by Di Morrissey
‘Are you still working for it?’
‘No, although I like to keep my hand in by doing consultancy work, so I’m still travelling the world. I also have a townhouse in Brisbane, near my brother and his family. And I bought an old farmhouse near Siena, while I was living in Rome, and I try to escape there each year for two or three months. I can please myself pretty much as to what I do, because marriage and kids seem to have passed me by when I wasn’t looking,’ said David.
Chris decided to get to the point. ‘Do you think that your time as a volunteer influenced your decision to continue working with poorer communities?’
David nodded. ‘I already loved agronomy even before I went to Indonesia, but my time there made things very clear for me; it made me realise how I could best utilise my skills. The people were so warm, so grateful for assistance, and so generous. But I learnt a lot from that experience as well. Working in the villages explaining how crop yields could be improved was an opportunity almost beyond price. I always felt I got far more in return than I gave.’
Chris paused, digesting David’s words. ‘Do you think that the others felt the same way you did?’
‘Chris, I can’t speak for the others,’ said David, shaking his head, ‘but I would be surprised if they had not been affected in some way by that experience. Mark was always generous. I think he tended to overcompensate a bit because he came from a privileged background. Mind you, Mark is pretty smart, he became a leading economist after all. And Evan epitomises the Hippocratic Oath. He developed wonderful skills as a surgeon but he doesn’t just use them here in Australia, he continually gives back to underprivileged communities overseas. He frequently goes to developing countries to help train their doctors and performs quite sophisticated heart surgery in those countries under less than optimum conditions. He’s a tireless fundraiser, too, trying to buy equipment for ill-equipped hospitals.’
Chris scribbled down a few notes to himself as Mark spoke. ‘What about Alan? Do you think that his Indonesian experience influenced his career?’
‘I don’t really know. Alan stays very private about his life,’ said David.
Chris decided to change tack. ‘It was actually quite a long time ago you were all together, yet you maintain links. Why is that?’
‘I don’t know how to describe it. I guess there are times in your life where you share something with others that binds you together. Perhaps meeting up every five or so years makes us feel young and adventurous again. Know what I mean?’ David chuckled.
Chris smiled. ‘Yes, I do. I was really close to a few friends when I was a kid and I have discovered that I still enjoy their company and all those old memories.’
David nodded and then paused for a moment lost in thought. ‘Maybe we stay in touch because we don’t want that experience to fade from our memory but, otherwise, we don’t intrude into each other’s lives.’ He paused again. ‘And yet, here I am intruding into Susan’s life.’
‘Afternoon tea is scarcely intruding,’ said Chris.
David looked down at his hands. ‘I always had something of a soft spot for Susan. And now I find she’s just as lovely and unaffected as I remember.’
Chris acknowledged the compliment to his mother and said, ‘I feel a bit guilty that I never showed any interest in her time in Java. It sounded as though she was swept off her feet by Jimmy, her American boyfriend. His violent death must have been a terrible episode. I didn’t know about it until quite recently.’
‘Yes,’ said David, his face darkening. ‘Jimmy was a very nice man. His death was a dreadful shock to all of us. Things changed after that. Susan wouldn’t stay in Indonesia, which was hardly surprising. It was terrible. But I’m glad that she married your father and had a happy life in what seems to be a very special place.’
‘Yes. Mum and my father always said they found their own piece of paradise here.’ Chris consulted his notes, looking at the last question on his list. ‘David, do you know what happened to Norma, the midwife?’
‘We rather lost track of her, though I’d be surprised if she had changed her field of work. She was devoted to her mothers and babies. However, I’m not sure if she felt the same way about Indonesia.’ David glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘If there’s anything further I can help you with for your article, let me know, although I’m not sure what else I can tell you. You talk to the others. All of us will have a different slant on that time.’
Chris clicked the recorder off. ‘Thanks so much for your time, David. Next time you come by, stay for dinner and the night, if you like. You saw the guest cottage out the back. Maybe you and Mum will remember a few more stories over a bottle of red,’ said Chris with a smile.
‘Now that sounds like a plan,’ said David, reaching out and shaking Chris’s hand. ‘Good luck with the story, Chris. It’s hard to know sometimes what interests other people. Personally, I’m not particularly interested in hearing about peoples’ holidays to the “real” Bali, or the discovery of a sensational “undiscovered” surfing spot.’ David made the quote marks in the air with his fingers. ‘Of course, I’ve come to recognise that glazed look when I start to tell people about my experiences in Java in the sixties. But you’re probably a better storyteller than I am.’
They both laughed and, as he saw David out, Chris hoped that the other men would be as easy to interview and as affable as David had been.
*
The well-known and respected Evan Llewellyn was easy for Chris to research. When the doctor had returned from Indonesia he had begun training as a surgeon, specialising in the field of cardiovascular surgery. Chris found a quotation from an article in which Evan had said: ‘You need calm nerves and a steady hand. I find I go into a kind of zone where you are utterly focused on what you’re doing and stay calm under pressure, but I’m prepared to improvise quickly if things don’t go according to plan.’ Chris wondered about the origin of Evan’s ability to stay calm under pressure as he added the query to his notes.
Later that evening, as Susan was organising the dinner, Chris read the article to his mother.
‘Is that how you remember Evan? Cool, calm, collected?’ asked Chris.
‘I do actually. Gentle but firm. Organised and very caring. What else have you found out about him?’ asked Susan.
‘When he was head of the Royal College of Surgeons, he gave a speech about the continuing need to give back to society. Evan, Mark and David all seem to be on a similar wavelength.’
‘Yes, it would seem that while they have all done well, they have never lost touch with those less fortunate,’ said Susan.
‘Evan’s son has followed him into medicine.’
‘You’re not writing about their personal lives, are you?’ asked Susan.
‘No, that won’t be the focus of my article.’
‘And what have you found out about Alan?’
‘Not much. His company is clearly very successful, but like a lot of other shrewd high-flying businesspeople he likes to play his cards close to his chest. Presently his company is in the middle of a contentious building deal in Victoria. Evidently there is a lot of opposition to a proposed giant multi-storeyed shopping complex. A lot of the locals say that the building is not in keeping with the rest of the area and such a development will kill off the main street merchants.’
‘Oh, yes, at our lunch he did make a passing reference to the usual nightmare of planning permissions and fascist local councils – to use his expression – but he didn’t elaborate. What have you found out about Norma?’ asked Susan.
‘Nothing, unfortunately. I can’t seem to track her down and I’m running out of time. So for this article, I think I’ll just concentrate on these four distinguished Australians that I have got information on. I know David isn’t a household name but I checked out his record through the FAO, and it’s impressive, world class. They all seem to be working still. David’s a
consultant, which involves travel and advising. Mark’s charitable foundation sounds pretty full-on. Evan is training other doctors, and corporate giants like Alan never retire.’
‘Maybe Norma is doing something significant, too, that we don’t know about,’ said Susan.
‘Maybe,’ said Chris. ‘But if I can’t find anything on her, there’s not much point including her at present. I’ll keep looking but if she’s moved or changed her name, I might not be able to find her in time. And besides, I know what editors are like and they like names and the bigger the better. That’s what sells stories.’
‘Fair enough, sweetie. Good luck with it.’
Chris had gathered as much information as he could without speaking to the men involved, other than David. No point in approaching them if the magazine wasn’t interested. He knew he didn’t need a long pitch document – editors were busy people – but there had to be enough detail to whet their appetite.
THE TIME OF THEIR LIVES
They gave their time, their compassion, their knowledge, to work as Australian volunteers in Java. Indonesia was reeling from the effects of coups and crises after a new crusader – President Suharto – had replaced the charismatic Sukarno.
It was the 1960s, an infamous era in Indonesia’s history, the horrors of which are still coming to light after four decades of Suharto’s corrupt and brutal reign.
In the fragile hiatus between riots and the stumbling steps of a nation torn between embracing East or West, four Australian university graduates arrived, not to preach or teach, but to live and work with local people, offering their knowledge and friendship one to one.
The Neighbourhood Aid project, which had been inspired by President Kennedy’s Peace Corps volunteers, was a brave and innovative scheme to bridge the gaps in understanding and develop a shared future between two neighbours who were yet to know each other as friends.
These four men were strangers, but this brief time was to influence their lives and begs the question: Was it this experience which made them the men they are today?
Dr Evan Llewellyn. Renowned cardiovascular surgeon.
Mark Chambers, OAM. Economist, founder of the All for One Foundation.
Alan Carmichael, AM. Chairman, International Industries.
Dr David Moore. Agricultural specialist, formerly of the Food and Agriculture Organization.
Four distinguished Australians who are leaders in their fields, respected and honoured, successful and philanthropic.
Christopher Baxter travels back with them to that formative year.
‘Well, I’d buy the magazine to read this,’ laughed Susan as Chris showed her what he was about to submit.
‘If they go for it, I just hope your friends will be as forthcoming as David was,’ said Chris.
‘One can but try,’ said Susan. ‘They probably don’t think the experience was as interesting as you make it out to be. A mere pit stop in their life stories.’
‘So did your time there influence your future?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but not in the way you might think. After Jimmy’s death, all I wanted was a quiet life. I’d had quite enough adventure. Teaching attracted me as a safe alternative and your father and Neverend confirmed my decision. This place has brought me joy and serenity.’
Chris emailed his story proposal to the editor of Sunday Scene magazine, the weekend magazine of the newspaper for which he worked before joining Trinity. He crossed his fingers and tried to appear as calm as he could while he waited for an answer, although he couldn’t put the story entirely out of his mind. He kept seeing ways of expanding the piece, and not just from the perspective of Australia’s relationship with Indonesia and her adjoining neighbours, Timor Leste and Papua New Guinea. His interest was also piqued by the people who had shared his mother’s adventure. There seemed to be so much to learn about their lives. Maybe the newspaper would ask him to do a couple of follow-up articles.
For the next few days, Susan was busy with a Landcare project, helping restore a nearby creek that was choked with weeds and exotic plants. Laden with hat, sunblock, waders, gloves and a packed lunch, she set off early each morning and came home late in the day utterly exhausted.
With Megan’s after-school activities, Chris’s long trips in the courier van and Susan’s many commitments, meals had become a bit hit and miss. But the three of them pitched in to get something on the table each night.
‘I’ll chop up the vegetables,’ said Chris one evening a few days after he’d submitted his pitch. ‘These domestic chores help me think.’
‘Have you heard anything from that magazine yet, Dad?’ asked Megan.
‘No. They probably have an editorial meeting once a week or so, planning stories. They work months ahead unless it’s something topical which can’t wait.’
The phone rang and Susan went to answer it. She didn’t return for some time. When she did, she said, ‘Sorry to disappear while you two are getting dinner, but that was David Moore. He gave me some very helpful advice about our Landcare project.’
‘Oh, yes, I suppose he could. How did he know about it?’ asked Chris as he sliced up some bread.
‘He didn’t. He just called for a chat so I picked his brains.’
‘That was handy,’ said Chris as Megan put the lamb cutlets on to grill.
‘Yes. He said he was driving down from Brisbane soon, so he asked if he could drop in again.’
Chris recalled that he’d pressed David to come and have dinner with them if he could, but he was a little surprised David had taken him up on the offer so soon. ‘He’s certainly reconnected with you! I don’t suppose you’ve heard from the others?’ he asked.
‘No, I haven’t. Can you mash the potatoes, please?’
Chris drained the potatoes and began to mash. His thoughts turned again to the article. Digging into the research work filled him with pleasure and he felt lighter than he had in quite some time.
*
The next day, as Chris drove the courier van down from the plateau and back into mobile phone range, his phone beeped. A few minutes later he was able to pull over and he saw he had a text message from the magazine editor.
Your story sounds intriguing, Chris. I’ll have a look. Cheers, Fenton.
‘Is that a commission or not?’ wondered Chris aloud.
‘That’s a bit vague, isn’t it?’ said Susan when Chris told her the news that night.
‘Once Fenton reads my story, he’ll make sure that the paper buys it,’ said Chris, confidently. ‘He knows my work and if I say I’ve got a good story, he’ll go with it.’
‘That’s great, darling. Better get cracking.’
So Chris sent out emails and was able to make appointments to speak with both Evan and Mark on the phone.
Alan Carmichael proved elusive. After many attempts, Chris finally got through to his personal assistant, who fobbed him off. Evidently, Mr Carmichael never gave interviews to the media.
Chris found Evan and Mark both to be charming and polite, though Evan said he was pressed for time and offered to do a second, longer interview at a later time. Over the phone, Mark Chambers was more voluble, telling Chris some colourful stories about his time in Indonesia, but he was more interested in talking about his current activities. ‘In answer to your question about how Indonesia affected my career, I would say not all that much. It’s not that I wasn’t moved by events there, but I think that I had already decided that I wanted to use my family’s wealth to help people. My time away there just confirmed that.’
Chris mentioned to Mark that he was having a difficult time pinning down Alan Carmichael.
‘That’d be right. Alan’s very publicity shy. If he knows that you are Susan’s son, he might be more inclined to talk to you.’
‘Do you see Alan outside of your group’s reunions?’
‘No. Once or twice we’v
e crossed paths at various functions. I’ve met his new wife. Much younger than he is. American, I seem to recall.’
‘Was Alan always so intensely private?’ asked Chris.
‘Sort of. We never shared a lot of personal information when we were in Indonesia. Just the basics. Where we were from, what we’d been studying, bits about our family, but nothing really in depth. Not that men are known to have really intimate conversations, are they?’ Mark laughed.
‘You’re probably right. So what is it that you all had in common, do you think?’
‘Drive and energy and the desire to make things better. Perhaps we thought that we could make our mark early in our careers by working in Indonesia before we came home to a more settled and structured life. I’m not sure I can speak for the others from this distance, but that’s how I felt. Does that help you at all?’
‘Yes, it does. I appreciate your insights, Mark.’
‘Good luck with your piece. I hope it inspires other people to go and be a volunteer. It’s so very rewarding. And I wouldn’t give up on Alan. Why don’t you send him a personal note? Those PAs can be tough watchdogs for their boss, and a letter explaining who you are might do the trick!’
Chris took Mark’s advice and sent Alan a brief letter. He also borrowed Mark’s line, saying that he hoped his article might inspire more Australians to volunteer abroad. To his relief, the strategy worked and Alan’s PA called to arrange a time for a telephone interview.
‘Mr Carmichael can speak to you at two next Wednesday afternoon, and is prepared to give you fifteen minutes of his valuable time.’
Chris arranged to finish work early on Wednesday, and he put together a list of questions for Alan which he hoped would complete his article.
Promptly at two, Alan came on the line sounding cheerful and friendly.
‘It was good to see Susan at lunch the other day. She’s looking well. Hard to believe how the time has passed.’
Chris acknowledged the compliment and then plunged ahead with his questions. ‘Do you remember why you joined the Neighbourhood Aid project?’
