My Vice-Regal Life: Diaries 1978 to 1982

By Lady Anna Cowen

Sunday, 8 January 1978
I have decided to keep a diary during Zelman's term of office as Governor-General. I am pleased, because I forget so much and the re-reading of a sentence brings whole occasions, scenes, and otherwise forgotten things, vividly back to mind...

And so begins an extraordinary record of the life of a Governor-General's wife. Lady Anna Cowen's edited diaries capture the day-to-day life—the wardrobe fittings, the running of an enormous household—as well as the pomp and circumstance of vice-regal duties during the term Sir Zelman Cowen, the 'healing Governor-General', served after the dismissal by Sir John Kerr of the Whitlam government.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melbourne University Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9780522871289

Book preview

forgotten

Introduction

My life took an unexpected turn in April 1977. Zelman, my husband of some thirty years and then the Vice-Chancellor at the University of Queensland, took a phone call in his office. It was Prime Minister Malcolm Fraser inviting him to dinner in Canberra. Of course we wondered why he should be summoned—some job or other, perhaps an inquiry. Our son Nick said, ‘I bet he wants you for governor-general, Dad.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I responded.

Zelman travelled alone to Canberra and returned the next morning. He called me from his office and asked me to join him there. When I arrived, I could see he was delighted. ‘It is the governor-generalship,’ he said. ‘I told him I’d have to consult you. So let’s phone him now and say yes.’ Some consultation!

Well, it was a foregone conclusion. Zelman was a born communicator and he loved public life. My thoughts, though, were about our four children, our family. How would this affect us? For myself, I could do without it. I enjoy my private life and I do not seek such public exposure, but there was no way I could deny him this post without occasioning bitter disappointment.

Zelman had been a biographer of Sir Isaac Isaacs, the first Australian-born governor-general and, like him, Jewish.* He was therefore well acquainted with the role, and he was also a constitutional lawyer. The crisis of 1975, in which the Whitlam government was dismissed by Sir John Kerr, had deeply divided the Australian community. Sir John had remained in office after the event, but his term had become uncomfortable and problematic. Zelman was not fazed by any of this. So we said yes and set in motion wheels within wheels, which would grind on through months of confidentiality and secrecy until an announcement could be made.

Civil servants came to see us in Brisbane, employing classic espionage strategies: flying in from Canberra and using COMCAR vehicles (federal government cars) to take them to a city hotel, and then, because COMCAR drivers are such good information sharers, catching ordinary taxis to see us at the University in St Lucia, killing the scent! Over the next few months, the Official Secretary to the Governor-General, David Smith, and others came to discuss all manner of arrangements. Finally the announcement date was named: 12 July. ‘Benny’s birthday,’ I exclaimed—but in the end the announcement was postponed two days.

Meanwhile the media were aware that things were stirring in Canberra. There was speculation as to who a successor to Sir John Kerr might be. Several names were mentioned, but to my relief (and indignation), not Zelman’s. A visiting American professor had been brought to Zelman’s office and, aware of the current chatter, wondered what superannuated fool would want that job.

Pandemonium broke out at St Lucia when the announcement was made. The media pounded on our front door, and two Federal Police protection officers arrived. It had been arranged that the media might be permitted photographs that night but no interviews. A press conference would be held at our residence the next day. One enterprising reporter, though, secured an interview with eleven-year-old Benny, whose view of events was, ‘Wow!’ He did wonder if his friends would still be able to call him Ben, and opined that if Australia became a republic, his Dad would be out of a job.

The press conference saw the house packed with the media and their equipment. The reporters were chiefly interested in Zelman’s opinion of Sir John Kerr’s dismissal of the Whitlam government. He responded that as a constitutional lawyer, he had no intention of ever expressing a view on the matter. And he never did. He said he would simply get on with the job, and hoped, quoting Jawaharlal Nehru, the first prime minister of India, ‘to bring a touch of healing’.

The date of taking office was set at 8 December 1977. This left a period of some five months for us to make arrangements. A senior deputy took over the vice-chancellorship, and the government assigned a very competent personal assistant to Zelman in Brisbane to help deal with formal arrangements and answer a huge amount of mail. We also needed to travel to London to meet the Queen and establish a relationship with her principal private secretary, who would be Zelman’s conduit to the monarch. Additionally, there were invitations to visit China, at the request of the People’s Republic, and Japan as guests of the Japan Foundation. There was also the need to acquire formal outfits for Zelman, and suitable clothes for me.

Arrangements for the children had to be made. Our eldest son, Simon, then twenty-six, was already in Canberra, studying at the Australian National University for a PhD. Our second son, Nick, at twenty-two, was studying arts/law in Brisbane, and we had to arrange for him to now share a flat with a friend. Kate was in Israel, on a kibbutz, and only learned of her father’s appointment when a friend relayed the news after Australian friends had told him. Ben would come with us and attend school in Canberra. We also needed to pack up our home, where we had lived since the early 1970s.

How was it that Zelman came to be Malcolm Fraser’s choice for this office? We can do no more than guess and have no certainty. We never asked—it did not feel seemly to do so. Some assume Zelman’s familiarity with constitutional law was a factor. My hunch is that other factors were at play. Zelman had wide public recognition, in part at least through television. He gave commentaries and had appeared on a popular panel program, Any Questions, which revealed something of his personality, his sense of humour and his good sense on issues. He was never politically aligned. And he had coped well with contentious and difficult problems on campus during the years of the student troubles.* It is possible that a Queensland federal parliamentarian, who admired Zelman’s conduct of the University, may have suggested his name. Whatever the reason, his nomination for the office was greeted nationwide with approval.

At the press conference held in the Vice-Chancellor’s residence the day after the announcement, I was asked how I felt about assuming this new role. I answered that I had little knowledge or understanding of what lay in store for me, but if it was something that a mere mortal could do, I was qualified. I expected that the role of a vice-chancellor’s wife might have provided a little useful experience. The image of a governor’s or governor-general’s wife with an aura of authority (and perhaps a tiara) came to mind, together with a slightly distant or aloof bearing. There was no way I could do any of that—it wasn’t in my DNA. I would simply have to be myself and hope that would be acceptable. Sir John Kerr’s advice to me was to never forget that we were representing the monarch and her consort. A heavy responsibility no doubt, but I could still only be me, and my focus would be nearer home, the Australian community.

We then travelled to London to meet the Queen in November. On arrival, Zelman was taken to see her principal private secretary and I was taken in charge by a charming lady-in-waiting, Lady Susan Hussey. Offered refreshment, I asked for a long, cold drink because I had eaten kippers for breakfast and was thirsty. She suggested ‘Lord Louis’ lemon refresher’, containing a surprising ingredient: Epsom salts! I exclaimed that I knew that cordial, because my Aunt Rosie made it. Thereafter, at Government House, we offered ‘Aunt Rosie’s’. We were then taken in to meet with the Queen, who gave Zelman some boxes. They contained the insignia of some additional knighthoods to augment his Knight Bachelor, bestowed in Canberra in 1976. As he had been ‘dubbed’ previously—that is, touched lightly on each shoulder with a ceremonial sword—it was unnecessary to repeat the procedure. The new knighthoods were the Knight Grand Cross of the Order of St Michael and St George and the Knight of the Order of St John of Jerusalem. These honours came with neck and breast badges, and one with a sash. I must say, Zelman liked this stuff. Additionally, he acquired a Knight of the Order of Australia, which came automatically with the governor-generalship—with the rations, so to speak! We then had lunch with the Queen—just a threesome—and I was a modest contributor to the conversation.

On our return to Australia, we made our final preparations for the new stage in our lives. Our family was not new to substantial change—we had ended our Melbourne lives in 1967 when Zelman gave up the deanship of law at the University of Melbourne and took up the vice-chancellorship of the University of New England in Armidale, in northern New South Wales, where we spent three happy years in a rural environment before being invited by the University of Queensland to be its vice-chancellor in 1970.

The move to Government House in Yarralumla was to be a huge change. Now we would be living on a different scale. It was a house that had grown organically from modest beginnings, added to and augmented as needs arose, and it worked reasonably well to serve a range of functions. It was the office of the governor-general, a state guest house, a ceremonial venue and a family home. In our time, it was generously funded and staffed. The building throbbed with activity. In addition to the family, there were three live-in aides-de-camp (office staff who worked in weatherboard additions) and domestic staff who lived off-site. The grounds were spacious and well tended. Tennis courts and a swimming pool were great amenities. Some functions were housed in surrounding cottages.

What was it like for us, during our time there (1977–82)? For my own interest, I decided to keep a diary to help me remember people, places and events that might otherwise slip from memory. This book is a product of those diaries. As you can imagine I wrote an enormous amount, and so a lot has been judiciously edited so that what you read here looks at the wonderfully wide range of events we attended and a peek behind the curtains into our family life. The language has also been tidied up a bit, because I was often writing each day in bed late at night, and sometimes doing a catch-up of two or three days at a time. It became an absorbing activity, and one that I’m glad I can share with you now.

Our lives became extremely busy. Zelman had a sizeable personal staff, and it became necessary for me to have some support also. My first personal assistant was Jasmine Richardson, an able young woman who came to us from the National Library. Then I was fortunate to secure the services of an old friend, Anne Fisher. There were, of course, downsides to the office, and I am sorry to say our two younger children bore the brunt of this. Kate was not ready to be a free-standing adult and felt keenly the loss of family intimacy in an exposed situation. Ben started secondary school in a new environment, where initially he knew no other boys his age. Being chauffeured to school did not grant him the anonymity he might have wanted. Worst of all, he had a lonely life in an official home with parents more likely to be absent than present.

We experienced an unprecedented level of personal attention, with domestic staff, ‘flower ladies’, attendants, and so on. I no longer cooked for my family, or for anyone. This was done in a well-staffed kitchen, and I had a wonderful understanding with our head chef. I did have a very small kitchen in the upper reaches of the house, where, my diary reminds me, I baked the unkneaded wholemeal loaf that I enjoyed, and could not find in Canberra.

Gradually a new kind of work developed for me. I accompanied Zelman on many of his official duties, and I began to receive invitations to participate in a number of events on my own. These invariably required speeches: university graduations, openings of conferences and of new facilities, and a range of ceremonial occasions. And they ranged all over the country. Zelman had resolved to accept a large number of invitations, as part of his ‘healing mission’, and that meant lots of speeches. He insisted on writing them all himself. He was, after all, a professional, and it was unthinkable for him that anyone else should put words into his mouth. I had many fewer such commitments so I thought I should write mine myself, too.

As I write in 2017, it is thirty-five years since we resumed our lives after this extraordinary experience. I was once asked how long it took to return to normal life. My answer was: about ten minutes. But I don’t think my feet ever left the ground during all those years in office.

*   Isaac Isaacs was first published in 1967 by Oxford University Press, with a new edition published in 1992 by University of Queensland Press.

*   These were a continuation of the global student revolt that began in the late 1960s and took on various issues, such as the Vietnam War and apartheid, but also had a nonspecific anti-establishment/authority character.

1978

Sunday, 8 January 1978

I have decided to keep a diary during Zelman’s term of office as governor-general. I kept diaries of three recent overseas journeys, and I am pleased because I forget so much and the re-reading of a sentence brings whole occasions, scenes and otherwise forgotten things, vividly back to mind. Today it is exactly one month since Zelman was sworn in, and I am only now taking up my pen. From this point on I will attempt regular entries, but for the previous month I can only write up events all at once as we await the arrival of the Prince of Iran at Government House in Canberra.

Towards the end of November, we had been back in Brisbane for about two weeks after a wonderfully interesting, seven-week trip that had taken us to China, Japan, San Francisco briefly, and then England. We saw the Queen on 16 November, whereupon Zelman flew straight home and I detoured for two days in Paris. On our return, we plunged into an extremely busy program, starting with a quick trip to Melbourne for a splendid dinner in the National Gallery Banquet Hall.

In Brisbane, there were many farewell events, many goodbyes and many undertakings to be finalised for our new life. At 6am on Wednesday, 7 December 1977, we awoke to a house strewn with suitcases, cartons, wardrobe boxes and sundry other containers, none of which were yet battened down. A carrier was collecting them at 9am, and we were due to leave soon after to catch a VIP Air Force plane. Our friends Jim and Joy Ritchie, George and Val Davies, the Skala family, Betty Mason and Ben Hartjes arrived to spend last minutes with us to say goodbye. Flight Lieutenant Sampson then came to take us to the airport. We left the house in a procession through the front door, and set off in an impressive motorcade.

Two police motorcyclists, followed by a formation of three or more, preceded the Rolls Royce bearing Zelman, me and Ben on a jump seat. Ben lost no time in fearlessly experimenting with buttons and gadgets—the roof panel slid open, then closed; the dividing glass pane went down, then up; lights went on and off. Behind us came the Commonwealth police, then our son Nick and daughter Kate, who just returned from Israel a few weeks ago, and our housekeeper Mrs Reid, then Queensland police followed. As we departed, neighbours came out to wave and take photographs. When we turned into Schonell Drive, Margaret Henry waved from outside Research House. A woman waiting for a bus gave us a wave, as did Mr Austin, who had wandered to the door of his fruit shop and had a surprised look on his face as the procession passed him.

It was a new and strange experience to travel behind three cyclists whose beautifully precise formation and helmets made them seem quite inhuman, and to observe the way the two lead cyclists cleared a path for us, and maintained it. At the airport, turning to the left, not towards the commercial airline terminals, Air Force HS748 awaited us. The cyclists dismounted in a neat row and the Rolls drove right up to the door of the plane.

We were welcomed aboard by the Air Force officer commanding the unit and the crew. There was a special VIP compartment with four reclining, moving chairs, and additional compartments for other members of the party. We were offered orange juice with champagne. After the events of the early morning—and of the preceding high-pressured weeks—we were very happy to shed all cares and relax a little.

In Canberra, we were met by the Prime Minister and Mrs Tamie Fraser, and by Senator Condor Laucke, Senator Robert Cotton, General McDonald, Mr Parkinson, the head of the Department of Foreign Affairs, and their wives. Zelman and I were shown to a Rolls Royce and were driven off. The rest of the family and party had been held back in the plane as all this happened, and when they decanted Mr and Mrs Fraser greeted them and they followed us to Government House. Marking the difference in cities, the five cyclists that led the way wore heavy navy coats, not summery blue shirts; saluting police officers greeted us as we passed the gates; and footmen, aides, the official staff and family friend Bob Lewy were waiting at the official entry of the house.

It was now mid afternoon, and after we had been shown to our rooms, where skilled hands had us unpacked in no time, we had afternoon tea. We then dispersed on individual voyages of discovery and saw what we could of the house, garden, grounds and amenities. By 5pm, Ben had swum and played tennis, and was looking for someone with whom to play cricket. We changed for dinner at 7.30 and ate a beautifully prepared and served meal. It was a remarkably different lifestyle, and it seemed light years since we woke in our Brisbane house amid the unfinished business of packing.

The next day, Thursday, 8 December, was the swearing-in ceremony. Members of our families had come to Canberra for the occasion, most special among them being Zelman’s mother, Sarah, whom we called ‘Mater’. She had been paralysed and rendered speechless in the aftermath of a stroke four and half years ago, but Zelman’s sister June felt she should come for what surely would be the greatest day of her life. The enterprise could have been hazardous, as Mater seemed to need the security of her own room, but it was superbly organised by June, and she was accompanied by a male and female nurse. When Mater arrived at the house, she seemed completely aware of the occasion and the situation, and enjoyed her tour, and then rested reluctantly during the latter part of the morning.

Meanwhile, my mother Dora and her sister Naomi arrived, and we gave them tea and showed them around. Zelman was preoccupied with a number of business matters, such as studying the complex instructions for the afternoon ceremony, which included a two-stage military parade and inspection. We ate lunch with Mater and the nurses, and then went off to dress.

Our cars took everyone off with military precision, and Zelman and I were the last to leave. Received by the Prime Minister and Mrs Fraser, we took the salute and in due course entered Parliament House to be met by the Speaker and the President of the Senate. We adjourned to sign the book and assemble with assorted dignitaries. Then we entered the Senate chamber. The ceremony was quite brief but solemn, the chamber full, and I was able only to glimpse some members of the family seated against the walls. I must confess I was disappointed to not hear the twenty-one guns that were fired when the ceremony was completed—I didn’t believe that they were fired until I saw it on TV in the evening.

A reception followed, at which we met the diplomatic corps and others. It was a cheerful party, and we saw some old friends among the guests. We left to inspect the guard of honour and were then driven back to Government House. At this stage I began popping contact lenses! Fortunately they fell onto my dress, I saw them and was able to return them to the case. On our return, we had tea with members of the official staff and their wives, and then posed for a session of photographs, which later proved to be memorable, but less than official—we had not thought in advance to organise this.

In the evening we had a splendid dinner party for the family—brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, and my mother Dora, of course—along with our new official family’, the personal staff and their wives, and the aides. There were about forty-five of us, and it was a memorable evening. Zelman spoke of our regret that our fathers could not be with us, and Dora responded magnificently on behalf of the parents. We think it was a day that we, and the family, will never forget.

For the next two weeks, Zelman was quite busy. A general election on 10 December resulted in preparations to swear in a new ministry, as well recording an Australia Day message in a number of locations, saying it over and over again when a door banging or a phone ringing necessitated a retake. I appeared for a short sequence—walking off into the sunset (or the lake!)—and I held my breath waiting to see the finished product.

Mostly, I found myself seriously underemployed. I seemed to have little to do more arduous than choosing the menus and walking into the dining room three times a day. For the first time in my life, I needed to take exercise, and so I voluntarily played tennis and swum. I have been shopping a few times, though Mrs Reid, who we have hired to look after Ben in our absences, performs many errands for me. But this underemployment did not last. Zelman’s program, involving me, got busy, and soon invitations to just me built up also.

On Tuesday, 13 December, we began our first formal state visit, to Victoria. The day began with a graduation at Duntroon near Canberra. It was an impressive morning of ceremony, parade and garden party, at which it was moving to see the pride and pleasure of parents and graduating sons. The day was fine and warm, and after lunch we emplaned for Melbourne. By 3.30pm, we were being welcomed in Swanston Street, outside the Town Hall, by the Lord Mayor. At 4pm, we were having tea at Victoria’s Government House, near the Royal Botanic Gardens, with Governor Sir Henry and Lady Nancy Winneke, and at 5.30pm we were at a state reception at Parliament House. By 7pm, we had returned to Government House and had dressed for a dinner party at 8. Sir Henry is a night owl, and he seemed disappointed when we broke up the party at 11.45, but we had had quite a day!

I was surprised to discover how possible it is to meet a program like this when you don’t have to worry about the mechanics of it. We had no personal involvement with packing or moving luggage, no concern with what the kids were having for dinner or who was cooking it! I was also interested to observe the difference between the government houses in Melbourne and in Canberra. We live in a house that had fairly unpretentious origins. In Melbourne, the residence was built to be tremendously impressive—and it certainly is—but I think this is at the cost of human scale and comfort. The house in Canberra retains a friendliness with its less formal setting. Zelman’s sister Shirley described it as a ‘gentle’ house, and I think the word suits it very well.

On 22 December, we travelled to Caloundra, where we have a modest beach house, for a holiday. It was almost as if the previous two weeks had not taken place. Save for the discreet off-stage presence of an aide (Lieutenant Mike Smith) and two security officers, who swam with Zelman and accompanied us to and from social engagements, we lived pretty much as we always had. We swam a lot. We socialised a good deal, and had friends come up from Brisbane to visit, or others who stayed with us. We had a picnic on the rocks despite a forbidding, blowy evening, and many pleasant occasions, including a day at Noosa. I drove the car to town, shopped, cooked and lived as we normally had. It was lovely.

We arrived at Admiralty House in Sydney during the afternoon of 3 January, met the custodian and saw the now familiar, friendly faces of members of the staff who had come up from Canberra. The house enchanted us with its delightful rooms opening through French doors onto the tiled, colonnaded verandah, its spectacular staircase with leaded stained-glass windows and chandelier, and massively proportioned master suite upstairs, which also had French doors leading to a verandah with superb harbour, city and Opera House views.

Zelman’s sisters Shirley and June, and June’s husband Maurice joined us at the residence on the Wednesday. They loved the house as we did. Although the Wednesday and Thursday were bleak and wet, we managed to explore and sightsee in Sydney. June and I also explored the gardens and went over to Kirribilli House as well. It is something of a doll’s house compared with Admiralty House. We walked a little around the immediate neighbourhood, following streets down to the water’s edge at different points. It is a very charming part of Sydney. The house needed some refurnishing in the drawing room, study and reception room. The paintings could also have stood some changes. But it is a lovely place.

Officially, we entertained the Iranian Ambassador and his wife at lunch on Wednesday, and Justice Michael Kirby and Professor and Mrs Bruce Williams at dinner on the Friday. We returned to Canberra from Sydney late yesterday afternoon. Late, very late today, His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince of Iran, arrives from Bangkok with his party. The house has been splendidly prepared by a staff well used to such visits, and flower ladies have been busily arranging blooms everywhere.

It was just on midnight our time when we greeted them at Government House and, although their clocks would have been hours behind, they have had a long and strenuous flight. Zelman showed the Prince straight up to his room and now we are retiring for the evening.

Monday, 9 January

The Prince attended a series of engagements during the day, punctuated by a lunch at the Iranian Embassy, at which we were guests of honour. The Iranian Ambassador knows the Prince well and kept a closely attentive eye on his young charge. The Ambassador’s wife is a beautiful and charming young woman, who speaks eight languages well!

The Prince is just seventeen and a half years old. Tall and thin, as growing young men are, he has beautiful dark eyes luxuriantly fringed with black lashes. He is friendly and eager, and seems willingly to accept the duties and responsibilities he finds upon his shoulders. He has been flying planes since he started to learn at thirteen and is much interested in sport. He hopes to be able to take an active interest in agricultural matters on his return to Iran. A large party accompanies him—court officials, generals, security officers, press officers and so on.

In the evening, we host a dinner party for the Prince’s party, our household and a number of other guests. It was very pleasant, marred for me only by the toughness of the lamb. Here I was, proudly serving lamb, since the Iranians are interested in buying our lamb, and several of the dishes had very tough specimens aboard! I trust I have not damaged our international trade! The chef can only think that perhaps some of the joints were too freshly killed.

Tuesday, 10 January

The Prince and his party departed at about 8.30 for a daylong trip to Cairns and Green Island. I began to think a little about the garden and discussed with Colonel Jones (our Military/Official Secretary) about the removal of a healthy but unbeautiful shrub that takes up a lot of Zelman’s view of the lake from the study, the planting of borders not in rows, and other matters. I had some comfortable outdoor furniture placed under the great deodar outside the drawing room and will be interested to see if it invites use.

Late in the afternoon, James Mollison, the Director of the National Gallery, came to see us and we asked him about pictures for both houses. He said that because of the pending opening of the gallery and the collection being ‘upgraded’, we could only see photographs of paintings previously hanging in the houses and we could consider the Loan Collection. The Prince and his party returned at about 8.10pm, tired after a long day’s trip, and they retired to their quarters.

Wednesday, 11 January

The Prince and his party departed after breakfast. The house soon began to feel quite deserted, as the security officers posted in the hall outside our bedrooms and elsewhere melted away. Whatever major efforts had been occasioned were handled unobtrusively and efficiently by the household without any undue, noticeable disturbance to other occupants (like us!).

In the afternoon, Mrs Akmal, the wife of the Iranian Ambassador, came to visit with her eleven-year-old son and six-year-old daughter. Ben and her son played some tennis and generally got along quite well. The boys had some common interests and perhaps will see each other more.

Thursday, 12 January

A vast pantechnicon with our furnishings and effects from Brisbane arrived today. Mr Heenan, the butler and head of the domestic staff, wondered whether the house could absorb them. By the end of the day, for the most part, it had! But the place was still fairly chaotic by dinnertime, although Zelman made a gallant attack on the mountain of books in our sitting room and had most stored by 11pm.

Friday, 13 January

By lunchtime, our sitting room was orderly. Our paintings replaced those previously on the walls and the multi-blue rug was on the floor, trying gallantly to tie together the various blue and blue-green hues of the room. With the help of cushions, it does not do too badly—the room has a pleasant and inviting aspect. The family room upstairs looks somewhat crowded with all the things, but comfortable and familiar.

Wednesday, 18 January

Helmut, our No. 1 chef, takes me to see where we shop and what is available. We proceed from delicatessen to health food shop (not on his list, but I am looking for good wholemeal bread), butcher, fruit market and fish shop. Without doubt, there is very good choice available in Canberra. Meat and fish are hideously expensive—or so it seems to me, though I may already be out of touch.

I begin to read Stephen Fitzgerald’s lectures on China, and write some letters.* We are glad to have a phone call from Nick in the evening, and everything is going well with him. I had been a little concerned that the job and the housekeeping might all be a bit too much.

Thursday, 19 January

At 11am, Mr Tom Critchley and his wife Susan and four little daughters arrive so that Zelman can invest him with the Order of Australia.† We have champagne and savouries as we talk. At 12.30, guests arrive for a luncheon to honour Professor John La Nauze, who is heading to Harvard to inaugurate a chair of Australian studies there—Australia’s contribution to America to commemorate its bicentenary.

In the afternoon, Ben briefly sees a little of the ACT v. India two-day match. It is washed out by rain, but he comes home happily flaunting the visiting cricketers’ autographs, plus a bonus: John Gorton’s.

Saturday, 21 January

A tray in bed for breakfast, and the Saturday morning papers—six or seven of them! Not recommended as a regular practice, as one emerges punch-drunk, with the greater part of the morning gone and perhaps not much better educated. In the late afternoon I run with Ms Reid. Our jogging program has started very gradually and is designed to help cope with the less active but better-fed existence we are now leading.

In the evening we have an interesting and pleasant dinner party with British High Commissioner Sir Donald Tebbit and Lady Barbara, Professor Peter and Lena Carmel, and Mr and Mrs Kelso, just returned from a tour of duty in Brazil.

Sunday, 22 January

Kate, who had been in Melbourne, returned. She’d had some frustrating experiences and was pleased to find many letters from her boyfriend Bruce awaiting her. He certainly is a devoted correspondent. She is going to New Zealand to visit him on Tuesday.

Monday, 23 January

After lunch, Zelman and I, with David Smith and Pat Logan (Zelman’s secretary), flew to Hobart for a state visit. We leave weather reminiscent of my Melbourne childhood—grey with steady, soft, soaking rain. As we taxied to a halt at the airport, past a row of big guns, ready to salute, we saw evidence, in flying hats, of strong winds. One or two steps down the gangway, I decided to take mine off.

At a saluting base, Z inspected the guard, the guns fired and there was an air of hurry-up about it all, clearly dictated by the weather. Governor Sir Stanley and Lady Burbury, and the Premier, Doug Lowe, and his wife Pamela greeted us very warmly, and Lady Burbury observed comfortingly that it was good to feel light enough to be blown away, as we staggered to remain vertical.

A reception line of dignitaries we were to meet again during our visit—the Leader of the Opposition, the Chief Justice, mayors, service chiefs, etc.—were there to meet us. We then drove into Hobart, through charming though very dry country, over the restored bridge,* and to Government House, an imposing Victorian Gothic (though squarish) pile made of local sandstone quarried on the site—the residual cavity is now a picturesque lake, complete with ducks and willows.

We were housed in the Queen’s suite—the major room of which is vast, handsome and elegant, and has great bay windows commanding two views of water and hills. A magnificent pine tree dominates the view, its deep green, velvety mass edged in places with yellow-green. The house is surrounded by lovely garden, and adjoins the botanical gardens. After afternoon tea, we took a stroll and then dressed for a small, household dinner.

Tuesday, 24 January

Zelman received a number of callers during the morning, while Pat Logan and I took a drive to the lookout point on Mt Nelson, where the panoramic views are splendid. We then drove back and enjoyed the wharf area, and inspected some galleries in Salamanca Place. Returning to GH, we drove through Battery Point, a picturesque old part of Hobart. Our friends Alison and Bob Baker called to see us at 11.30—very much as we had always known them. Bob is retired from law practice, a member of the shadow ministry, and appears to be enjoying himself.

We were given a state government luncheon at Wrest Point Hotel. I sat between the Premier and Opposition Leader, Max Bingham, and the wife of the Chief Justice, Mrs Green, sat beyond. Then we returned briefly to GH to change for a civic reception in the afternoon. In the evening, there was a very nice dinner party at GH. The Premier, Leader of the Opposition, Chief Justice, Mayor of Launceston, the Cartlands, the director of the gallery and others were present. The Cartlands have moved to a house in Sandy Bay and go abroad soon for a long trip.* Barry has several activities to keep him interested, and they look happy.

Wednesday, 25 January

The morning is free, and we have a short visit to the Royal Coaches, which are touring Australia as part of the jubilee-year festivities.† We then take a drive to Richmond, an old town a short distance from Hobart.

In the afternoon, we are to attend the Hobart Cup. The Burburys have evolved their own form of picnic lunch as a prelude—chicken sandwiches, smoked trout and champagne in the charming conservatory, warmed by the sun and verdant with plants, adjoining the ballroom. After this we go off to Elwick Racecourse. It looks out on hills and pleasant country all around, and the meeting is considered well attended, although the crowd is small by other standards. Z presents cups, we have afternoon tea and depart for the airport. I ride with Lady Burbury, who receives cheerful greetings from many in the crowd and responds energetically. I am sure she and Sir Stanley are very well loved—they have been charming hosts.

We arrive to find Canberra infinitely greener than when we left. There has been rain for several days, and the transformation is remarkable.

Thursday, 26 January

Australia Day, and the honours list is announced. In the afternoon, we have a small investiture for our Ambassador to Belgium, Sir James Plimsoll, who has an AC in the new list and is flying off tonight. Zelman’s Australia Day message is broadcast and telecast. We are disappointed with the TV coverage of the event—it is not as good as it should be.

Friday, 27 January

We are off to Sydney for the Australia Day weekend. Dora will stay with us. The household staff is obviously well grounded in the routine. When we arrive at the airport, all staff and goods are already stowed—when we arrive and leave the plane, they follow on, and quickly and efficiently unpack.

Tuesday, 31 January

We depart in the morning for Canberra. Already Government House is beginning to feel very much like home and it is good to be back. I meet with Colonel Jones and the head gardener and his offsider. I tell them I am not a strong lover of formal gardens. We walk and talk. Our particular concern is that a regrettably healthy but not aesthetically delightful tree obstructs the view from Zelman’s study. After lunch we cut a good deal of it away but it would be even better if the tree were removed entirely. It is suggested we do it in winter, when the tree can withstand the transplant trauma better.

Friday, 3 February

We fly to Melbourne and stay in a most elaborate suite at the Hilton. In the afternoon, I have a meeting with Andrew Grimwade and Guilford Bell from the Committee on Official Establishments about furnishings. It is agreed we should get moving on renovations.

In the evening, we attend dinner to commemorate the quincentenary of the birth of Sir Thomas More. Zelman has been invited to deliver the address. The setting is the banquet hall of the National Gallery in Melbourne, to a capacity crowd. Many judges and lawyers are there, and law teachers. Zelman’s paper is tremendously good and superbly delivered. I am very proud—as always—but not surprised.

I sit alongside Premier Dick Hamer, who insists that we see a display of crafts in an adjoining gallery before we leave. It is a splendid show—pottery, textile crafts, jewellery—all very attractive and lively.

A sad note during the day has been news that things have gone badly with Maurice and he is gravely ill, with congestion of the lungs, abnormal blood pressure, renal failure and irregularity of heartbeat. He is receiving magnificent care, however, which comforts poor June.

Monday, 6 February

Back in Canberra, I have asked Pat Logan to help me organise my desk and she diagnoses the need for a filing cabinet. This now stands beside the desk, and it is a happy task to label the sections and file away a stack of diverse papers. I feel my life will be revolutionised.

Tuesday, 7 February

Kate comes home somewhat dashed after looking at art education options. The advice was for her to matriculate at a senior college first, one that does not cover art. She is full of mixed emotions and has misgivings about her ability to achieve within an achieving family. She doesn’t know what she wants ultimately. I do my best to fortify her wobbly resolve.

Wednesday, 8 February

The day starts with two pale, tense children, unable to swallow a morsel of breakfast between them. Ben asks me to accompany him to his new school, and when I return to the house I accompany Kate on the same mission. I get back to the house in time to change and go to lunch at the American Embassy with Zelman.

On my return, a van from the Commonwealth Nursery arrives with house-plants. We put them around and they look well, but if they are not perfect for a function, we can move them. I go with Colonel Jones to talk to the flower ladies and invite them to inspect. I much fear they are offended, and I am very sorry about this. They do beautiful and loving work, and we need them very much, but I like some green plants in a house as well as flowers.

Ben and Kate return from their respective schools. Kate says it was less bad than she expected. I melt with relief. Ben says his school was fantastic. I am delighted. Later we have two children who cannot sleep. The changes have been very traumatic for them.

Thursday, 16 February

I am a long way behind with this diary and a little pressed to remember what’s happened. I have, though, evolved a useful procedure for solving the problem of seeing people at a gathering and being able to read a menu or program: I wear one contact lens only—in my right eye. This eye then picks up sharp detail at a distance while the other attends to all the near things. How the poor brain handles the sharply different images it receives, I do not know, I only know it does. I can cope very comfortably and see everything without having to put on glasses, which Zelman so hates when we appear publicly.

On Saturday afternoon, Marjorie and Sonny Freeman came to tea. Sonny is a cousin of my father Hyman—his father was brother to my grandmother, Anna Wittner. They live in Sydney and have become very attentive to Dora since this appointment was announced. They brought with them the President of Sydney Rotary, Mr Monk, and his wife. We found Mr Monk most interesting—a civil engineer with a widely varied experience in many things touching the development of Australia, and a long interest in adult education!

On Sunday, we arrived in Melbourne and Simon came to see us. Z urged him to return to Canberra to complete his PhD but Simon wants to finish the degree at Monash. We go to see Mater, who is pleased to see us. Z then goes to see June, who is having a torrid time. Everything that could go wrong with Maurice’s bypass surgery has done so and he is very sick.

On Monday, we awoke to learn a bomb has exploded at the Hilton Hotel in Sydney, where the CHOGRM delegates are staying.* We fly to Sydney and find the conference opening stiff with security. Z is stopped and asked for identification!

At the opening ceremony, Zelman again speaks—for the third day running. We return to Admiralty House for lunch and find it transformed by the devoted work of some ladies whom Jean Battersby, founding CEO of the Australian Council for the Arts, has enlisted. There are new and appropriate pictures on the walls, new furniture, beautiful flowers and augmented lighting. It will do us proud for CHOGRM dinner in the evening.

The dinner guests arrive while it is still light and go out on the verandahs, from which the harbour looks marvellous. At dinner, I have the most senior head of government on my right, Mr Dowiyogo of Nauru. On my left, General Rahman Zia of Bangladesh. What a contrast. General Rahman has an encouraging optimism about what can be done in his country, although he acknowledges it will not be easy. Also present are the Prime Minister, Deputy PM and Leader of the Opposition, who stay beyond dinner for an Executive Council meeting in Zelman’s study. The machinery for calling out the troops because of the security threat is activated.

On Tuesday, we returned early to Canberra. I am anxious to hear how Ben and Kate are holding up and decide not to go to Melbourne for dinner with Z, who has an Australian Vice-Chancellors’ Committee dinner.

After lunch today, Thursday, the Ambassador of Iraq presents his credentials.* It is Zelman’s first experience of this. Since the Ambassador’s wife is not coming, I am not to be present. It is a highly formal occasion and begins with a military band swinging down our drive in full sound, followed by a platoon of soldiers. Much then goes on in the drawing room. Zelman says the ambassador delivered a fiery speech about glorious revolution, and photographs were taken outside the private entrance.

Monday, 20 February

Members of the Australian Institute of Architects arrive to invest Z as an honorary fellow. He is delighted. We have a cheerful luncheon, to which Zelman has invited Brisbane architect Robin Gibson.† In the evening, Z’s enthusiasm for Robin has increased, and Robin comes back to dinner and stays the night.

Tom Faunce, a law student who has taken Kate out, and his father, who is honorary physician to our household, and loved and respected by everyone, come to dinner. We later watch a short film I have long wanted to see: Leisure by Bruce Petty, which won an award at Cannes. A very good, witty and intelligent film.

Tuesday, 21 February

We attend a church service at 9am for the commencement of the new Parliament, followed by lunch and the opening of Parliament. Security is the tightest ever; there seem to be more police, both plain and fancy, than crowd. We take a salute, enter the House and, in due course, go into the Senate chamber. The MPs saunter in in a leisurely (traditionally almost defiant) manner. Zelman reads a speech outlining the plans of ‘his’ government. Refreshments are served and we leave after Zelman inspects an honour guard.

We have a large dinner party of about fifty, with parliamentarians and a few others. Very nice but rushed, since guests must leave at 8.45 for the big reception at Parliament House. At an enormous gathering in King’s Hall, we then make a ceremonial entry with the PM and Mrs Fraser. The heat and noise levels are high, and an orchestra somewhere is pounding out more heat and noise. We talk with many people until we are led off to the suite of the President of the Senate for refreshment, a welcome relief. Senator Lauke’s handsome compartment is modern, quiet and air-conditioned. We then go down to the dining room, where the other guests/multitudes are finishing their supper. Quite a day.

Thursday, 23 February

Our first state visit to Queensland. We arrive at the