold myself responsible, not them. If I can’t get my message across I ask myself what I am doing wrong and what I need to change. It is an attitude I would encourage in all teachers.

(Mitchell, 1991)

Immense responsibility. Immense privilege Her English teacher was Miss Meisenhalter. It was through her that Fabian confirmed the love of language that was to be a lasting gift and had begun as she listened to the conversations around the family meal-table. This teacher played an important part in ensuring that Fabian’s escapades were not viewed as so excessive as to get her expelled. Miss Meisenhalter respected her students, encouraging their growth in learning and in maturity. To Fabian’s surprise she was selected as a house captain in her final year. She succeeded in her studies, too, qualifying for university entry. More in contrast to her school than in imitation of it, Fabian carried forward one lesson. We need people who are willing to step beyond the circle of comfort, to test the boundaries.

Fabian Dattner retains a high estimate of what teaching can be and should be. Teachers, like other leaders, are the custodians of human community. They have immense responsibility. They have immense privilege.

A bullshit degree but a sense of values University was a very different experience. La Trobe University as a centre of left-wing dissent was a congenial place for her although she claims that oestrogen was more on her mind than learning. She still sees the formal part of her learning as the least helpful contribution to her life. The intriguingly named L.U.S.T., La Trobe University Student Theatre, took much of her energy and she still sees her degree in sociology as ‘a bullshit degree’. It was only after this experience that she was to realise some of the gaps her education had left. She did experience a clarification of her values: ‘a huge reinforcement of the importance of fairness’. Her goal on leaving was to be in publishing and it was here she met the person who was to be her other great teacher.

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Learn that in a week In talking with Fabian I discovered one of those odd coincidences that make life interesting. Fabian’s ‘great teacher’ was Nick Hudson who had published my first books forty-five years before. I talked with Nick by phone on his memories of Fabian. His memories of her were vivid. He is always alert for new talent and eager to foster people in whom he believes. He gave Fabian her first job as his secretary, in spite of the fact that she had no knowledge of either shorthand or typing, then the indispensable skills. He told her to go home and begin to learn to type and come back next Monday. She produced her first letter for Nick and was proud of her own literary production. Nick’s response? Please, Fabian, come in and sit down. I will assume your typing is OK? Hmmm? And I will assume your shorthand is working. After all it would seem you have taken down what I said fairly accurately. I really only have one thing to ask you: ‘Can you spell?’ Here I was in the job of my dreams after fifteen years of education and I was about to fall flat on my face because I couldn’t spell.

She felt sure that her career was to end before it had begun. With most employers it would have finished there. Nick Hudson was different. He gave her a Pocket Oxford Dictionary and told Fabian that she had six months to teach herself to look up every word she was going to use and to begin this process by redoing the letter.

I hunger for learning Her determination plus a dictionary got her through this problem leading her into what she now sees as one of the most fertile learning periods of her life. She found her five years with Nick Hudson better than all her years at school and university. He was an inspiring and deeply compassionate teacher. He never made me feel stupid irrespective of how slow I was to catch on to something. Instead he would go on refining his explanation until he found a level which made sense to me.

Turning failure into success Fabian has had experience of both failure and success, in her business and in her personal life. Perhaps this has contributed to her greatest strength, to turn failure

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into success. She took over her father’s fur and leather business at a crucial time, and after surviving some difficult relations with him, developed the firm very successfully. She has also launched her company Second Chance. This business gives people who have been offenders against the law and who normally find it difficult to make a new start more opportunities. The importance of harnessing the capacity of all the people involved in any enterprise has been a feature of her business and the advice she offers to other businesses.

Think creatively and without fear Her professional belief in the power of every person is something she practises. Part of finding personal power is finding something you really believe is worthwhile … I think that, if you want to, you can move mountains. My vision is to find as many ways as I can to convince people that this is possible. All they have to do is to think creatively and without fear and to believe in themselves.

(Mitchell, 1991)

For Fabian the formal education experiences she has had were often less important than the associations she had in her ordinary life. Where teachers challenged the best in her, she responded. Where she saw them as caring more about order and discipline than learning she turned away. Her family and their friends, her work colleagues such as Nick Hudson, these were the teachers from whom she drew her strengths and insights.

Reference Mitchell, S 1991, Tall Poppies, Too, Penguin Books, Melbourne.

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12 Influences positive and negative Mark Wahlqvist

National and international roles The influence of teachers is not always seen positively. Mark Wahlqvist, one of Australia’s leading medical researchers, has some negative views about his teachers. Mark Wahlqvist does not fit the stereotyped cinema version of a scientist and a professor. The untidy clothes and absent-minded approach to life outside science are not his style. He has an outstanding record as a researcher and scholar whose work is internationally recognised. He is not content to restrict his science to the laboratory or the academic journal. His publications total almost 1000 including articles in many of the most prestigious medical journals. Since 1992 he has been Editor-in-Chief of the Asia Pacific Journal of Clinical Nutrition and has more than 20 books to his credit. He has had chairs in both internal medicine and nutrition and was Head of Medicine, and Director of the International Health & Development Unit at Monash University. Professor Wahlqvist combines an Australian role with international activities. He directs the Asia Pacific Health & Nutrition Centre of the Monash Asia Institute

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which is also the Food and Agriculture Organisation, FAO, Centre of Excellence and he holds an Honorary Chair in Health & Behavioural Sciences at Deakin University. In addition to his work in medical science he has had a continuing interest in multi-cultural affairs recognised in 1994 with Sweden’s Charlotta Medal for his work in migration studies. As these posts indicate, in addition to many national roles he has been very active internationally, chairing the International Union of Nutrition Sciences Committee on Nutrition and Aging and the WHO Western Pacific Nutrition Advisory Panel. He is also the President of the International Union of Nutritional Sciences. A major focus of his work is directed to the improvement of human health through nutrition. All this is the traditional scientist, successful at his trade, but he but does not let himself be confined to the research side of these activities. He has a passionate concern that science, in his case the science of nutrition, should be used for human wellbeing, not just in Australia but world-wide. He sees nutrition as being a potent force not only in the traditional role of combating disease but equally in maintaining health and wellbeing. Mark Wahlqvist feels that Australia, together with other developed countries, should play a more active role internationally to ensure that the improvements in health are available more generally. The two most important needs for health are an active lifestyle together with a variety of foods. We need to help other countries suffering from poverty and disease. Rather than targeted activities they need enough food, and varied food, for all. Our susceptibility to infection depends on our nutrition status. It is vital to maintain biodiversity and sustainability for our continued health. Our hormonal system is not complete unless we engage with nature. Our whole ecosystem is interdependent.

Influences positive and negative Many influences in Mark Wahlqvist’s life were powerful. His family played and still plays a significant role. His paternal grandfather came from Sweden, his paternal grandmother was from Germany and on the other side, his maternal grandparents come from Scotland and Cornwell. This background was to be further extended when Mark met Huang Soo Sien, a fellow medical student at Adelaide University. She was to become Mark’s partner and wife, and Soo Sien’s mother became a valued part of the Wahlqvist household. Soo Sien died in 2004.

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School: positives and negatives Mark’s first school was Westbourne Park Primary School and his experiences were mixed. The Headmistress, Miss Tuck, identified his reading and verbal skills early and encouraged him to develop them further, using Mark as a helper in the class below him. To match his verbal fluency she made Mark jump a grade. This proved a mixed blessing for him: as the youngest in the class he found himself unable to compete physically with his classmates. In his next class this problem compounded. He finished his course books so swiftly that his teacher concluded that he was cheating, sending Mark to the back of the room as a punishment. He developed myopia at that stage and was unable to read from the blackboard. In his attempt to follow, Mark sought help by asking other students and this further heightened the teacher’s negative view of him, a view which was to carry into his next year. His grade 4 teacher, Mr Cadzow, began to identify his hidden abilities. Unfortunately an illness took Mr Cadzow away on leave, bringing a temporary teacher to the class. This teacher had been advised by the Grade 3 teacher that Mark was a problem and she soon acted to affirm this belief. When some pencils disappeared from the classroom she decided, as Mark had less pocket money than many other students, that he was responsible. Not until his next year in Grade 5 and the return of Mr Cadzow from sick leave did school become more positive. The impact of these early negative experiences, however, was to make Mark even more determined to succeed and show those who looked down on him that they had been wrong. I remember walking through the school gates with my only real friend, Ludomyr Mykita, a Ukrainian immigrant, and saying we could show these people who despise us for our European names and become doctors. As it turned out, we were the only two children from that period in the school’s history who did medicine, to the best of my knowledge.

His next two years were generally positive, with teachers who respected his abilities and took an interest in his academic success as he moved on to university. Mr George in Grade 7 had a favourite saying: ‘Think beautiful things’, a saying which Mark was to carry with him. Unfortunately Mr George was also prone to use corporal punishment, with a cane, a practice which for Mark was inconsistent with beautiful thoughts. More positively for Mark, Mr George promoted a curriculum item about ‘The Five Food Groups’ which Mark found thought-

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provoking but inadequate. It was precisely in this field that he was to make a major academic mark. School for Mark Wahlqvist was not a place which respected or celebrated difference, in either personal or academic terms.

An affliction to be tolerated and managed, but … the belief in my abilities … On the whole my teachers were an affliction to be tolerated and managed. But my first year or so and the fantastic belief that Miss Tuck had in my abilities carried me through this horrible system. My primary teachers, one way or another, kept reinforcing my sense of difference from others, which I have increasingly defended to my advantage. It helped me to make the best decision of my life, to partner, and eventually marry, a fellow medical student who is Chinese, Huang Soo Sien. I endowed the school with an annual prize for ‘Creativity’ which I thought had been suppressed during my time there. It took the teachers 2–3 years to work out how ‘creativity’ could be recognised and rewarded. It continues as a notable school prize, and has probably done a little to change the school’s culture for the better.

If Mark Wahlqvist had his creativity suppressed at school, he has revived it in spectacular fashion in his subsequent life. What has been equally impressive is his success in moving outside the immediate scientific environment in the applications of his work.

Both the scientific and the cultural: a sense of social values These experiences, both in the family and at school, were powerful in ensuring that Mark Wahlqvist’s work extended beyond the scientific to the cultural. His comment on the most lasting impacts is revealing: Were it not for her, (Miss Tuck), and my grandmothers I doubt if I would have had the courage to pursue academic excellence, let alone have a developed sense of personal and social values.

Other influences from the past are clear in his scientific choices. Professor Wahlqvist was initially intrigued by the pioneering work of Eric Underwood at

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the University of Western Australia which revealed in 1949 that clover altered fertility in sheep and therefore might hold oestrogenic properties. Professor Underwood was the first to suggest that certain foods could have hormonal properties. We thought it would be interesting to see if these foods affected humans in a similar way.

Professor Wahlqvist first began testing oestrogen-deficient menopausal women, using soy flour, linseed and red clover sprouts. In 1990, he and his group published a report in the British Medical Journal demonstrating that the levels of FSH (the hormone from the pituitary gland which increases during menopause) in the women decreased after two weeks of taking any of the foods. Mark Wahlqvist believes that phytoestrogens may also be effective in reducing the incidence of prostate cancer in men. Recent studies have indicated that soy may be linked to a low rate of prostate cancer in Asian men. But we are not yet sure that phytoestrogens can help guard against this illness. More work needs to be done.

Mark’s scientific and cultural interests came together in his post-graduate work, completed at the University of Uppsala in Sweden. This time gave him a powerful sense of connection with his roots as he formed links with relatives he had never met before, given that his grandfather had left Sweden 80 years before. The learning experience was important professionally also, as he was launched into a field that was to prove of real significance. His topic was the regulation of the metabolism of the human heart and was to be the first integrated assessment of the way that the various factors interacted. Equally important was the opportunity to work with distinguished scientists, including Nobel Prize winners, at both the university and also the Carolus Hospital. Family, schools, universities, hospitals: all have played their role in developing a person with a passionate concern to use medical science in constructive ways, not just to cure illness but also to prevent it.

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13 The unwilling student Rusty Young

An awkward fit Some students, in spite of favourable learning conditions, find school a confronting institution. In these cases it is not lack of ability or difficult home circumstances but a feeling on both sides, student and school, that there is a mismatch. Rusty Young is such a person. His story shows both his capacity to learn and his wish to do so under his own conditions. A recent book, Marching Powder, tells a confronting story of this young Australian in a dramatic and dangerous situation. He has had to resolve two roles: the role of recorder and the role of participant. The situation in which he found himself was extraordinary. El Penal de San Pedro is a prison in La Paz, Bolivia, a highly unusual prison, where the inmates, often accompanied by their families, buy and sell their cells and run their lives within the prison with minimal interference from the authorities. It is a fascinating place, full of human endeavour and initiative, and, equally, the setting for violence and crime. Rusty Young, in his book and clandestine documentary film, tells some of the stories of this place.

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The clash: ideas and originality or conformity and sporting excellence? Rusty Young grew up in Sydney, attending a local primary school. His home environment was supportive and emphasised the value of education even when Rusty found it difficult. His primary school gave him an encouraging start with its comfortable and stimulating environment and he gained a scholarship to a large independent school for boys, Scots College. In contrast with the more intimate scale of the primary school his new setting at Scots College seemed impersonal to him, as he found himself in a first year group of 200 students. Rusty felt that he didn’t fit this new school system. His assessment of the new environment was negative. They emphasised sporting excellence as the most important end and valued sporting excellence rather than ideas and originality.

In spite of this feeling Rusty did well academically, becoming dux of Year 7, but he felt himself to be an outsider in all his classes—with one exception. His teacher in English, Michael Boylan, who is still at Scots College, was able to reach the young boy. Recognising some promise, he encouraged Rusty to keep a diary. Rusty’s expression of his unhappiness with the system came through in this diary where he outlined his unease with the situation. I began to feel angry with myself that I could do little to fit the system. I let myself be intimidated so that I did not act against issues I felt to be wrong, like bullying.

In his diary he was writing for himself rather than an audience, but Mr Boylan responded in writing: ‘I like this. You are being honest. You have a real talent for writing.’ In class Michael Boylan treated Rusty in the same concerned manner that he showed to all his students, making no exceptions. It was in his responses to Rusty’s writing that the teacher’s personal and quiet encouragement proved to be very important. I credit him with starting me off as a writer and will dedicate my first fiction work to him.

Never any challenges Rusty kept up his writing and began to develop in other creative areas, such as short stories, cartoons and card design. Although he was only in Mr Boylan’s

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class for one year they kept in touch through the diary. His other classes were difficult for him. Michael Boylan noticed Rusty’s fascination with the game Dangerman, a game that Rusty loved and which typified his love of living life on the edge—seeing how far he could test the system. Rusty describes his own feelings: ‘There were never any challenges. School life was boring for me.’ He had been at the top of his class in most areas. He began to limit his efforts, feeling that achievement of this nature was not valued and his reports began to use the phrases ‘underachiever’, ‘could do better’. [T]here were countless other teachers who I found hopeless and who really got me depressed. I was dux of my year, topping every subject but by the end of school I absolutely hated life and I think it took me a good five years to get the schooling experience out of my system and properly set out to do what I loved doing. I became a disruption at school and was obliged to sit out in the corridor during maths, despite being top of the class. By the end I didn’t care about my marks at all but I kept writing my diary, which has been the most important thing in my life, since self-knowledge, I believe, is the key to success and happiness.

Good teachers are completely undervalued In spite of these emotions his school career, at least on the surface, was successful. He became Deputy Head Prefect and his marks in exams were still high. Yet for Rusty, ‘writing was my bastion of sanity’. In spite of his reaction to the school the influence of his mother was important in keeping him focused on his work. Marie Young was herself a teacher and saw both the high capacity of her son and the likelihood that this would be wasted because of his clashes with much of school life. It was because of this that she arranged for Rusty to meet Professor Miraca Gross, a specialist in the field of gifted and talented children. This teacher and researcher made a positive impact on the troubled boy. She treated me like a normal person and made me feel understood. She was the first teacher who approached me on the right level. At age 19 this was precisely the right time to set me on track. When I see teachers like her and Michael Boylan I realise that good teachers are completely undervalued by society and would like to participate in any way that might assist in altering that situation.

He strengthened his interest in writing and continued on to enter literary competitions—winning the University of New South Wales short story prize.

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An oppressive culture At the end of his secondary schooling, in spite of what he describes as a lack of continuing effort, a few weeks of concentrated effort before exams brought him an HSC score of 99.7, giving him entry to any course he wished. He chose Arts– Law but after three years switched to Commerce–Law feeling it would be more practical. He attended few lectures and bought no textbooks, spending much of his time travelling overseas. He used to return a few weeks before exams, work intensely in the library and he graduated with a distinction average. For a period after graduation he worked with one of the major merchant banks. Finance and the law, in some combination, offered a prosperous career. This security was not what he wanted; feeling unsatisfied and socially frustrated he decided to travel, leaving Australia for Columbia. For the first time in my life I felt happy. Australia has an oppressive culture, discouraging merit except in sport. This damages individuals as well as being detrimental to the nation.

For Rusty Young, South America was a new and fascinating world and the prison in Bolivia became a place to seek out stories, even if there was risk associated with this search. Rusty’s special interest was in a man called Thomas McFadden, a convicted drug dealer who maintained himself in prison by continuing the trade. The interest extended to Rusty writing the story of McFadden. This was not easy or safe. While writing the account, Rusty smuggled his pages into the prison, determined to allow McFadden the best possible opportunities to tell his tale. McFadden was a willing source, happy to talk of what he saw as his cleverness in often eluding the police, ignoring the fact of his final capture and imprisonment. Rusty went so far as to bribe the prison staff so that he could have overnight stays in the prison. At the end of McFadden’s sentence, he and Rusty shared a house together in Columbia in order to provide the best opportunity for the latter to complete the story. Rusty is conscious of the moral dilemma of his position, particularly as McFadden shows little sign of changing his life. While recognising the hypocrisy of McFadden in maintaining his destructive lifestyle, Rusty is unwilling to jeopardise his story by approaching it in a judgemental way. His book, Marching Powder, is his justification for his effort. The person who survived what he saw as a hostile situation in school through the medium of his writing sees that task as of special importance.

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Rusty Young is still using his writing as a means of relating to a world he finds hostile, but now that writing has become a positive means of illustrating and combating some of the ills he perceives in the world around him. The game of Dangerman is still being played but no longer in an imaginary world.

Reference Young, R 2003, Marching Powder, Pan Macmillan, Sydney.

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14 A memorial to outlast bronze Roderick West: headmaster

The mysterious thing … she inspired me! Among the many responses to the booklet How do teachers influence people? was a fascinating story from Roderick West, well known for his period as Head Master of Trinity Grammar for 21 years. I had heard much about him before, especially that he was one of those rare headmasters who maintained a substantial teaching role. He had also had a major public role when appointed by the Prime Minister as Chairman of the Federal Government Higher Education review in 1997. What intrigued me this time, however, was his account of a remarkable teacher. My schooling took place in the 1940s—I sat for the Leaving Certificate in 1950. My education was humdrum—in the main well-intentioned teachers without much flair. But there was one whose influence was extraordinary. This was Mavis Jean Best who taught me Latin (and English and History as well) in 2A in 1947, at Drummoyne Boys’ Intermediate High School in Sydney. She was a martinet and greatly feared by us all. I have often described her lessons as ‘exact, pleasureless and dull’ and I enjoyed every moment! Mavis Best fired me with a love of language, particularly the Classical languages and I

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taught them all my life. Even in my last year as Head Master of Trinity Grammar School in Sydney, I insisted on teaching 8 hours a week and took every Year 7 Latin group.

As I read further in his reply Mavis Jean Best proved to be an intriguing figure and one who made a deep impression through her teaching, not only on one boy but later through him on many others. The mysterious thing is … that I have never been able to work out where lay the dynamic between her and me. She inspired me to be a teacher, but I could never have treated my students with such hauteur as she did … The sombre influence of Mavis Best has been present throughout my life.

A more complex man I had heard many positive assessments about Roderick West but had never met him. As he wrote about his life I discovered the full range of his interests and achievements. In my mind he was strongly linked with independent schools, partly because of his substantial time at Trinity Grammar but also because he had served in many capacities in that sector. I had heard of his passion for teaching which he maintained so long. In fact his links were much broader. I had heard also of his period as Chairman of the Government Review of Higher Education Policy and Financing; a role in which he travelled widely in Australia and in eight other countries before bringing recommendations for the future in the Report. As Roderick commented: ‘The Report was presented to the Minister on 17 April 1998 and sank without trace!’ However, many elements of the Report are being implemented now.

Not a good enough student for Fort Street In developing this story I learned much more about this man whom I had associated exclusively with the independent school sector. He was born in Balmain in a house by the water. Roderick’s father was a craftsman, a sailmaker. He never read a book but had a great gift for friendship. His mother was a Scot by descent and had a profound influence. She married at 19, and never went to university. These days she would have been a professor of English Literature at a good university! She was an avid reader and a blue stocking. But she was not frustrated. She was content to look after her husband and six

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children and work in her garden, winning many prizes. She was a woman of profound intellectual and spiritual gifts and her influence upon the children all pervasive.

Early schooling was not a happy experience. My schooling began at Mr Wran’s Nicholson Street Infants’ School; thence to Drummoyne Primary. One day, when I was in Sixth Class, I asked Mr Bailey, our teacher, where six of the boys in the class were. He said that they were sitting for the examinations to gain entrance to Fort Street Boys’ (selective) High. I said that I would have liked to sit for those examinations, but he told me that I was not good enough! At the end of that year, the favoured went to Fort Street, the next stratum to Drummoyne Intermediate High and the hewers of wood and drawers of water to Rozelle Tech! At Drummoyne, I was unhappy and mercilessly bullied.

The bright spots at Drummoyne were the teaching of Mavis Best in Latin and Miss Butt in French. Not surprisingly he topped the class in French and Latin and also in English and history but just survived in maths and science. My upwardly mobile mother was determined that I was to finish my schooling at Sydney Grammar School, where the teaching was atrocious, but the climate of the school happy. My memories of those two years are cherished ones.

Roderick went on to Sydney University for his first degree, not surprisingly majoring in classics, followed by his diploma of education.

A teacher at Fort Street My first teaching appointment was as teacher of Latin and Ancient History at Cootamundra High School. I fell in love with the classroom and spent oceans of time in the preparation of lessons to genial country boys and girls and some small senior classes of eager and able students. In 1957, I was transferred to the great Fort Street, which I had been unworthy to enter as a pupil! The First Form of 1957 I was able to take right through to the Leaving Certificate in 1961. There were 22 in that Leaving class and the 2nd, 7th and 12th in the State. Several gained First Class Honours. The Latin Class of 61 has been meeting on the second Friday

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of December for the last 30 years! During those years, I completed a Bachelor of Divinity Degree from the University of London as an external student.

It was in 1962 that his work in independent schools began when he became Classics Master at King Edward’s School in Witley, Surrey, England, remaining there through 1964. This turned out to be a significant time. He learnt how he could combine his academic, spiritual and athletic interests within the one community. An appointment at Geelong Grammar followed his return to Australia and this coincided with the time Prince Charles attended Timbertop. Roderick and his wife, Janet, tutored Prince Charles in French and Latin for three nights each week. An appointment at The King’s School followed. It was here that I learnt to listen to senior boys and learn from them. I believe that the close association with 80 youngsters 24 hours a day was of immeasurable benefit to my professional development and informed my style of headmastering.

Roderick went on to his appointment as Head Master at Trinity Grammar in 1975 where he remained for a fruitful period of 21 years. This is the period with which his name is most frequently associated. It was significant that when he was made a Member of the Order of Australia in 2004 it was for services to both state and independent schools as well as his specific work at Trinity. Roderick West is a fine example to me of the dangers of categorising people from a distance as they generally turn out to be more complex than appears on the surface. Interestingly, it was at Drummoyne High that he met the teacher who was to have such a powerful influence on his life and the special shape of his career. Roderick’s own account, given in his address at the funeral of Mavis Best, tells of her special qualities.

Something eminently worthwhile The exact nature of one person’s impact on another is often not easy to explain. Roderick first encountered Mavis Best at the beginning of his second year at Drummoyne. Her physical presence was striking but the impact of her teaching was what stayed in Roderick’s mind. I never again at either school or university had a teacher of the calibre of Mavis Best. It was under her tutelage that I came to understand intuitively that there was something

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eminently worthwhile in the Classical Languages but for years I was not able to define it. I was shocked into action when I took up my first teaching appointment at Cootamundra High School. As I was droning on one hot afternoon, a farm lad blurted out: ‘How is it that a nice man like you can teach such a boring subject?’

In his reflections on Mavis Best his admiration for her philosophy as well as her teaching ability becomes clear. That feeling of sharing something eminently worthwhile was almost certainly the motivation that led him to a life-long commitment to teaching, in a practical way that few head masters can manage.

A clear priority Mavis Best was an uncompromising person who made high demands on her students. The student–teacher contact between herself and Roderick was brief. The effect was lasting. Mavis was at Drummoyne for only a year. We kept in touch and I invited her the following year to my place for afternoon tea. On reflection, my mother must have thought this extraordinary. Mavis and her husband George came along. He had been wounded the day before the war ended and sustained an injury that would dog him for the rest of his life. Mavis confided: ‘George and I have decided that we will have no children because I want a career.’ I was thunder-struck, being the youngest of six with three of my siblings already producing a child a year. How extraordinary that this woman should be prepared to forgo the joys of family life and an abundance of babies—for a career! However, as a dutiful wife, Mavis could not be faulted. I had the honour of speaking at George’s funeral and could testify to Mavis’ loving care of him over many years as he slowly and painfully wasted away with emphysema.

This personal commitment in the marriage did not deflect her from an uncompromising approach as a teacher and Principal. Mavis was tough on herself, and tough on her students. As Principal of Auburn Girls’ High School from 1965 to 1973, she deplored ‘the wastage of intellect’. In her message to the school community recorded in the Magazine of 1968, she was bitterly disappointed to record that of the 142 girls who were sitting for the School Certificate that year, only 51 were intending to continue on. ‘We are in danger of making second-class citizens of our girls’, she says. ‘This is very disappointing to all who have the interests of girl students at heart … Girls … see if you cannot give yourselves a brighter future by staying

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at school … ’ Mavis encouraged the C.O.D.E. club at Auburn, the initials standing for COOPERATION, OBEDIENCE, DUTY, ENDEAVOUR. These four words succinctly sum up Mavis’ attitude to life. This woman of grit could command an assembly of girls and deftly administer the changeover to the Wyndham Scheme with all its stops and starts; and in the next breath she could be folding the Liberal Party news sheet and mailing it out to hundreds of members. Her passionate attachment to the ancient languages was well recognised when she held the office of President of the Classical Association of New South Wales in the late sixties—an office which she discharged with great dignity and enormous good humour.

For Roderick West the link with his teacher remained strong throughout that teacher’s life. In view of his many professional and public commitments and activities he might well have forgotten the woman who taught him for only one year. That was not to be. At her funeral service in 2003 he reminisced on the long links that had come to mean so much. We celebrated Mavis’ 90th birthday in great style at the Burwood RSL. Mavis was still reading Tolstoy and could hold us all in thrall as she discussed all manner of subjects, with politics and education heading the list. But she was possessed of a critical spirit and could be shockingly bigoted. British to the bootstraps and intolerantly so. And yet she adored her godson Andrew Zuschmann who read the First Lesson. She had special arrangements in place for migrant families at Auburn. She had a devilish sense of humour and would have us all in fits of laughter but too often the tone would descend to unconscionable cruelty.

Have I told you of Peters? This harshness could never obliterate the warmth which often emerged unexpectedly as on one of Roderick’s last visits. Mavis Best lived three years too long. When I visited her early this year, she was still reading Tolstoy, but the heavy tome was resting on her lap, upside down. Nevertheless, there were lucid moments. She began to tell me of a former pupil, a boy of 12 years of age whom she taught in her first working years in the early thirties at Grenfell High School. ‘Have I told you of Peters? This boy was a fine Latin student and never made a mistake in his perfectly kept exercise book.’ She spoke warmly of him and I pricked up my ears. ‘Ah!’ she said. ‘I see you are interested in what I am saying for a change. At the outbreak of the war I heard that Peters had enlisted and was leaving Australia for the Front and so I went

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down to the wharf to say goodbye. He was glad to see me—he was neat and handsome in his naval uniform and he kissed me goodbye. He perished at sea. I was so intrigued that I rang the Grenfell Historical Society and spoke to Mrs Gwen Bolton whose husband remembered Miss Chandler (Mavis Best) well. ‘She was very stern,’ said he. Sure enough, Maxwell Wesley Peters, Service Number 23154 of the Royal Australian Navy, telegraphist, sailed from Sydney Harbour in HMAS Sydney. The boat was sunk and Max Peters perished on 20 November, 1941, at the age of 20. Mavis Best was the finest of teachers—70 years on, as her faculties were quickly dwindling, the bright eyed farm lad Max Peters, twelve years of age, natural linguist, who wrote in an impeccable hand, recurred time and again to her mind. We know that the young talk endlessly about their teachers, but the good teacher ever has her pupils in her mind’s eye.

It will outlast bronze At her funeral Roderick used one of her (and of his) favourites, the poet Horace, as her epitaph. My memorial is done: it will outlast bronze It is taller than the Pyramids’ royal mounds, And no rain and corrosion, no raging Northwind Can tear it down, nor the innumerable years In succession, and the transitory ages. I will not wholly die: the greater part of me Shall escape the goddess of death. I will grow on, Kept alive by posterity’s praise. There is often a mystery in the process in which a teacher influences a student. Mrs Best and Roderick West are very different people and very different teachers. What mattered (and still matters) to him was the love of the Classics which he felt in this formidable woman and which became central to his own life and work. This was something that remained important through his life, as a teacher and as a scholar. Another experience also had a deep effect. When I was 19, one Sunday night, instead of going to Gladesville Presbyterian Church, I went across the road to Christ Church Anglican Church and had my first taste of Anglican worship—the full Evening Prayer from the Prayer Book of 1662. I was hypnotised! I

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became intoxicated with the Gospels, which I found riveting. The character and personality of Jesus commanded my attention: to make His acquaintance was like coming out of an anaesthetic. The natural world was enchanting to me, and human relationships richer and full of meaning. This is an experience that I have been able to hold within me, with varying intensity, throughout my life.

In 1971 he completed a masters’ degree at Sydney University. His subject? Roman-Jewish Relations with the basic source as the Greek text of Josephus. Roderick ‘retired’ in 1996 and, in addition to the Higher Education Review, has been Acting or Interim Principal to help out three other schools, the most recent being St Bishoy Coptic Orthodox College. In his ‘spare time’ he has been an active member of the Anglican Synod of the Diocese of Sydney, Acting Minister of the Presbyterian Church at Pittwater in 2004, and in 2005 taking services at the Mosman Kirk. This is the sort of retirement that Mavis Best would understand. He still writes on education, most recently in the book Education and the Ideal (Smith, 2004). His emphasis is on the liberating effect of education. The proper purpose of all wholesome education is to encourage students to think—to think profoundly—to feel deeply about the human condition, and to have the requisite character to act.

Reference Smith, N (ed.) 2004, Education and the Ideal, New Frontier Publications, Epping, NSW.

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15 Warrior or peacemaker? General Peter Cosgrove, AC, MC. Former Chief, ADF

The visible soldier General Peter Cosgrove is one of the better-known holders of the important job of Chief of the Australian Defence Forces. His image, with the trademark slouch hat, became a familiar and comfortable symbol of a new role for the national military forces. The traditional role was involvement in substantial wars: the Boer War, the Great War and the 1939–45 War. The new role is very different, often involving working in a foreign country to establish peace and good order so that normal life can begin. In the Balkans, Afghanistan, the Solomon Islands, Iraq and East Timor, this new and more complex role is being played. Peter Cosgrove, looking very much the traditional soldier, has had to play a major lead in this change. It may be significant that he was prepared for this change of pattern, despite what seemed like the regular preparation commencing with Duntroon. The place of the soldier in Australian life is currently more visible than ever. This is a recent change. For many years attendance at Anzac Day celebrations was

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declining as was the number of survivors of that campaign. Interest in military affairs in schools was slight. Recently there have been obvious changes. Anzac Day has become a national celebration, with attendances increasing and wide publicity. The day is studied in schools as a national occasion. Anzac Cove itself, in Turkey, has become a place of pilgrimage as have many of the battle sites in Flanders and elsewhere. The most successful museum in Australia is the War Memorial in Canberra which attracts thousands of visitors each year—visitors of all ages. While political leaders struggle for public esteem, our military forces have a high standing, even when, as in Iraq, the war in which they are involved is not popular.

A changing role The role is more visible than in the past but it is also very different. Increasingly, the Australian public see their military as being as much peacemakers as warriors. This is almost certainly a major reason for the increased esteem since, as war has become more and more abhorrent to people, our service men and women have become more valued. Technology has played a major part in the changes. It has made weapons more sophisticated and powerful, capable of seeking out their targets and of being more destructive. It has also made war more visible with cameras recording and sending immediately to television screens the chaos and death arising from the new weapons. That visibility brings a greater abhorrence of the violence and greater support for the dual roles of warriors and peacemakers. To make an effective adjustment to such an amended role has been a significant challenge.

A helping hand to lay the foundations of a new nation For many Australians the face of the Australian soldier has been the face of Peter Cosgrove. He has carried that attention convincingly. He is a tall, imposing figure. Even when he is in civilian dress it is not difficult to envision him as a soldier. When he became Australian of the Year in 2001 it was a universally popular choice and many people expressed their wish to see him as a future governor-general. His citation for the award includes the description of his rise to prominence. His achievements over … 30 years saw him rise steadily through the army’s hierarchy until, in 1999, he was thrust into the full glare of the nation’s, and the world’s, spotlight as commander of the International Forces in East Timor. General Cosgrove’s mission, to restore

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order to this new country on our doorstep, required the utmost skill and sensitivity. Under his care and guidance rested the safety of thousands of young men and women, most of them Australians, and the security of the East Timorese people. Here at home we watched with pride the professionalism and concern of our peacekeeping forces … as, under General Cosgrove’s direction, they offered a helping hand to lay the foundations of a new nation with an enthusiasm that went well beyond the description of their role as peacekeepers.

(National Australia Day Council, 2001) Care and guidance, skill and sensitivity, peacekeepers; these terms have not always been central for soldiers. The attention given to the role of the Defence Forces makes the task much more complex than it has ever been. Peter Cosgrove’s own life and character reflect the duality. While he has an imposing military record, with distinguished service in Vietnam, it was his success in a peacekeeping role in East Timor which captured the public imagination. In contrast to the military life which takes so much of his time he enjoys quiet interests which he can share with his family: reading; listening to music with his wife Lynne, playing a game of golf or watching cricket with his three sons. When asked by an interviewer in what circumstances he liked to read he replied: ‘Anywhere I’m not being shot at.’

Choosing a career: someone who must and can be trusted A career as a soldier was not the only possible choice which faced Peter Cosgrove as he grew up and now, looking back, that career has been very different from the expectations which were common 50 years ago. In one sense the career seemed preordained. Peter was born into an army family, one of two children. One grandfather had been a soldier in both world wars; his own father was a professional soldier who fought in World War II and rose to the rank of captain after many years in the ranks, reaching that level just as Peter left Duntroon as a commissioned officer. His family played an important part in Peter Cosgrove’s early life as it does still today. With his father away for much of the time, his mother was the centre of family life, carrying much of the responsibility of parenting. He describes her as a strong, feisty lady, very alert and intelligent. Her own father was a soldier, also, and she understood the particular pressures of military life. Peter’s father had been home for only short periods in Peter’s early years but a succession of Sydney postings meant that in Peter’s teenage years he was more at home.

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My Dad was, I knew–from what I knew as a young fella and then confirmed when I was in my very early years in the army–that he was rock solid. His word was his bond. John Cosgrove was reliable. If he said he would do something then everybody knew that he would move heaven and earth to do it. So his mates, his superiors, his subordinates could rely on him. So it was this notion that at the core of a soldier is someone who must and can be trusted.

(Lindsay, 2003)

Schooling: just such a respected person Peter’s first school was small. It provided a base of security because he felt that his teachers knew him and cared about his progress. That sense of personal care remains with him, particularly from his family but also from its reinforcement at school. He continued to the Christian Brothers school, Waverley College. After the more relaxed atmosphere at his primary school and in his home, his first year at Waverley proved difficult. The College regime was strict, with corporal punishment a regular and obvious part of school discipline. Peter found this irksome and took some time to adjust to what he saw as an over-emphasis on punishment. In view of the later issues and decisions which he faced, this early concern with how best to win respect was to be important. Peter was helped in turning this strong regime into a positive feature by his class teacher in his first year, Brother Vic Monagle, who also took him for religion and science. Boys at that age can be just horrible but Brother Monagle was just a wonderfully sympathetic and tolerant teacher. I had come from a small primary school and found this large secondary school very forbidding at first. The fact that I fitted in so quickly was largely due to Vic Monagle. He could spot the ones who were all bluster and at heart uncertain, and those who were clear about what they wanted to do. He just seemed to know what to do to make us act reasonably.

The comparative ease with which Brother Monagle obtained discipline, in an environment where force was more frequently used, impressed Peter Cosgrove.

He was just such a respected person The Christian Brothers were strict disciplinarians but I don’t remember that about Vic Monagle. I know he must have been sorely tempted but it wasn’t a hallmark of his style

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as a teacher. It was not through his physical presence that he made his impact as he was quite small, not as tall as some of the thirteen-year-olds who he taught. He was just such a respected person that he never had any problems with discipline. He knew when his students were having difficulties and would provide immediate help. His personality brought respect because of his respect for others so that, without apparent effort, the climate in his class was calm and focused on the various tasks of learning.

Peter saw in this example the importance of winning rather than forcing respect. This example helped him to enjoy his time at school, even though sometimes he found the tight discipline irksome.

Which way to go Entry to a military career was only one of the choices that faced Peter after completing his secondary schooling at Waverley College. The question of a career concerned him more and more. Many possibilities attracted him: the police force was a possibility, as were law and teaching. His parents put no pressure on him. His results in his final year at Waverley were good enough for a wide range of possibilities. I was winnowing through these possibilities during both of my last two years at Waverley but I just kept coming back to being a soldier.

Only when he finally decided to apply for a military cadetship did his father say: ‘Yes, have a crack at it.’

Entry to Duntroon: just a casting vote Peter still felt little confidence of success, as he applied for a cadetship at Duntroon. Peter’s father had not encouraged him before in this choice, except by his example and the respect Peter felt for him. His father had been a Warrant Officer after many years of service and had just received his commission at the time of Peter’s decision to apply for Duntroon. His example was the deciding factor as Peter weighed up the choices before him – the law, teaching, the police or the army. He comments now that it was not an easy road even after he decided to apply. I didn’t find the interview easy. I was keen but found the situation confronting. The lineup of senior officers did not encourage someone who already felt nervous. When it was

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over I felt quite uncertain about the result. When I heard that I had been admitted to a cadetship I felt very relieved but I had been right to feel uncertain. Years later I discovered that it was only through the casting vote of the chairman that I was admitted.

The chairman made a good choice through his casting vote but his justification was not immediate. Peter Cosgrove entered the Royal Military College, Duntroon in 1965. His course at Duntroon was not remarkable. Duntroon had been in existence for 50-plus years and prided itself on being the ‘intellectual womb of the army’. The college applied rigid standards. For those who were not ready for such pressure it was a difficult place.

Creating a military culture: your boots don’t care Duntroon took its responsibility very seriously. It was a culture shock for everybody. We had to learn to care about how we presented. Your boots don’t care if they’re dirty, but someone else does. Your clock doesn’t care if you’re late for lectures but someone else does. The combination of a very heavy workload and a hectic tempo was tough. If you get behind it is difficult to catch up. I stayed behind the power curve in Year 1 and remained behind for some time. It wasn’t until I got into my fourth year that I began to feel confident and started to be thought of as a future leader. At the time you think they’re harsh. Later on you are thankful for it.

Peter Cosgrove did not always find it easy although the pattern was familiar from his days at Waverley. Other cadets helped in the transition. Both students and staff were harsh but helpful in their comments. A special role was played by his direct supervisor, a senior student, Peter Bridge. Peter Bridge was particularly patient and understanding, giving valuable insights into how to proceed: ‘He was fundamentally kind and very patient. I thank my lucky stars for him.’ For Peter Cosgrove, the other Peter may have been the difference between staying and going, as at an earlier stage Brother Monaghan had been the means of helping him to adjust to discipline that was strict to the point of harshness. I left Duntroon as one of its less promising graduates, about halfway up the class list … It was a very heavy work-load, both physically and intellectually.

Peter graduated in 1968 to the Royal Australian Infantry Corps. He was given three choices for his first appointment and was delighted to be given his first

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choice, infantry. He served initially with the 1st Battalion, the Royal Australian Regiment (1RAR) in Malaysia where he was scheduled to stay for two years. I was a bit lucky. After only two months training in jungle warfare I received a posting to Vietnam before being posted to the Australian Reinforcement Unit at Nui Dat in August 1969.

The capacity to lead The war in Vietnam was at a crucial stage with American and Australian troops under increasing pressure. In this, his first combat posting, Peter Cosgrove joined an experienced platoon in the role of commander. In that environment he felt that he had not only to offer a lead but also to respect the experience and skills of his battle-hardened men. The lads I took over had been in combat for an intensive period of six months and now had begun to see themselves at the end, with the possibility of home. A brand new officer can be a threat to that. I was the new boy.

He had to recognise their natural doubts about an inexperienced officer who, through an abundance of zeal, might lead them into untenable situations. A professional leader will take his men into combat and get the job done. He has to be sensitive to the men and their expectations. There is plenty of opportunity for disaster if you fail to acknowledge the experience and skills of the men you lead.

On one of his early patrols, within a month of arriving, Peter Cosgrove’s capacity to lead was tested dramatically. His platoon found itself without outside support among a force of Viet Cong troops. His options were limited but he chose to do what was unexpected. He elected to attack the enemy forces. The surprise element and the quality of his troops brought success, a success he credits to his troops but also to his preparation for the task.

A person they can follow for reasons beyond simple authority It happened and drew from us all an automatic reaction as the training kicked in, all the drills you do. At that stage the cerebral stuff kicked in. One of my subordinates, in charge of one group, reacted automatically to the attack and oriented his men and then told me

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what he had done. I realised that I was in charge and that I now had to do the next thing, make the next decisions, and I did.

He also confirmed a knowledge that was to be of continuing value, the value of discipline through respect, a lesson begun at Waverley and confirmed at Duntroon. Australian soldiers want their leader to be a person they can follow for reasons beyond simple authority. In some societies the gulf between the soldiers and the officers is comfortably great. That is not so in Australia. The officer has to win their support.

Peter Cosgrove won the Military Cross for bravery for this first battle, so soon after his arrival in Vietnam. His subsequent career confirmed this successful beginning. He had a variety of postings. After service with 5RAR and later as Adjutant with 5/7RAR, he was Aide de Camp to the Governor General, Sir Paul Hasluck in 1972, attended the United States Marine Corps Staff College at Quantico, USA in 1978 and, later, the Australian Joint Services Staff College and the Indian National Defence College. He commanded 1RAR in 1983 and 1989; then the 6th Brigade, the 1st Division at Enoggera in Brisbane and the Methods of Instruction Team based at Ingleburn, NSW. He instructed in tactics at the Infantry Centre at Singleton, where he was also later Commandant and Director of Infantry. He was the Commandant of the Australian Defence Warfare Centre at RAAF Williamtown, and also of the Royal Military College Duntroon. He was the Australian exchange instructor at the British Army Staff College, Camberley from 1984–1986. Peter’s father died in 1985. One of his father’s pleasures in those years was through seeing his son’s promotions. Peter served as a staff officer at Headquarters Field Force Command in Sydney, at Army Headquarters in Canberra, and Military Assistant to the Chief of the General Staff before becoming Commander of the Deployable Joint Force Headquarters. These were postings and promotions which were typical of a successful military career. He was soon to face demands of a different sort. In his role of Commander in 1999 he took control of the International Force in East Timor (INTERFET) where he was to serve until the force was withdrawn in February 2000. The skills and capacities on display in Vietnam and developed in such varied later appointments would not be enough for this new situation. They would need to be augmented by different abilities: the abilities to resolve complex

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pressures and to build peace. Vietnam had given him insights into battle tactics and the implications of command in action. East Timor required these and other capacities.

Learning to make peace The INTERFET deployment was the largest Australian involvement since the Vietnam War but Cosgrove’s men faced a very different situation. Vietnam had been a high intensity, comprehensive modern war. War was also a possibility here in East Timor but would have been a sign of the failure of the mission, not its success. This was a very difficult international involvement, the success of which depended less on military skills than on avoiding war and creating a climate in which a new society could flourish. The views of the people of East Timor were important in the success of the enterprise. It was equally necessary that the Australian public should be sympathetic to the role. Vietnam had shown clearly the necessity of maintaining support at home for activities elsewhere. The immediacy and intimacy of press coverage in modern warfare provided a special challenge. He confirmed here the lesson that had emerged from Vietnam, that it was not only necessary to be effective on the ground but to convince both the local population and the Australian people that they understood and agreed with what was happening. East Timor had declared itself independent in 1975, after the departure of the Portuguese administration. Nine days later Indonesia invaded the territory, formally annexing it in 1976. This annexation was never accepted by the United Nations which passed a formal resolution condemning the action. A powerful and continuing resistance grew up in East Timor but was brutally suppressed. In 1998 a new Indonesian president agreed to a vote in East Timor on independence. When that vote finally occurred in 1999, almost 80% voted for independence and that vote was the signal for renewed violence between pro-Indonesian militia and separatist Timorese guerrillas. Almost one-third of the East Timorese fled to West Timor or other overseas destinations. The United Nations responded by a 1999 Resolution for an International Force in East Timor (INTERFET), to be led by Australia. In the effort to establish order INTERFET took 5000 troops to East Timor, where Indonesia already had 15 000 regular troops and many thousands of pro-Indonesian militia. The latter had been killing East Timorese people and destroying their towns and villages with active or tacit support from

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the regular troops. The East Timorese were not intimidated by the violence and many therefore paid a higher price. The peace intervention force entered what was a dangerous, potentially disastrous, situation. The INTERFET forces had to be able to show its capacity to use force but also their resolve to end violence, preferably peacefully. In this task they were spectacularly successful, restoring order, overseeing the withdrawal of Indonesian troops, defining a border and beginning the task of building a new national society in East Timor. One of the East Timorese leaders, Xanana Gusmao, thanked General Cosgrove for the task. We thank you personally and we thank all INTERFET from our hearts. When the children of our nation learn of the sacrifices made by our martyrs, they will learn also of the role of INTERFET.

(Lindsay, 2003)

Peter Cosgrove was touched by this attitude. It was an emotional moment for me and probably quite a few of my military colleagues to see that a military force can come into a country for five months and walk away with the people cheering it.

(Lindsay, 2003)

Peter Cosgrove had been successful in this different military role in East Timor and his reception on return to Australia recognised this success. He was appointed Chief of Army and in July 2002 assumed the position of Chief of the Defence Force, retiring in 2005. For his service with INTERFET he was advanced to Companion of Military Division the Order of Australia (AC), having previously been a Member of the Order for his service as Commanding Officer, 1RAR. In addition to the Military Cross for his service with 9RAR in South Vietnam, he has received several foreign awards including the Companion of the New Zealand Order of Merit, a Commander of the United States Legion of Merit, the Tong Il medal from the Republic of Korea, and the Grand Chain of Infante Dom Henrique from Portugal. Equally importantly his public standing in Australia has been very high. In 2001 he was the Australian of the Year, a choice which reflected an unusual degree of admiration and respect among Australians generally. He can look back at his father’s comment that proved so important for him also: ‘a soldier is someone who must and can be trusted’. Peter Cosgrove retired from his post in 2005 and shows little sign of concentrating only on reducing his golf handicap. His life is an example of the

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major changes that the Australian forces have made in their work and attitude. The lesson that he learned from Brother Monagle has been reinforced by the situations in which he has worked so successfully. Building respect is a characteristic of his person as well as his task with the forces.

References Lindsay, P 2003, The Spirit of the Digger, Pan Macmillan, Sydney. National Australia Day Council 2001, Australian of the Year 2001 Awards: Lt General Peter Cosgrove AC MC. Viewed at: www.australianoftheyear.gov.au/ pages/page63.asp#

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16 The necessary heroine Dr Fiona Wood: plastic surgeon

Just an ordinary day Fiona Wood is accustomed to a hectic schedule—both in her personal life and at work. Her day begins at 5.00, preparing lunches for her six children before dropping them at the pool for swimming training. She is a former runner but now gets her own exercise on her bike for an hour each day. She begins her professional day at 8.00, frequently at the King Edward Memorial Hospital, and by 10.00 will often be involved with a burns operation at Royal Perth Hospital. As head of the Royal Perth Hospital Burns Unit and also the chief medical officer of a cell culture business her life is demanding. This is a lifestyle she loves and plans to continue. Fiona Wood, having achieved so much, sees her best achievements as still before her.

The right person for the crisis The Australian of the Year is a very special award in the judgement of other Australians. It is open to all Australians regardless of age. The award recognises outstanding achievement, including an individual’s role in inspiring fellow

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Australians and contributing to the nation. Dr Fiona Wood was Australian of the Year for 2005. There are times when the award of Australian of the Year comes as a surprise. The award to Fiona Wood was one which surprised no-one. She had been in the national headlines in 2002 for her work in the aftermath to the Bali bombing. After that tragedy, with all the shock from the deaths and injuries, a heroine was welcome. Her citation for the award included the following: Her exceptional leadership and surgical skills and the fact that she had the vision to plan for a large-scale disaster five years before the Bali tragedy, brought world-wide praise and recognition to the Royal Perth Hospital Burns Unit and highlighted the ground breaking research into burns treatment taking place in Western Australia.

(National Australia Day Council, 2005) Leadership, surgical skills and vision—not easy to find in one person for the occasion when they are most relevant.

We will have scarless healing Fiona Wood had felt a particular challenge in dealing with the after-effects of burns. One situation I met in the burns unit in the early ’90s when a patient came in—I remember the day exactly, the time—and he was 29 years old and had in excess of 90 per cent body surface area burns. He’d been perfectly resuscitated on transport in, and I figured: a father of two, a young fit footy player; if anybody’s going to survive this, he will. And he was and he did survive it, and he was our biggest survivor for many, many years.

(O’Brien, 2005) In treating this young man, Fiona turned to the emerging US-invented technology of cultured skin to save his life, and working nights in a laboratory she met scientist Marie Stoner. A friendship developed, and the two women joined forces to explore tissue engineering and decided to begin a foundation to support further research, the McComb Foundation. They moved from growing skin sheets to spraying skin cells; earning a world-wide reputation as pioneers in their field. To enable this process to be used on a larger scale they began a business, Clinical Cell Culture. The company started operating in 2002 and is now planning to release its technology globally to use the royalties to fund further

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burns research. Where previous techniques of skin culturing required 21 days to produce enough cells to cover major burns, they have reduced that period to five days. In addition, research and planning are being undertaken in all other aspects of multi-disciplinary burn care—in particular disaster planning with the help of Woodside and the department of health. Dr Fiona Wood is aiming for ‘scarless woundless healing’.

That special quality Fiona Wood speaks warmly of the processes which led to her achievements. She did not have an easy preparation for her career. She grew up in the small Yorkshire village of South Ensall, which depended heavily on the coal industry. Her father Geoff Wood was a coal miner who had started his time down the mines at age 13. He had wanted desperately to continue at school but this had not been possible. He and Fiona’s mother were determined that their four children would have the chances that life had not offered them. Fiona still remembers listening to her father reciting Rudyard Kipling ‘ad nauseam’ at the Sunday lunch table. One phrase had a lasting effect as well as a literal impact: ‘If you can fill the unforgiving minute with 60 seconds worth of distance run … ’ Fiona turned to competitive running with an enthusiasm that is characteristic of her activities, winning many prizes in her black leotard and second-hand running shoes. The ‘Frickley Flyer’ became well known for her speed at the local athletic meetings and Fiona still remembers vividly one day when she was waiting to begin a race and sat on her father’s shoulders to listen to Arthur Scargill as he exhorted his coalminer comrades to fight the Thatcher Government and ‘set no limits’.

Not for oneself but for others For Fiona’s parents, education was the way out for their children and they acted to provide the best opportunities. She spoke to me very warmly about her school. At the age of thirteen the family moved to Ackworth a nearby village. The reason was the Ackworth Quaker School where Mum began working and where I was a student. I was very aware of being given an opportunity that I definitely wouldn’t waste. It was my launching pad into university and therefore medical school. The school motto ‘Non sibi sed omnibus’ (not for oneself but for others) began to resonate.

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Fiona’s particular strengths began to show early and the school provided well. I particularly remember my maths and science teachers—an area where I was able and therefore got the encouragement and began to realise the power of practical problem solving through science and logic. Denis Marshall, Phillip Harris, Arthur Britton were all selfless in their teaching and I was certainly hungry to learn. I did however, struggle with English and languages, still do!

Those who have heard Fiona speak of her enthusiasms know that her language can be very expressive in the areas of special concern. Her father had more lessons to teach her. One of the toughest moments I had was the first time I ever failed an exam. I was devastated; I had never failed an exam, ever. I said, ‘Oh, dad, I just got unlucky’, and my dad just looked at me and said, ‘Well, Fiona, you know, the harder you work, the luckier you get.’ That wasn’t quite what I was expecting. I was expecting a bit more sympathy than that. So that was it—never mentioned again. So that was a fair and square kick in the pants that I needed. I think that encompassed a lot of the feeling of my upbringing, I guess: if you work hard, then you can make your choices; if you don’t work hard, people make them for you. So that was certainly a very defining memory for me.

(O’Brien, 2005)

An infectious passion After school, Fiona still had choices to make. Her results were good enough to open many different avenues. Medicine was a choice that did not come obviously although in school her ability in mathematics and science had pointed her in that direction. Medicine was a choice I made as I listened to my older brother who was two years into medical school. I changed my mind from mathematics and physics to medicine. This was a decision that has dictated my path since 1973. I was overwhelmed by anatomy on day one and felt from the word ‘go’ surgery was for me. The professors in anatomy were passionate about their subject, it was infectious. Professors Day and Hewitt, very different in styles, but inspiring, teaching the art of questions through careful observation. One of my surgical professors, Professor Kinmouth was less encouraging and he was clear that surgery wasn’t a career for a women—that was also motivating!

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Fiona’s medical career began at St Thomas’s Hospital Medical School in London. From the very beginning of her course she knew that she had made the right choice. After graduation she worked at a major British hospital to begin her specialist surgical training. One of her colleagues was Western Australian-born surgeon Tony Kierath. I’d known this young man for three weeks, and he said: ‘It’s non-negotiable, you marry me and you live in Perth.’ And that was it.

And so it was. She had come from a family of four. Her husband was one of five. Fiona says it was natural that it had to be six for them. They married and after the birth of their first two children moved to Western Australia in 1987. Fiona says that after her first baby: ‘It was so fantastic, I’ll have to have a lot of these.’ She did that and she did much more. A new environment and a busy home with two children may have led some people to look for a quiet period. Fiona Wood responded differently. She went on to complete her training in plastic surgery in the intervals between having four more children. It was in this period, balancing a home with six children and an exacting profession that she adopted the goal which became and remains central to her work, the goal of scarless healing. Now that she has achieved so many of her other goals it would be understandable if Fiona Wood settled for a more tranquil existence. That is not the case. Her research and development activity in the McComb Foundation continues in the effort to develop even more effective ways to treat and combat the effects of burns. Her work in hospitals continues to use the current knowledge even as the search for improvement continues. The company set up by the two women, Clinical Cell Culture, uses the royalties from their technological advances to support further research. It seems characteristic of Fiona Wood that with all these activities under way she still looks more widely in shaping her future.

We’ll see what it’s like at the top One thing is certain, Fiona Wood will not rest on her achievements. Fiona’s work is her pleasure, something that she looks forward to and values. Her words to me emphasised the future. It is a privilege to get up in the morning and enjoy what you do. I enjoy that privilege due to the sacrifice of my parents to ensure we had an education that would give us

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the opportunity to choose. Everyone is unique and special and all too often we don’t discover what it is that is so special that we can contribute and share. Issues of looking into ourselves and having the confidence to be the best we can be—but possibly more significantly having the confidence to facilitate what is the best in those around us. An essential two-pronged approach must recognise our collective strength and our individual integrity. We collectively need to strive towards a society dependent upon the integrity of each individual rather than the intellect of a few.

References National Australia Day Council 2005, Australian of the Year 2005 Award: Fiona Wood AM. Viewed at: www.australianoftheyear.gov.au/pages/page59.asp O’Brien, K 2005, 7.30 Report, ABC, 26 January.

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17 Keeping open the doors for others Lyndsay Connors: educator and advocate

The Class Act Early in 2005 Lyndsay Connors gave the keynote address to the South Australian State Education Leaders Convention, ‘Public Education: a Class Act’. She spoke as the Chair of the NSW Public Education Council, a position she had held for three years. It was a formal address for a formal occasion, an address with a strong commitment to the idea of public education as a great enabling process for a democratic society. It is in our classrooms, as the great American educator Jerome Bruner reminds us, it is inside the hearts and minds of teachers and pupils as they work in classrooms that ‘the subtle process of education’ happens, the process of empowering of human intelligence and human sensibility for life in an open society.

Lyndsay Connors herself is an example of the liberating power of an education that aims to help all students, regardless of background. Public education is a class act, with a capital ‘A’ for Act. My personal circumstances when I was young may have served to bring this home to me. In my last year of high school,

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my mother died after a long and terrible illness. One of the reasons my world did not fall completely apart was because of the legacy of my mother and all those like her—who gladly paid their tax to support a good public education system. I stayed on at my school to sit the Leaving Certificate as my mother had wanted. I stayed on in a place that was provided for me in my own right by the State Government of NSW.

In 2002 Lyndsay was Chair of the NSW Public Education Council and it was one of many high responsibility positions dating from 1983. In addition to special roles reviewing aspects of education in NSW, Victoria and South Australia, Lyndsay has been a major leader in significant public bodies: the Australian Broadcasting Commission, the Australian Children’s Television Foundation, the Schools Council of the National Board of Employment, Education and Training and the Commonwealth Schools Commission. In 1993 she began a sequence of major positions in the NSW Department of Education as Director of Schools, Director of Specific Focus Programs, Director of Equity Policy and finally Director of Higher Education, completing this last role in 2000. Her career has been remarkable in its variety and significance and its social commitment. This career and its commitment are strongly related to her experiences in her family, and in school.

A successful learner Lyndsay came from a family which valued education and saw it as a liberating force in life. My mother was born at the start of WWI, grew up in near-poverty and lost her mother before she started school. She had clearly loved school and described the joys of having pencils, pen and paper and a desk by contrast with the conditions in a poor, crowded, deprived household. She left school at 14, but some teachers had instilled in her the idea that she was a very able student. She was very proud of having been told she was ‘a good writer’ and she was classy at arithmetic.

Lyndsay’s mother was employed throughout the Depression as a stenographer, ‘working with figures’. She loved reading and as a young single woman had taken herself off to attempt to learn French! Lyndsay’s father was the eldest in his family, excelling at school; he was regarded as ‘the brains of the family’. He trained as a primary school teacher at Sydney Teachers’ College and taught for several years, but when his father died, he had to take over the family business. He died just

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over a year after marrying. Lyndsay remembers being brought up in his shadow, and taught to share in the family pride that he had been a teacher.

I loved the ‘stuff’ at school In 1945 at the age of four, Lyndsay began at the local public school in an outer Sydney suburb. She began school early because her mother needed to work and no child care was available. I loved the ‘stuff’ at school: the chalk and dusters, the coloured paper, the books and, in particular, the magical tuning fork. The first teacher in my life was a diminutive and, to my young eyes, ancient and wrinkled woman with twinkling eyes, Mrs J. How old she was I cannot tell, but she was old enough to have taught an aunt and uncle of mine. I was conscious of, and slightly uneasy about, the fact that she knew my family. She walked to school each morning through the paddocks where she snapped a small branch of wattle, known to us all as her ‘switch’, with which to inflict a painful flick to the legs and arms of kindergarten students guilty of misdemeanours. The fact that she had never been known to use it in no way diminished its power. We learned to read through a process of basic phonics, whole language and bribery. Mrs J would take us right through the phonics chart, chanting each letter in its lower case and ‘capital’ form, with its accompanying illustration from apple through to zebra. There is something special about the teacher who teaches you to read. I am conscious of the many people in my life I have thanked profusely for a lesser gift. Mrs J sent me on from kindergarten an avid reader. I don’t remember, once I had learned to read, ever being read to at home—I much preferred to have the book in my own hand. At school I loved nothing more than library day. The library was, in fact, a box of books donated by the parents in the P&C and was carried around to each classroom by two older boys.

The unknown teacher: teaching against the grain A major part of Lyndsay Connors’ life has been working for social justice for those who are disadvantaged in some way. An ‘unknown’ teacher who organised the school concert strengthened the passion for social justice. The lesson that she taught me concerned a family in our district—the Goodmans—that seemed to be very low on the social pecking order … They also belonged to a minority

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religious faith community that had been pacifists during WWII. Even my mother, who was much given to defending ‘outsiders’ and who loathed snobbery, did not seem to extend her tolerance in their direction.

As the concert pageant unfolded Lindsay … gasped with admiration at one of the resplendent figures, dressed in rich red and blue swathes of satin and velvet fabric and some kind of elaborate headdress. But I was even more startled to recognise that this marvellous creature sweeping across the stage in regal splendour was none other than Sylvia Goodman.

This was a lesson which lasted. I don’t know if other children got the message, but I know I did. I realised that a teacher must have gone to some effort to get such a beautiful costume for Sylvia and in some kind of way, I knew why. I also knew that I would not be joining in any of the teasing of the Goodmans from that time on. I am not sure now how pure my motives were for adopting a kinder view of them. I may have sensed that Sylvia had an unknown champion, who might swoop down on anyone behaving badly to the second-grader. I may even have gained some personal reassurance from the whole incident, because I was myself subject to teasing from time to time. I have always had an admiration for those teachers who teach ‘against the grain’ in a subtle and powerful way; and who use the power of schools to help in making us a more decent, caring and fair society.

The negative side Lyndsay was to discover that there could be a negative aspect to teaching. My fourth grade teacher, by way of contrast, managed to reduce even the rather doughty and confident child that I believe I was to a mental and physical wreck. Very early in the year, the new exercise books arrived from Bridge Street. As well as the exercise books with the double lines to guide handwriting, and the botany books with a lined and a plain page facing each other, there were the orange-covered books that were made up of all beautiful, blank white pages. These were the books for geometry. ‘We are going to draw a four inch square.’ That was all that I remember my teacher, a Miss W, saying. Alert and eager, I took up my ruler and drew the first line and then completed the square. Then all hell broke loose.

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‘Who asked you to draw a square?’ Miss W thundered as she strode up the aisle to my desk. ‘What did I ask you to do?’ She repeated the question to the whole class. Bound either by loyalty or fear, no-one answered. ‘I said draw a four inch line,’ she bellowed. ‘Not to go on and draw the whole square.’ And with that she took my orange book, opened it at the centre page, ripped it down and across and announced that I would do no geometry for the rest of the year. And she meant it. Each Tuesday I felt ill. I had to go to school, wait in dread for the appointed hour and then sit, an object of pity and scorn, while my classmates drew various shapes. I know now that teaching is a demanding and, at times, frustrating and stressful job. And I understand that teachers do not always feel that they are in positions of power in the lives of children. All teachers need to understand the power they have to encourage or to wither their students.

The best teacher I ever had at school One of the lessons Lyndsay brings from her memories is that good teaching can come from people who are far from being ‘role models’. The best teacher I ever had at school was not, in fact, either a heroine of mine, or someone I saw as my life’s ‘role model’. My high school English teacher, I’ll call her Miss Baxter, was the very best teacher I ever had but was not a person I generally admired or wanted to be like. She could be, at times, mean-spirited and narrow minded … So you can imagine this scene. Miss Baxter informed my class, at school one day, in an interesting little aside to a lesson—we may have been studying Silas Marner—that there were women, in Sydney, living on the proceeds of their immorality. She explained that some women were having babies, out of wedlock, ‘illegitimate babies’—in order to get child endowment. I couldn’t wait to rush home to apprise my mother of this scandalous state of affairs. I rushed in the back door. I blurted out this scandal. My mother was ironing. She slowly put the iron down and said to me: ‘Go back and tell Miss Baxter from me that any woman who is prepared to have a child to get (and she mentioned the pittance that was child endowment at the time) is perfectly welcome to it.’ I now see my mother as more of my hero than I see Miss Baxter. But my mother did not teach me those things for which I am eternally indebted to Miss Baxter. Miss Baxter taught me ways to find another life—a life lived through literature and language—a connection

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to our myriad ways of expressing our shared understandings about the world and about what it means to be human.

Beyond the confines On looking back Lyndsay is aware of many lessons learned that went well beyond the limits of her school. Her Latin teacher was not a hero to Lyndsay and she felt no desire to be like her. But one day she was reading to us Catullus’ ‘Lament to his Dead Brother’ and when we looked up there were tears coursing down her cheeks.

These women teachers gave Lyndsay insights that were to remain: how to connect with others and with ideas, even across the centuries. Ideas about the power of imagination in developing an inner life. What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?

For Lyndsay that line in Hamlet’s soliloquy applied to her brilliant mathematics teacher presenting the concept of parabolas. She could make herself almost weep tears of joy over some diagram she brought to life for us. Like true educators, these teachers take their students beyond the confines of our own community, our own comfort zones, our own tastes and preferences. It was not always comfortable. As I grew into adulthood, I came to understand that many of these women, had they been male, would almost certainly have been in the senior ranks of government, the public service, universities, churches, the corporate sector. Some were teachers by choice, but others were probably teachers because of other choices denied. They poured their own aspirations into us. These women high school teachers were undoubtedly highly influential in the directions my life took, as a feminist and an activist for the advancement of public education.

Looking back, Lyndsay is conscious of the lasting impact. Reflecting as an adult on my childhood experiences I can see clearly from my own experience that the work that teachers do in their classrooms extends far beyond that generation of students. I certainly inherited the benefits of my mother’s positive view of herself as a successful learner that one or more of her teachers had implanted.

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Directions still to be shaped When Lyndsay left school the directions of her life were still to be shaped. Despite completing school with a first-class Leaving Certificate, she had no career plans but a head full of ideas about what she would like to do with her life.With only vague ideas about her future and thrown into confusion by her mother’s death, she decided to do a secretarial course instead of taking up her Commonwealth Scholarship to Sydney University. This was mainly because her mother had been a stenographer. The plan may have been vague but excellent teaching yielded outcomes that were good. It was through the Advanced Secretarial Course at the Sydney Technical College that she learned to write plain business English rather than the florid and pretentiously literary style for which she had been so rewarded at high school. A dedicated teacher in the secretarial course encouraged her to apply for a job as a stenographer on the Current Affairs Bulletin at Sydney University, even though it was advertised for a senior. Lyndsay took the job and also enrolled as a night student in arts. The excellence of teaching I had experienced at high school and at Sydney Tech gave me a head start as an arts student. Just as well, because the quality of teaching at university was highly variable. There were several lecturers, in English, history and philosophy, who took us into the realms of true scholarship. But there was one who arrived at evening lectures too drunk to stand up without clinging to the lectern, and one whose whole series of lectures was inaudible. And yet I do not recall any one of us proposing to make a formal complaint.

Learning to influence the system Lyndsay married when she was 21 and soon after was both surprised and delighted to be expecting her first child. She moved to Canberra, where her husband had been appointed to a public service job. The birth of my daughter was a turning point in my life. The responsibility of parenthood brought the world more alive for me now I had her. Despite the hard work and the tiredness associated with having three young children by the time I was 25, I threw myself into the collective life of the little pre-school at the end of our street where a small group of parents worked together to give the children in our district a great start in life.

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Her experience in the pre-schools was to be a basis for her long-term interest in education policy. As a young parent, I felt that I had moved to Paradise. Canberra was dotted with lovely little government pre-school centres and, in our area, children were able to have two years of sessional pre-school before starting school. I must have had a strong sense of education as a public good, because I was startled to find that the conditions for access to these centres was far from rational or equitable.

Her concern arose because while there was a centralised process for planning the establishment of pre-schools, a precondition of provision of the centre was that the parents in each suburb had to form a committee and to raise funds to buy some of the pre-school equipment and materials. I was shocked to find that these committees controlled the entry list to the pre-school, with preference given to children whose parents had put their names down early and assisted in the drive to assemble the play equipment. The making of lamingtons and the organising of fetes and raffles was no doubt onerous; but according to my calculations, the funds raised at community level constituted only a minute proportion of the total cost of those centres. Teaching salaries and the cost of the facilities were all paid by the government. What right did the lamington-makers have, however worthy, to decide when children could enjoy these publicly-provided benefits?

Lyndsay worked with other parents towards making pre-schooling a universal entitlement and not ‘a privilege contingent upon parental virtue’. The first change came with the edict that children would be admitted in strict waiting list order. That was an improvement, but her concern was also for children whose parents were unaware of the need to put their names down early. It took some time to get the system to the point where children were admitted in birth order. I guess that I was finding out, as an adult, that Australian society was not as egalitarian as the patriotic newsreels and documentaries I had seen in childhood suggested. I still had a pride and confidence in our egalitarian traditions and I clung to the idea, as a young parent, that we had a wonderful education system and that my children would benefit from it as I had done. I still looked at the world through the eyes of a white child who had grown up in an English speaking family and in comfortable circumstances. My education was about to be broadened as we moved towards the 70s.

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Widening the horizons: not mad but a feminist The 1970s were to be a decade of expanding horizons. I felt vague stirrings of anger about the circumstances of my life. I had started to notice that those of my relations who had ooh-ed and aah-ed about my academic achievements at school and university expressed neither surprise nor alarm that I now spent my time in housework and child care and barely found time to read a book. A slight exaggeration, since I did review children’s books occasionally for The Canberra Times. I found myself wondering what they would have said had my husband, also a graduate, spent his days squeezing orange juice and reading Dr Seuss to our children. I knew they would have said that his degree was being wasted!

A book called The Captive Wife by Hannah Gavron helped her to make more sense of her quiet seethings: That book, which I recall reading rather furtively, was for me what The Female Eunuch was soon to be for many women, when it came out several years later. I was not mad, I was a feminist. What a relief.

The next bombshell for Lyndsay was the publication of Tom Roper’s The Myth of Equality, in 1972. She was appalled to discover the stark photographic evidence that the equality of educational opportunity in which she had taken an almost personal pride was not as real as she had believed.

We had life experience and we were ready for study My own contact with Lyndsay began in 1972 when she was a student in the Diploma of Education course at the Canberra College of Advanced Education, the second entry of such students in Canberra. She had completed her initial degree at Sydney University in 1963. The Canberra CAE took in its first students in 1971 and the initial intake of 100 students was selected from 1400 applicants from around Australia. In this high-pressure environment the customary pattern was to select solely on the basis of academic results since there was little other information available for the students, who came from all over Australia. One early question was whether the CAE should admit students who had not come straight from universities but had been married, had had some years away from

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study and often had children to look after. After meeting with some of these students including Lyndsay, I was quickly convinced of the additional value they brought to the course. While their earlier academic results were sometimes not as good as the best of those who came direct from university, their experience of life and of managing children provided special and precious strengths. The Academic Board of the CAE was not easy to convince. They preferred the safety of selection on the basis purely of academic results. In the end they agreed, with some reluctance, to the admission of a special group of ‘mature-aged students’. These students more than repaid the confidence shown by the CAE, not only during the course but when they graduated and moved into a variety of work positions. One of them was Lyndsay Connors. Many others also went on to provide high quality service in public life, as teachers, principals, administrators and, in two cases, government ministers. When Lyndsay’s youngest child was old enough to go off to school, Lyndsay entered the graduate teaching course at the CAE. The students in the course at the CAE were a heady mix: bright young students from every part of Australia and a leaven of older women with substantial experience of families, community activity. What was in common was a sense of idealism about teaching. I loved that course. I was back in harness as a student—back to philosophy, but this time the philosophy of education. And what was the philosophy of education but the meaning of life? I found myself reflecting. I still remember the definition given for education by Phillip Hughes, the Head of School, saying ‘Education is the preparation for membership in a just and caring democratic society’. Other students were equally helpful. I was shoulder to shoulder with a number of women returning to study from years of childbearing and rearing. Certainly we had not been through a dreadful war, but I did feel there were some parallels between the excitement of our situation and that of the mature age men who returned to university after World War II. We had life experience and we were ready for study.

After graduating, Lyndsay taught for two years part-time: about 75% of the full teaching load. She found it exciting and exhausting. When I got home to my own three young children after a day at school, I just wished they would go and watch rubbish on television. I was too tired and over-stimulated to cope with them. In retrospect, I was an awful teacher. I had embarked on a model of teaching that is neither desirable nor sustainable as I later realised. I was determined to make each and every encounter with my classes an unforgettable, intellectual highlight of their lives. So

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I was plunged into despair by the many distractions which disturb the flow of the bestplanned lessons. I was dashed when my daughter reported to me that she had overheard some high school students on the bus talking in rather disrespectful tones about their teachers. When they came to me they had said ‘Mrs Connors tries to make it interesting’, her rendition of their tones making it clear that my efforts were in vain. I know now that this was a reasonably kind comment, and a perceptive analysis of my grim determination to lead them to the light.

Looking back her concern is that she was assigned, even though she was the least experienced teacher in the school, to teach a class of slow learners, ‘on the grounds that I was a lovely young Mum’. She was mortified to find that the massive effort she put in to working out strategies for stimulating their literacy, laboriously developed by sitting up late at night, were stock in trade among those experienced in this area of education. I left teaching when I had my fourth child. But I have stayed an English teacher in my heart and head. Not a day goes by but I see something that would be the basis of a great activity for those Year 9 students or even, after all these years, of interest to a particular student. What I learned was the teaching is highly intellectually demanding work. And as my long-time friend and colleague, David McRae, pointed out, it is routine work, but work where the routine is continually disrupted.

Moving on to the national scene When the Whitlam Government established the Interim Committee for the Schools Commission and appointed Peter Karmel and Jean Blackburn to report in 1973 on what needed to be done, Lyndsay was among the many Australians who were excited at the prospect of a national commitment to equal opportunity of a quality education for all children. She became active through the Women’s Electoral Lobby education committee preparing a brochure for girls in schools. My second baby daughter spent a lot of time propped up on pillows while her mother and a group of fellow feminists worked for twenty times the hours that were paid for by the Innovations grant we had received. The fact that we had received the grant, however, gave our work the imprimatur it needed to be distributed in schools. We took our work very seriously and two of us gained an invitation to brief the ACT secondary principals (my recall is that they were all male). As we walked in to their meeting, which was held

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over a steak luncheon at the tartan-carpeted Burns Club, one or two of them rose to their feet to greet us only to be told by several jeering colleagues to sit down: ‘Don’t stand up for them, they’re feminists’. Worse was to come, when—just after we introduced the brochure—one of their number shouted out: Is there a centrefold? alluding to a popular magazine at the time that had a nude centerfold. My shorthand came in handy and I took down their crass banter verbatim and submitted it all to the then Chair of the Schools Commission, Dr Ken McKinnon, in our report on the project, with an accompanying recommendation on the need for professional development for principals.

Lyndsay continued writing about education from the dining table at home and was an active member of the local and the ACT Parents and Citizens. She became a parent member of the then ACT Schools Authority, the governing body for the public school system in the national capital. This was a formative learning experience. In national forums, representatives from the ACT tend not to be taken seriously by those from larger jurisdictions. My experience has been, however, that in the intimacy of such a small system many issues can be seen with clarity more easily than in larger systems. I started to learn in the ACT how schools and school communities interact.

Lyndsay’s first appointment to a national committee was as the nominee of the Australian Council of State School Organisations to the National Committee on English Teaching. New knowledge from research into language learning was being incorporated into the school curriculum, and she could actually see the benefits flowing through into schools as her third child started learning to read. I could barely believe when the national committee sponsored a conference that I had the task of transporting to the conference venue Basil Bernstein, the famous British philosopher and social theorist, who built language into his scheme of how society works. He was as overcome with fear as I was with awe as I drove him around the national capital’s circular roads in our family’s yellow Kombi van.

Schools Commission The Schools Authority led to new directions for Lyndsay. Soon after the Hawke Government was elected, with Senator Susan Ryan as its education minister, she received a phone call asking whether she would accept an appointment as a fulltime member of the Commonwealth Schools Commission.

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I was 43 years old, and had only had a full-time paid job prior to moving to Canberra and having four children. Was it time to move the manila folders off the dining table and into the office? I agonised over whether I would be up to the task.

She accepted the new position. Her background, unusual as it was for those positions, proved invaluable: Having had four children prepared me for the long days (and often nights) involved in finalising reports. And having had even a brief experience of teaching was also important. I felt worn down at times by the responsibility of preparing advice for government on conditions in schools that had the potential to affect the work and the lives of thousands of teachers and millions of students in our schools across Australia. But I also knew that the work was no harder or more significant than the work teachers were doing each day—it was just a different and a necessary part of the process of formal education.

In 1988, the Schools Commission was abolished. When the Hawke Government then set up the National Board of Employment, Education and Training, Lyndsay went on to chair its Schools Council. She found that the priorities identified at the first meetings of the Schools Council were the same priorities identified at the last meeting of the Schools Commission. Lyndsay Connors continued in her very successful career in education and in many related areas. Her career has been rewarded with many prominent and responsible positions and recognised by honorary doctorates from two universities. She remains totally unaffected by those distinctions and deeply committed to the continuing task of opening education opportunities for all Australians. The conclusion of the story is best expressed in Lyndsay’s own words. Despite having taught for so brief a time in my own life, teaching and schools continue to fascinate me. I have often recounted one of the most profound insights into teaching that I gained quite unexpectedly one day when I was having a coffee at Tilley’s in Canberra with one of my closest friends, Julia Ryan. She was nearing the end of a lifelong career of secondary school teaching. She was one of the few teachers who decided to return to teaching in a 7–10 high school (teaching geography and history) after having taught for a number of years in one of Canberra’s senior colleges. We were chatting about our usual interests—the books we had read recently, the movies we had enjoyed, the activities of our children and friends—when I noticed that Julia looked a bit preoccupied. She then looked at me and said ‘You know I have had a wonderful week at school … I have worked out how to teach climate to Year 8’.

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With this remark, she said so much about teaching. It is all very well to argue for teachers who drop in and out of the career, but we need in our schools those teachers who have that intellectual commitment to learning how to teach over a lifetime. None of the jobs that I have ever had—though they may have been considered more ‘senior’ and were certainly more highly paid—were more challenging than being a teacher in the classroom. They were simply different, but no harder and no more significant. My unplanned career has brought me into contact with the most wonderful gifted, informed and ethical people. But I still remember the excitement of standing in the classroom with that gaggle of young people—and thinking how exciting it was to be unable to predict just what any one of them might achieve in their lives. And of the debt I owe to those who assisted me, from my earliest days at school, to become a lifelong learner. But I am conscious that there are many Australians who have yet to share in the kinds of opportunity I enjoyed and it will be shameful if those of us who have had such benefits ignore our obligation to ensure that we keep open for others the doors through which we passed.

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18 Delaying death … or prolonging life Dr Charlie Teo: neurosurgeon

In good hands The meeting began through a phone call. For some time I had been trying to contact Charlie Teo but his travel schedule had made this impossible. The voice on the phone said: ‘This is Charlie Teo. I’d like to meet with you. Can you come to lunch next Tuesday?’ I said yes, very quickly, not believing my luck after the difficult search. ‘That will be great. Come to my place at 12.00. Can you bring your wife?’ That is why my wife Kelli and I arrived at his address, pressed the bell and were greeted by a small white terrier, barking vigorously but not with much hostility. He was followed closely by the man himself in a casual shirt, jeans and with bare feet. His greeting was warm. As he took us through the house we noticed the pile of sleeping bags by a door. Charlie explained that they were for the all-night session ‘Roaring and Snoring’ at Taronga Park Zoo, where he would be taking his four daughters that night. Probably not much snoring, he commented. He took us into the family room where he told us he was trying to recreate a recipe

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which he and one of his daughters had enjoyed at a restaurant in Santa Monica the week before. The challenge of identifying and then duplicating the original ingredients was one he obviously enjoyed. Tuna Tartare with soy and wasabi seemed to be a possible name and he was balancing sushi style tuna, avocado, soy sauce and wasabi, sea salt and black pepper and finely sliced cucumber. He gave the task his concentrated attention and his hands moved swiftly and deftly on the varied operations. He still kept up a flow of friendly conversation. I had expected a hurried interview, perhaps in a break from the operating theatre. Instead this was like meeting with an old friend to discuss the niceties of exotic recipes. The surgeon was as much at home in the kitchen as I could envisage him in his operating theatre. His whole attitude was relaxed and friendly and the experimental dish was a success for this new clientele.

Just regular progress It would be easy to read the curriculum vitae for Dr Charlie Teo as a continuous progress towards success. Primary and secondary education at two well-known independent schools, Trinity Grammar and Scots College in Sydney; the basic medical course at the University of New South Wales; a general residency at Concord Hospital, followed by a paediatric residency at Royal Alexandra Hospital for Children in Sydney and then a residency in paediatric surgery at the Royal Children’s Hospital in Brisbane: logical steps towards a career as a paediatric surgeon. For Charlie Teo this was just one step along a complex pathway. Instead of continuing the sequence in paediatrics he returned to Sydney, to the Royal Prince Alfred to take up neurosurgery. He completed his specialist qualifications in neurosurgery but then made another major career move, taking up a Fellowship in Paediatric Neurosurgery in Texas at South Western Children’s Hospital in 1992 and then in the following year a Fellowship in Craniofacial and Epilepsy Surgery in Dallas, Texas. Later the same year he was appointed Senior Neurosurgical Registrar at St George Hospital at Kogarah. From the time of his first appointment, at Concord, the sequence of training posts which followed took just ten years. This was just the prelude to a life on the move. The next ten years saw a variety of posts in the USA between 1994 and 1999, chiefly in Arkansas and Texas, before returning to Australia. He turned down attractive offers of permanent positions in the USA to do so. He became Staff Paediatric Neurosurgeon at Sydney Children’s Hospital and then moved to a

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group of posts which he still holds, VMO at both Prince of Wales and Sydney Children’s Hospital, Senior Lecturer at the University of New South Wales, and, Director of the Centre for Minimally Invasive Neurosurgery at Prince of Wales Private Hospital. This may seem a steady, even predictable, progress in a conventional medical career. Charlie Teo is very far from being predictable as he seeks to solve problems which many others leave alone. His career has always drawn attention. Even his choice of hobbies indicates an unusual person: karate, motorcycle riding and marathon kayaking.

I’ve always been a bit of a non-conformist His parents, first generation migrants from Singapore, had high expectations for their son. Charlie showed his abilities early at school. After completing the first four years of primary education at Trinity Grammar School, a difficult situation at home caused his move to Scots College as a boarder. This Scottish association he occasionally celebrates by putting on his tartan kilt and playing the bagpipes. In addition to these specialist skills he showed his individuality at school where he preferred karate to rugby and when his more ocker classmates went to celebrate in pubs he went with a friend to Chinese restaurants. His unconventionality still shows. He sees his love of riding motorbikes as part of his personality. That willingness to step outside the normal patterns appears in his work as well as his hobbies.There are many people who are grateful that Charlie Teo will not toe the line but will keep trying when other specialists think it is prudent to stop. He was described on Australian Story by Caroline Jones as ‘controversial and charismatic’ and regarded as a ‘cowboy’ by some and ‘caring’ by others. Some colleagues note that his personality and approach are accepted more readily in the USA than in Australia. An American colleague, Dr Peter Nakaji, has seen him at work in both places. In the United States he doesn’t stand out so much. He certainly is not looked on as the crazy guy or a maverick. I mean, he’s a frequent speaker at our national meetings. And he doesn’t raise any controversy, and people love him. You know, they really enjoy being around him.

(Australian Story, ABC, 2003)

Over lunch Charlie showed us a valedictory album, completed by colleagues and patients when he left the US. The warmth of the comments by work-mates

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and patients continues to sustain Charlie in the face of opposition from many Australian colleagues in his field. The quality of compassion is important in Dr Teo’s life. It is the motivation for a pattern of working that differentiates him from most of his colleagues. Where the usual time given by neurosurgeons in the initial consultation for patients is 15 minutes he gives an hour to allow them to get to know him and for him to be able to make the best diagnosis. ‘What if this was my father or my child?’ he explains. Home and family are important in Charlie Teo’s life. He is a dedicated father to four young daughters. His Perth-born wife Genevieve, and his children, support his work and provide a place where he can relax, even though Genevieve sometimes feels the strain that comes because of the close identification that Charlie has with his patients. Unlike his more formal colleagues, he calls patients by their first names and invites them to do the same with him. He throws his arms around them, supports their personal religious beliefs, advises on diet and meditation, and sometimes takes them home for dinner. He warns them of the possibility of the worst outcomes but encourages them to be optimistic. He lives by Buddhist principles and his mother’s ethical code that ‘you should treat everyone as though they’re a member of your family’.

There is nothing better than saving someone’s life Dr Teo attracts public attention not so much because of his colourful phrases or his mode of travel but because he takes on cases which other specialists in his field avoid. In his work as a neurosurgeon he has become known for his unyielding attitude to even the deepest-seated tumours, to which he is very reluctant to admit defeat. Currently he is director of the Centre for Minimally Invasive Neurosurgery at Prince of Wales Hospital and has a growing international reputation for doing radical surgery on tumours that other neurosurgeons consider inoperable. He comments that patients usually make a complete recovery after removal of lowgrade, benign tumours but that malignant tumours present a much tougher challenge. Patients with such problems come to him from all over Australia, New Zealand, the United States, Britain, South-East Asia and many other countries. Teo doesn’t pretend he can halt malignant tumours but he feels a strong sense of responsibility to prolong life.

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While there’s quality of life, there’s hope. If people aren’t willing to die I will certainly not condemn them to a death sentence. People I’ve operated on that really should have died within six months, a lot of them are still alive and a lot survived two, three, four years. There’s nothing better than saving someone’s life.

(SMH, 9 March 2003)

Pushing the envelope Some doctors complain that Charles Teo takes too many risks in his approach. While his practice and his reputation have grown because many doctors refer patients to him, he has also attracted criticism for his never-say-die attitude. Other doctors feel uncomfortable with his high media profile. Several Perth doctors complained to the Royal Australasian College of Surgeons after patients told a newspaper that their doctors had denied them referrals to Dr Teo. His position is clear.

When someone allows you into their brain, that is a great privilege For Charles Teo the criticism of colleagues is disturbing but he is very clear where he sees his responsibility to lie, particularly with respect to brain cancer which is not only affecting many children but also more adults. He sees it as one of medicine’s most frightening mysteries. The conversation with Charlie Teo showed clearly his commitment to be at the forefront of medicine, where the threat to patients is greatest and also where the pressure on the medical staff is heaviest. His concern for patients with brain cancer arises because he sees it as a particular threat to young people and especially to children. For him that is a special challenge because he sees it as such a waste. The fact that surgery in such cases is extremely difficult is a challenge rather than a deterrent. Charlie Teo does not limit his activities to the operating theatre. He has established Cure for Life as a new research and fundraising body and is working with other bodies supporting brain research, such as the Andrew Ollie Memorial Trust at Royal North Shore Hospital and the Children’s Cancer Institute of Australia. He realises that this is a competitive field with many different emphases but believes noone is doing the work he feels is relevant. Charlie Teo spoke enthusiastically about his support for research through his new foundation. Again this is not a handsoff approach but one where he takes a very active interest. The future directions

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are not clear but he believes that there are fruitful lines which can be developed. The tumour bank which he has established provides one way for progress in the research. He maintains a frenetic pace in his determination to achieve his goal, working in his hospital setting but also using his new foundation to raise funds and sponsor research. He is always on the move in this determined campaign. In his own work he remains deeply committed to his patients. As he talked with us it was clear that Charlie Teo was deeply conscious of the risks in brain surgery but that the dominant feeling in his mind is of the benefits of successful outcomes. His life is a hectic round of work in many different places with working visits to the USA and Asia a regular commitment. His schedule takes him to the USA where his expertise is in demand and where he regularly teaches a wide range of doctors. Teaching is something that he values highly and he often speculates that he may have become a teacher rather than a doctor. For three months of the year he works pro bono, giving his surgical services without cost in a variety of countries, particularly in Asia.

What makes Charlie run? What is the background and what are the key experiences that motivate this man and his irrepressible energy? For Charlie himself the start of it all is obvious. His conversation focused on his mother and the part she had played both before and after the break-up of the marriage. In that period she was both mother and teacher. In particular her moral code was clear, to be honest at all costs. That is a pattern to which he attempts to be consistent. Charlie’s mother has always played a key role although he went into boarding school very early. Her down-to-earth comments still come back to him as he reflects on decisions to be made. She used familiar phrases to encourage him to be individual in making a commitment because it is the right way to go and not because it is the popular path. Thus while she encouraged him ‘If a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well’, she always urged him to remain selective in his choices: ‘If a hundred people jump over a cliff you don’t have to be one of them.’ He did not find it easy to decide on his choice of work. Law, teaching, medicine: all were contenders as was the glamour of being a film star. He remembers watching the TV series ‘Dr Kildare’ as a young child. Its emphasis on high level skills made an impression and it caused him to practise inserting a biro into its

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case without touching the sides. Manual dexterity was always a characteristic: at age six he won the Lego Championship of NSW. After a difficult year he did well enough in his studies to have the choice of courses at university level. The choice was medicine.

The power for good In his reflections on the past his teachers are important more for the attitudes and values they conveyed than for the specific knowledge they taught and he has many memories of those effects. One of his earliest memories of teachers is from Year 1, of Mrs Ford, a stocky lady with a beehive hairdo, a lady who could keep discipline without apparent effort, simply because of the respect she engendered. I was playing with a mask at the scheduled sleep time. Mrs Ford told me to sleep, so I did. I still think that was remarkable. It showed me the power for good a teacher can be if they have the respect of their pupils.

Charlie had to move to Scots College when he became a boarder. The transition was not easy as the other boys made fun of this Chinese boy whose speech was not good. I couldn’t say the ‘th’ sound and it came out as ‘f’, causing great amusement to other boys. Mr Tomlinson, my Grade 4 teacher, made no comment during the day but when classes ended he asked me to stay. Mr Tomlinson spent some hours teaching me to position my mouth to make the ‘th’ sound. It seemed endless before I got it right but I did. When a teacher perseveres that person can make a huge difference in a student’s life. Next day I think the other boys were disappointed to lose their target.

We’ve all got hidden talents Another teacher remembered as being very influential was Mr Whisker, then the Year 6 teacher and now at Knox College. Mr Whisker picked me for a lead role in the school play, a role in which I had to sing as well as act. I still don’t know if he saw my potential or was just trying me out. I felt lots of other kids would have been better for the role. Mr Whisker was very kind and stayed to help me after school. We’ve all got hidden talents and some teachers are very sensitive to ways of bringing out those talents.

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Mr Whisker must have felt that he had succeeded. Charlie’s Scots reports at that time describe him as ‘loud and boisterous’. Dr Stanley Chen, a friend from schooldays, remembers the Teo character taking shape early. [A]s a little boy he loved excitement, adrenaline, a bit of drama. I think we met each other when we were both nine years old. And in boarding school he was full of energy, so it was never surprising to me that he should end up in the surgical field. Either that or, you know, a top-gun fighter jet pilot or something like that.

(Australian Story, ABC, 2003)

Making connections with life Charlie does not remember his secondary years because of their impact on his scholarship. He found the lessons in science and maths uninteresting so that his best achievements were in the humanities. What remain in his mind are the lessons about life. My science and maths teachers were not interested, not passionate about their subject. My grades went down during those years. I can’t remember a teacher who made an academic impact on me. Some teachers made a ‘life experience impact’. I remember Mr See who taught English. When he taught the section involving Shakespeare’s Othello, he spoke to us about the emotional impact of infidelity and what a powerful effect it had on life. He spoke with great feeling so that we could understand. His willingness to share his own life experiences had a great impact on me. Another teacher who really tried to make connections between life and the lessons studied was Richard Blackett who taught Latin, social studies and history and who took us for debating. Richard Blackett was the Mr Chips of the school. He was devoted to all his students and not just the most successful. He had so many approaches to arouse our interest, with little competitions and prizes. He cared passionately about all his teaching subjects and was equally concerned that we as students should share those feelings. I remember on one occasion when he was teaching and it was clear that he had lost our attention. We were all talking to one another and suddenly we became conscious that he was deeply upset, just waiting for our attention to return. At that moment the whole class suddenly shared his feelings and became focused again on what he was doing. I learned a great life lesson about the power in teaching of passion and dedication.

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In his speech at Scots College Charlie remembers that he did not fit easily into the school environment and was unsure of his own preferences. I was what you may have called a nerd. I remember walking back to Aspinall one day from the dining room, past the gardener’s shed. Intermittently, a crowd of boys would gather at the window, breaking their necks to get a look inside. I took a peek myself one day and saw that the focus of their attention was a Playboy centrefold hanging on one of the lockers. Why didn’t it do anything to me? Was my puberty delayed? Was I gay? On Saturday nights, in final year when boarders were allowed out, most everyone would go down to the Oak or the Sheath for a beer and a chat with the Kambala girls. Instead, I would ceremoniously don my Fletcher Jones imitation jeans, worn just below the nipple line, grab my buddy John Angus and head down to Double Bay for a feast at the local Chinese. One of those ‘boys’ who used to peer through the gardener’s shed window, told me not so long ago that the school gossip was that I was gay. He elaborated … ‘we could understand why John wanted to eat at the local Chinese, but we weren’t quite sure which side you were batting for, Charlie’.

Another figure at school proved helpful in resolving his uncertainties. A senior student, Ewan Cameron, who had responsibility for the boys in Year 7, showed him great kindness, almost as a father figure, a figure lacking in his life. When Charlie had his first wet dream and was puzzled and worried by the experience it was Ewan who explained the situation and eased his concern. Because of his guidance, boarding school became a supportive and positive experience. Charlie has tried often to contact Ewan to thank him for helping through difficult times. I have always felt that one way I can emulate Ewan is through being supportive of others, particularly when they are in trouble.

Charlie learned another lesson. Because of difficulties at home his place at Scots was at risk and his father said he would not support him there unless he was in the top five students in his year. At that stage, he was at decile 9 in English and history but only at decile 3 in science and maths. He went back into the classroom every day after school and studied his science and maths texts. By the end of the year he had achieved his result and stayed on at Scots. That capacity to go it alone when it is needed remains part of his strength. When the time came in Year 12 his final exam results were good enough to enable him to choose his next step.

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His father was an obstetrician/gynaecologist but was not close enough to Charlie to influence his choice. A woman neighbour, an anaesthetist, showed Charlie that medicine could be the caring profession that his inclinations were seeking.

Shaping a career Charlie’s first year at the University of New South Wales almost ended his aspirations. He does not remember any of his medical teachers as having any impact. They were dispassionate and ‘boring’. Not all his experiences were boring. For the first time in his life he became involved with girls. What he saw as an idealistic affair ended in disillusion when Charlie discovered that he was not the only love in her life. At the end of the year he failed in three subjects, receiving ‘deferred’ results. To proceed further he had to turn these results into passes. He spent the summer holidays revising for the exams that would allow him to continue into Year 2 of the course. Once again his determination took him through. That determination has become an essential part of his personality. ‘The things that make you into what you are: perseverance and charity.’ That perseverance also makes him highly individual in his decision-making. ‘I can’t allow opinions of my peers to influence my decision-making. I’m not driven by the need to be popular.’ His work remains a central commitment. ‘I’m one of those few people who love going to work.’ That love of work was confirmed by his course. I loved the surgery, the excitement of the operating room, the thrill of saving a life almost lost. I remember vividly assisting the great Mark Shanahan, a cardio-thoracic surgeon at St Vincent’s Hospital. We were repairing a mitral valve with the patient on bypass. Every time he tried to stitch the new valve to the diseased heart muscle, it would tear out making the next attempt even harder. The clock was ticking, the myocardium was becoming increasingly tatty, the situation untenable. Shanahan would not give in. He eventually repaired the valve and took the patient off bypass. Sitting in the tearoom exhausted after the case, I commended him on a job well done. He was gracious enough to thank me for my help and told me he thought I had what it took to be a great surgeon … tenacity. I have never wavered in my quest to be the best neurosurgeon possible.

Teo chose paediatric neurosurgery because it was ‘the most taxing specialty’. Given his failure to find a suitable training post in Australia his opportunities in the USA proved important.

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In the States I developed a reputation for tackling tumours that had been classified as inoperable. My results were good. I was promoted to Associate Professor, after 4 years when it normally took 8 years, given honorary membership to the American Society of Pediatric Neurosurgeons and developed an international reputation.

In the decade he spent working in Texas and Arkansas he worked further on surgical techniques such as keyhole endoscopy and helped to develop improved instruments. In this period he began to see the value of another role for himself in teaching other doctors, and won the Red Sash Award for Excellence in Teaching in each of the years 1995 to 1998. He runs regular courses in the USA and has commenced some of the same work in Australia. In 2003 he was awarded Best Consultant Teacher at the Prince of Wales Hospital. He sees himself as a teacher as much as a neurosurgeon. He finds the limited acceptance of his work in Australia a continuing concern. He has patients come to him in Sydney from all over the world, yet in the six years since his return from the USA he has not had one referral from Sydney Children’s Hospital. One US specialist from whom he has learned much was Fred Epstein, recognised world-wide as highly skilled and successful in dealing with spinal cord tumour removal. Dr Epstein advised him when Charlie decided to return to Australia to give people five years to accept his approach. It has now been six years and Charlie sees no sign of local acceptance. His success with the many cases which come to him from abroad encourages him to continue. Charlie Teo continues his hectic combination of work and travel. His concern for his family is not just an optional extra but an important part of his life. As he talked with us, he kept returning to the excursion they had planned for the zoo at Taronga Park. His care for his patients goes well beyond the normal routine but he is conscious of the need for his children and his wife not to be too close to the tension that the work inevitably involves. Charlie has an imposing list of publications in medical journals and presentations to medical and other groups. His public recognition is wide and he was a runner-up in the 2003 NSW Australian of the Year for his pioneering work and patient advocacy. He returned to his old school, Scots College, to present the address at the Annual Speech Day, with predecessors such as Prince Philip and Sir Roden Cutler. Although some found that choice controversial the return was a great success. He was disarmingly frank in his self-analysis and the boys at the Speech Day showed their appreciation.

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Since appearing on Australian Story, total strangers approach me to congratulate me on my tale. They invariably tell me that I am an inspiration. With 24 hours to go, not a single word written for this speech, I decided to ask the flight attendant, who had seen my story, what she found so inspirational about it. I was hoping she might say it was my youthful physique, my engaging personality or the way I rode my Honda Fireblade through the Rose Bay S’s. Surprisingly, the two qualities she identified were the two that I have never really thought were anything special. She said it was the way I treated my patients … my perseverance and compassion.

For all his achievements he still has goals to meet and some regrets that Australian surgeons have been slow to take up his techniques. The regrets are for those things which remain undone. One thing is certain. Charlie will continue to run. His motto for his approach is simple: ‘Treat your patients well. Take the high road.’

References ‘Life in His Hands’, Sydney Morning Herald, 10 March 2003. ‘The Trouble with Charlie’, Australian Story, ABC, 26 August 2003.

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19 Opening doors to the future Phillip Hughes

If you look back to those who have taught you most, and in the fuller light where you now stand, study their character, you will surely find that the real secret of their power lay here in the harmonious blending of the knowing and loving powers in their nature—in the opening of their nature on both sides, so that truth entered in here and you entered in freely there, and you and truth met, as it were familiarly in the hospitality of their great characters. The one who has only the knowing power active, lets truth in, but it finds noone to feed. The one who has only the loving power active, lets us in, but we find no truth to feed on. The real teacher welcomes both.

Phillips Brooks (1835–1893), Episcopal Bishop of Massachusetts.

Looking back: what do the stories tell us? The purpose of this book is to identify ways in which teachers can address the most fundamental problem in today’s education. That problem is how to help all people to learn effectively. The stories here tell us about many people who have led effective and useful lives in our society and the nature of their experiences and

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influences, particularly of the part played by teachers. What does that experience tell us which is of general relevance or is it of meaning only to those who were involved? Much research evidence would point to different ways needed to help some students who are currently not succeeding in school, ways which are outside the school environment. Certainly it has been shown beyond doubt that each person’s background is important in their learning as is the nature of their lives outside school. If the learning of some people depends essentially on what lies outside the influence of schools then the aim of reaching all people for learning may not be achievable. If learning for all is achievable, in what ways can teachers best assist?

The school, the home and the community: a complex interaction There are many studies reporting on factors associated with success at school. The power of socio-economic factors has been fully documented in many countries including the complementary role of home and school. Many of the factors associated with successful school performance are strongly connected to home background, for example, parental interest, access to books, regular routines, TVwatching limitations and homework supervision. The research, while emphasising the power of parental interest, identifies also the strong role of specific extracurricular activities, such as clubs, music and sporting activities. These are outside the home but they do have a link with home background. It is clear that parents and supporting adults have a major role to play in their associated students’ learning. For this reason in many countries efforts are being made to involve other adults such as the mentors who have been associated with British schools and who are involved in out-of-school activities. Australian research confirms the significance of home background, as indicated by socio-economic status, SES, for school achievement. The Australian Council for Educational Research, ACER, in their 2003 review, reported on the correlates of success with literacy and numeracy. Students with high results are also more successful in their careers after school. They: • stay on to the final secondary year • enter higher education • obtain higher tertiary education entrance scores

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• make more successful transitions to full-time education, for example, higher level occupations, higher level of earnings • have higher levels of health • communicate better and have better participation in adult life. In this same ACER report, positive factors in school success which are from outside the school include: • hours per week spent in preparing for class • hours per week spent in co-curricular activities • time spent in discussing ideas from reading • out-of-school participation (sports, arts, academic clubs, vocational clubs, service clubs, student government). This was positively associated with each of these success indicators. Participation in extra-curricular activities may increase students’ sense of engagement or attachment to their school and reduce the likelihood of failure and dropping out. • use of time at home: e.g. reading, regular times for meals, a range of activities, limits on watching TV.

(Rothman & McMillan, 2003)

These latter factors are very strongly related to the nature of home experience for students, their use of time, their access to books, their support from adults and their involvement in community activities. Robert Putnam, in his powerful book Bowling Alone, identifies a similar phenomenon in US society where broader social factors, combined in the term ‘social capital’, are linked with success within schools. Social capital, the level of social trust, personal connectedness, is the single most powerful predictor of educational performance: race, poverty, parental education are only indirect.

(Putnam, 2000) Putnam identified a major decline in social capital in the period 1960–2000 and showed the powerful impact of this decline on many features of US society because of the strong correlation with other social indicators. He notes the strong positive correlation (0.8) between the indicators of children’s welfare and that of social capital. Similarly educational performance has a strong positive correlation (0.8) with social capital and the correlation of health with social capital was similarly high. In sharp contrast, hours of TV watching had a strong negative

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correlation (– 0.8) with educational performance in Grades 4 and 8. These are American data but few would doubt the wider connections of this research as the factors which have impacted on personal and social lives over the past 50 years are mostly common to developed countries. My own experiences in working with individual students in schools in recent years have strengthened my concern for their wellbeing. This concern has grown because we are allowing such a waste of human potential. For too many students, school is not a helpful experience. They come to school with substantial handicaps and there is a lack of relevant support outside the school setting for their education. They leave school without the benefits that most students gain. The effects of their failure to succeed in school continue into their subsequent lives. In good conscience can we allow such injustice to continue, where an initial handicap becomes a life-long burden? If it is only a problem requiring change at the home level then schools may have limited roles to play. Our interest here is to determine to what extent good teaching can help.

The teachers’ role in successful education for all A major Australian longitudinal study of student progress investigated the influence of teachers in educational success (Abbott-Chapman et al., 1995). The study involved over 20 000 students over a period of ten years. It analysed the nature and strength of the factors linked with staying in education and with successful achievement in education. For the great majority of students their continuation in education and their success were strongly predictable from their socio-economic status. Students with deprived backgrounds did not succeed at school; those with backgrounds where they had substantial encouragement and support performed well. However, for a substantial group of those deprived students, approximately 16% of the total age-group, their achievements were significantly better than predicted by social factors. These are the students of special interest, those for whom schools had made a significant difference in performance in spite of negative factors. In analysing the results further, one factor emerged clearly. This group, with a frequency significantly greater than other students, identified the change in their performance as associated with a particular, significant teacher. This group of some 3000-plus students when explaining their reasons for success mentioned particular teachers as a key. Thus it was possible to identify a particular set of ‘effective teachers’, that is, teachers who achieved success for students who might otherwise have failed. The study then focused on these teachers as a basis for a study of teaching.

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That study of effective teachers offers some insights. All of the identified group are older teachers. It seems that, unlike mathematics and music, the peak age for teaching is not young. Good teachers, like good wine, mature with experience. Also, good teaching cannot be described on a single dimension. There are a number of dimensions which have been used to classify styles of teaching: for example, progressive, traditional, subject-centred and child-centred. These good teachers do not classify neatly on such a dimension. On the contrary, they move to and fro along the classifying lines, varying their position according to some sense of situation. The essence of the good teacher seems to lie precisely in the capacity to vary the mix. That capacity, to use knowledge and experience, together with an understanding of, and respect for, people, is what enables the good teacher to make that variation in the right proportions at the right moment. While home background remains as a crucial factor in education, clearly there are teachers who can succeed for these students who are currently missing out. A recent OECD report documents the international evidence that good teaching remains a key element in student success and can make up for many handicaps. The report presents a strong argument that every effort should be given to attracting, developing and retaining teachers, all being aspects which currently cause concern (OECD, 2005). The findings of much of this research were summarised by John Hattie at ACER’s Research Conference in 2003 and is worth repeating. Hattie noted that while almost every initiative taken in education can be shown to have a positive influence on student learning, excellent teaching is the single most powerful influence on achievement. In contrasting ‘expert’ teachers with merely ‘experienced’ teachers Hattie observes that expert teachers are better at relating lesson content to prior lessons, other school subjects, underlying principles and students’ interests. They are also more flexible and opportunistic in pursuing the learning needs of individual students. ‘Expert’ teachers work harder at collecting and analysing feedback on the effectiveness of their own teaching and they make better decisions when planning lessons: developing general plans but allowing detail to be shaped by students’ performances and reactions.

(Masters, 2004) In the past there have been teachers who appear in fiction often as stereotypes, unusually bad or improbably good. Mr Chips in the James Hilton novel stands at one end of that scale as does Dickens’ Mr Gradgrind in Hard Times at the other:

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Now, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, Sir!

This book pursues a different but complementary task. Are the factors which make some teachers so influential and so effective entirely individual or are there common elements that may be helpful to all teachers? We are using stories to see what impact teachers may have had in the lives of many individuals who are wellknown in Australia. What lessons can we draw from these stories? It is clear that there is no neat formula but there may be some general lessons.

Personal aspects of good teaching What are some of the aspects that emerge? One is clear in the teaching of people such as C S Lewis. He knew what he taught. He also loved what he taught. It was that evident feeling which was enough to transform a very detailed, almost pedantic treatment to something that could inspire. Both aspects, knowing and loving, are necessary in combination for the best effect. The story of Stephen Downes illustrates the value of the link. Stephen acknowledges that much of the work of his teachers ensured he had the necessary knowledge. ‘We were taught technical aspects of everything—from grammar to long division … they are the first essentials of learning and they seem to be overlooked these days …’ The lessons were learned but without inspiration. One teacher was able to transcend this pattern, Miss Eileen Hyatt. Stephen Downes was able to use the uninspired but detailed help of many teachers because of the inspiration of one. This is not always easy. John Marsden was deeply disturbed by what he saw as harsh and impersonal teaching. Part of his reason for becoming a teacher was his dislike of much of his own experience of teachers: … one of my main motivations was the desire to prove that the teachers I had in secondary school were wrong …’ However, there were powerful compensating features for John in Grade 4 where he felt he was in a ‘benevolent and safe place’. For many of the stories here that love of a subject was powerful in its influence almost in spite of the technique of teaching. Roderick West found the lessons of Mavis Best ‘pleasureless’ yet so powerful that the subject became

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a life-long enthusiasm for him. ‘Her lessons were exact, pleasureless and dull. I enjoyed every moment.’ It was as he continued that he found the other qualities in the teaching: ‘It was under her tutelage that I came to discover that there was something eminently worthwhile in the classical languages.’ Claire Smith moved from being a competent but uninspired student to one with a deep commitment, not just to a subject but to a cause. After some years of education to which she had responded very unevenly she found a sense of direction. She always had in mind the comment of her primary headmaster. ‘Claire can do anything she wants.’ It was not until she experienced another teacher that she realised what it was that she wanted. ‘The teacher, John Fisher, challenged my preconceptions. He was inspiring. He overturned my ideas entirely and I decided during that first term that I wanted to specialise in that area.’ Knowing and loving the subject are great assets for a teacher. They are not the whole story.

Caring for and challenging—the student Many times in these stories we find that combination of care for the person yet the willingness to challenge them. Care on its own is a precious commodity in a teacher, that feeling of empathy, of concern. Yet it can be too comfortable. It can leave the student staying passive and not trying to learn. We need a sense of challenge. ‘Is that your best?’ as Alison Smith phrased it. Alison Smith knew and cared for the people she taught. But that caring was never entirely comfortable—it set demands on us to stretch ourselves, demands we might have preferred to avoid. For John Abernethy that key phrase was of one word only: ‘stickability’. Coincidentally or not, that characteristic took John Abernethy through a very uninspiring legal preparation and on to a task where the willingness to carry on under extreme difficulty is important. A similar experience transformed the education of Peter Andrews from an uncomfortable ordeal towards a feeling of confidence in his own powers to achieve difficult goals. When school seemed very foreign and hostile his head master set him some practical tasks to do, saying: ‘That boy can do things’. His life has confirmed that judgement. For Richard Woolcott the school experience was complex. As he notes, he attended an ‘establishment’ school, with a strong religious tradition and equally strong links with Britain and the monarchy. He emerged as an agnostic, a republican and an Australian with a strong sense of national identity and the role

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of Australia in the Asian region. Yet his school and his teachers had an influence which was life-long. He identifies a particular achievement of his schooling: ‘There was a beneficial balance between intellectual and athletic pursuits; between mind and body, study and sport.’

The wish to share Another aspect emerges through my high school teacher, Doris Brown, who had a passion to communicate and a wide variety of ways to do so. She was never content to leave students with an inadequate feeling for what she was teaching. Teaching Hamlet when students were more interested in the battle around Tobruk might have discouraged many teachers. She kept looking for the means of connecting past and present, of using a current interest as a gateway into a wider world. She kept looking and she found ways. Rusty Young was deeply hostile to the school he attended, finding its values and ceremonies foreign to his nature. One teacher, Mr Boylan, tried to make contact through a variety of means, finally succeeding by persuading Rusty to begin a journal. That journal started Rusty on a path that was to lead into a career as a writer and film-maker.

Integrity Dennis Lillee was not only a great bowler but has proved himself equally outstanding as a teacher himself, a teacher of potential fast bowlers. Brett Lee recently commented on his preparedness to help: ‘It doesn’t matter what time of the day or night (Dennis) is always ready to help’ (Canberra Times, 2005). That quality of genuine interest in students is what Dennis himself admired in his teachers. He speaks with enthusiasm about the teacher, Ken Waters, who made the greatest impact: ‘He gained respect because he gave respect.’ Dennis is equally dismissive of those who are not committed to their task. ‘Many were bad teachers because they were just going through the motions.’ Carmel Niland recognises integrity in her teachers. She found much of the regime harsh, even cruel at times. In spite of that reaction she was able to admire the strength and integrity of so many sisters who taught her. She found many inspiring teachers but others made her feel rebellious because of the rigid rules. She went on in her public life to become one of the women who made opportunities for

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other women in leadership roles. Her experience of strong and deeply committed women in her school had made an impression which was lasting, even though it went unrecognised at the time.

The negative experiences Not all stories are positive. In England in 2003 the top graduate of the year recounted the advice of one of her teachers about a future career. ‘I suggest that you should concentrate on your sewing!’ Fortunately, she did not. Her degree was outstanding and her future is not in dressmaking. I have a friend called Margaret. As a 15-year-old student at high school, her teacher told her not to bother continuing with science, saying: ‘You just don’t have the sort of mind to cope with science. Find something you can manage.’ Demoralised, she left school and went into a bank. Feeling dissatisfied after some years of trying, she entered an emergency training scheme for teachers. She qualified, was appointed to teach and became an outstanding teacher. She was recognised throughout her state for the quality of her work. But she carried with her the idea of her lack of capacity in science. Her interest in walking took her often along the sea shores. This interest became more focused over the years, enriching her teaching, encouraging her to develop formidable photographic skills which she used in describing and classifying the life of the seashore. Following her retirement, she published a book on sea shells; a book recognised as a classic scientific study, precise, revealing and beautiful. No capacity for science? The teacher–learner exchange can sometimes be destructive. An early, perhaps unjust, judgement can sometimes provide a challenge from the wish to prove it wrong. Certainly for Mark Wahlqvist his schooling was, on the whole, a threatening and hostile experience. He had the strength to transform it to his advantage. Feeling despised because of his migrant background he was determined to become a doctor to ‘show these people who despise us for our European names’. Not all students have the support, or perhaps the resilience, which allows them to transform negative experiences into advantages.

An effective education for all? Is such a concept realistic? In all the changes in our society one powerful factor for people is the growth of the effects of their education on their subsequent lives.

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This experience influences strongly their employment, their health and longevity, their participation in the community, their participation in crime and drug abuse and their family stability (Carter, 2002). This powerful influence places special demands on schools: to reach more students than ever before, to educate them to much higher levels and to do it without massively increased expenditure. Paradoxically the growing benefits of an effective education for many people have increased the extent of the disadvantage experienced by two groups: those students who do not succeed in school and those who attend sporadically or not at all (Rothman & McMillan, 2003) This increase in disadvantage for those already deprived has been the basis for the universal commitment, affirmed formally by more than 160 countries through UNESCO, to an effective education for all students (Fiske, 2000). This commitment is one that has been in place for sixty years but still defies achievement. The need to reach all people with an effective education becomes more obvious with time. We hear much about trade as the key to economic improvement, but without educational advances, poor countries will be condemned to living at the bottom of the economic chain, excluded from the opportunities to participate in the services and technology sectors.

(Rae, 2005) These people will be excluded from much else also. The needs are most obvious in developing countries where more than 100 million children have no schooling at all. This is a problem for those countries but unless we are prepared to live in a divided world it is a problem which all countries must address. Developed countries cannot afford to leave this situation exclusively to the countries directly concerned as it will affect all countries in this interconnected world. Education for all is also still a significant issue within the developed countries not just in the sense of helping others. In Australia 35 000 students leave school each year without any formal qualifications and suffer major disadvantages in later employment as well as other aspects of their lives (BCA, 2003). This failure for education to reach a significant number of students in Australia was further stressed by recent assessments carried out for 41 countries by OECD. In the 2004 publication of the PISA (Programme for International Student Assessment) results a few countries such as Canada, Finland, Korea and Japan had results described as High quality/High equity. This means that their overall results were good and that the less successful students still performed reasonably well. Australia, like the

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United Kingdom, France and the United States, was a High quality/Low equity country, meaning that while the results generally were good there were many students who performed poorly. Barry McGaw, former Director for Education in OECD, commented on the implications of these results. The presence of countries in the top-right quadrant (high quality, high equity) reveals that it is possible to achieve high quality and high equity together. They confirm that the pursuit of equity need not be at the expense of quality. The Australian belief that attention to equity will result in ‘dumbing down’ is misplaced. Levelling up is possible.

(McGaw, 2004) Levelling up is possible. Other countries have succeeded to a greater degree than Australia. Some of that leeway can be made up through recognising the difficulties some children have in their out-of-school lives and looking for ways to help. Much of the leeway can be made up through teachers who recognise and use the power of teaching.

Jesus or Barabbas It is tempting to be very materialistic in our estimate of power, to be impressed by those who have achieved prominent positions and wealth. Yet the power to influence people’s lives for the better may well be more complex. Adolf Hitler achieved enormous power and, for a period, ruled an empire which stretched from Moscow to the Spanish border and to the sands of Egypt. Mahatma Gandhi preached and put into practice the concept of peaceful resistance. The impact of his lessons is still being worked out while Hitler remains as a bitter memory. In the gospel stories on the life of Jesus of Nazareth, the Roman governor Pontius Pilate offers to the waiting crowd a choice as to which prisoner he should release. Jesus or Barabbas. Barabbas is depicted as a revolutionary, one who believed that revolution through force could end the Roman domination of Israel. Jesus of Nazareth had perhaps a score of followers, men and women from humble backgrounds and with little education. One operated through conquest, with fighters and weapons. The other operated through teaching, using everyday stories and acts to show what he felt was important in life. Barabbas is only a name. Jesus remains as a potent force in human history.

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References Abbott-Chapman, JA & Hughes, PW 1995, Ensuring teaching quality: Assessing the role of competency frameworks, in Ensuring quality in education: Selected papers, The Australian College of Education, Canberra. Bruniges, M 2006, Teacher professional judgement in teaching and learning decisions, (In press). Business Council of Australia 2003, The cost of dropping out. The economic impact of early school leaving, BCA, Sydney. Camus, A 1965, Notebooks 1942–1951, Editions Gallimard, Paris. ‘McGrath in chorus call for revamp in coaching’, Canberra Times, p. 19, 3 October 2005. Carter, Gene R 2002, Is it Good for the Kids? Student Engagement: Motivating Students to Learn, Education News, ASCD, 18 March 2002. Dickens, C 1994, Hard Times, Penguin Books, London. Fiske, EB 2000, Final report: World Education Forum (Dakar, Sengal), UNESCP, Paris. McGaw, B 2004, Evidence or ideology: Developing evidence-based policy in education. Occasional paper No. 7, Australian College of Educators, Canberra. Masters, G 2004, What makes a good teacher?, Perspectives, ACER, 14 April, 2004. Mitchell, S 1991, Tall Poppies, Too, Penguin Books, Melbourne. OECD 2005, Teachers matter: Attracting, developing and retaining teachers, OECD, Paris. Putnam, RD 2000, Bowling Alone, Simon & Schuster, New York. Rae, L 2005, Education for all: Still a receding goal, Curriculum Leadership, Vol. 3, Issue 28, September 2005. Rothman, S & McMillan, J 2003, Influences on achievement in literacy and numeracy. LSAY Report 36, Australian Council for Educational Research.

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Index Abernethy, John 54–8, 149 Ackworth Quaker School 113 ACT Schools Authority 17, 128 Andrews, Peter 29–34, 149 Archaeology 35, 40 Australian Broadcasting Commission (ABC) ix, xiv, 21, 24, 39, 54–5 Australian College of Educators (ACE) ix, xiv Australian Defence Forces 100–110 Australian National University 17, 51 Australian Women’s Weekly 19 Best, Mavis 92–9, 148 Bible 8, 47, 48 Biodiversity 31 Booragul High School (now Lake Macquarie High) 35, 38 Bradman, Don 73–4 Brigidine Convent, Randwick 13 Brock, Paul 20–8 Brother Elias 23 Brown, Miss Doris 6–7 Bruniges, M v Camus, Albert vii Canberra College of Advanced Education 125–6 Change by increments 12–13 responding to change 22 Charlton, Michael 71 Clayton, ‘Cricketer’ 30, 34 Columbia University 36 Commonwealth Schools Commission 118, 128–30 Connors, Lyndsay 12, 17–18, 117–30 Cootamundra High School 94, 96

Cornell University 17 Cosgrove, Peter 100–110 Curriculum design v Cuthbert, Betty 18–19 Dattner, Fabian 76–81 Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade 45 Devonport High School 6 Devonport Primary School 3–6, 67, 68 Downes, Stephen 59–64, 148 Drummoyne High School 94, 95, 96 East Timor 101–102, 107–109 Ecological disaster 32 Education Education for all 151–2 Educational performance and social capital 145–6 Effective education 151–2 Equality of opportunity 125 Factors in success 146 Home education 29 Power of the arts 24–5 What education should be like 70 Empathy 22, 23, 149 Engagement 22 Epping Boys’ High School 56, 57 Epping Public School 56 Evaluation xi Flinders University 36 Forster, E M 9 Fort St High School 93–4 Fulbright fellowship 36 Geelong Grammar 45–7, 69–70, 95

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Hattie, John vi, 147 Home education 29 Hudson, Nick 80, 81 Hughes, Phillip 1–10, 126, 143–53 Hyatt, Eileen 61–2, 64, 148

Parents, power of 21, 66, 94, 102, 104, 113–15, 118–22, 124, 126, 136 Parker, Robert viii Primary school x Prince of Wales Hospital 133, 134, 141 Programme of International Student Assessment (PISA) 152 Public education 117–30 Putnam, Robert 145

Integrity, value of 30 Irwin, Peter 31–2 Jacko (Gary Jackson) 39–40, 42–3 James Cook University 20

Qantas 26

Learning Learner as teacher 32–3 Learning from experience 34, 46 Motivation for learning 38, 41, 56–7, 61 Value of rote learning 14 Will to succeed 75 Lewis, C S 8–9, 148 Lillee, Dennis 71–5, 150 Literacy of landscape 33–4

Rhodes Scholarship x, 7 Ryan, Susan 17, 128

Marist Brothers 20, 22, 23 Marsden, John 65–70, 148 Masters, Geoff vi, 1, 147 McComb Foundation 112, 115 McGregor, Mr H M 57 Milton, John 8 Mother Albeus 14–5 Mother Loyola 14, 15 Mother Thomas (now Patricia Keating) 14, 15, 16 Motor neurone disease 21, 27, 28 Natural Sequence Farming 32 Newcastle University 39 Niland, Carmel 11–19, 150 Niland, John 12, 13, 16–7, 18, 19 NSW Department of Education and Training 26 O’Neil, Mr 37–8 Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) 147, 152, 153 Oxford University 7–9

Schools As a privilege 4, 113 Home schooling 29–30 Learning outside school 31 One-room school 3 Poor schools x Scots College 88–9, 132, 133, 137–9, 141 Shakespeare, William 6–7, 15, 47, 48, 62, 138 Smith, Claire 35–43, 149 Smith, Miss Alison 3–6, 149 Society x, xi Egalitarian society 124 Good society 116 School, home and community 144–5 Social capital 145–6 Social justice 38, 41 St Brigid’s, Coogee 13 St Joseph’s College 22–4 St Peter’s College, Adelaide 30 Students Disengaged students xi, xii Engaged students xii, 25 Good students xi Married students 125–6 Motivation 30 Realisation of capacity 31 Successful students 144–5 Sydney Children’s Hospital 132–3, 141

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Sydney Grammar School 94 Sydney Teachers’ College 118 Tarwyn Park 32, 33 Teaching Caring approach 73 Discipline by respect 103–4 Excellence in teaching vi Experienced teachers vi, 1, 147 Expert teachers vi, 1, 147 Good teachers vi, vii, x, 4, 56, 67–8, 84, 88–9, 92–8, 114, 119, 122–3, 137, 138, 141, 146–53 Intellectually demanding 127, 129–30 Love of teaching 67, 70, 94, 114 Memories, good and bad vi, ix, xii, 17, 67, 94, 121, 137 Outstanding teachers 1, 3, 8, 10, 42, 46, 48, 62, 80, 121–2 Physical punishment 13, 46, 47, 67, 69, 84, 103 Planned spontaneity 23–4 Poor teachers 68, 69, 84, 89, 120–1, 138 Power of teaching 8, 10, 24–5, 67, 85, 95–6, 139 Remembering the student 52–3, 96, 97–8 Role in success 2 Studies of teaching 3 Sympathetic and tolerant 103 Teaching resources 4

Teo, Charlie 131–42 Trinity Grammar School 93, 133 Tuck, Miss 84, 85 United Nations Education, Science and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) 152 University of Illinois 13, 16 University of Melbourne 49–50 University of New England 25, 35–6, 40–1 University of New South Wales 13, 16, 18, 19, 89, 132, 133, 140 University of Tasmania x, 5, 7 Wahlqvist, Mark 82–6, 151 Walton, Jack 25 Waters, Ken 72–3, 150 West, Roderick 92–9, 148 Westbourne Park Primary School 84 Whitlam, Gough 17, 52, 127 Wilenski, Gail 17 Women’s Electoral Lobby 14, 17, 127–8 Wood, Fiona 111–16 Woolcott, Richard 44–53, 149–50 World Archaeological Congress 36, 42 World Series Cricket 74 Young, Rusty 87–91, 150

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In Opening Doors to the Future Phillip Hughes recounts the experiences of a number of well-known Australians with their teachers.

From current research we still do not know enough about teaching to guarantee that all teachers will be effective. A more personal study such as this may reveal new possibilities.

ISBN 10: 0-86431-701-8 ISBN 13: 978-0-86431-701-8

9

780864 317018

Includes interviews with: John Abernethy Peter Andrews Paul Brock Lyndsay Connors General Peter Cosgrove, AC, MC Fabian Dattner Stephen Downes Phillip Hughes Dennis Lillee

John Marsden Carmel Niland Claire Smith Dr Charlie Teo Mark Wahlqvist Roderick West Dr Fiona Wood Richard Woolcott Rusty Young

Opening Doors to the Future

Phillip Hughes has been writing on education since 1958 – mostly in academic journals. In 1998 when he wrote the story of his own encounter with three teachers he received more mail and comment than on any of his other publications. Most people retained vivid memories of their experiences. He noticed that for most of the respondents the stories about teachers of other people moved them to recount their own experiences. This book may well do the same.

Phillip Hughes

Everyone has memories of their teachers – some good, some not. Education is one of our most universal experiences. In Australia almost all the population attends school for at least 10 years and 80 per cent for 12 years or more. Teachers are often the first significant adults in our lives outside the home. How important are they in our lives? Do they have lasting effects?

Opening Doors to the Future Stories of prominent Australians and the influence of teachers Phillip Hughes

Australian Council for Educational Research

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