Remembering Sir Robert and Dame Pattie Menzies

Heather Henderson is the daughter of Sir Robert and Dame Pattie Menzies, the editor of Letters to My Daughter and, most recently, author of A Smile for My Parents. Heather Henderson was born in Melbourne and moved to Canberra in 1951 after her father Robert Menzies became prime minister. In 1955 she married Peter Henderson and, with her husband’s work as a Foreign Service officer, traveled to posts in Jakarta, London, Geneva and Manila. Heather Henderson’s memoirs and work on her father’s letters have done much to reveal a true portrait of her very famous father. Heather Henderson addressed The Sydney Institute on Wednesday 23 October 2013.

REMEMBERING SIR ROBERT AND DAME PATTIE MENZIES

HEATHER HENDERSON

It’s very strange to be here as myself, because I’ve been an appendage for most of my life. With my father as the prime minister, I went round with him. And then, with a husband in the Foreign Service, I was just his wife. And now, thanks to Anne’s description of me, I am an “author”. The first book I brought out was Letters To My Daughter. This was a collection of letters that my father wrote to me. And it was an unexpected bonus to hear from people after that, and hear what they thought. With this present book it has been different. An older, former public servant told me, “I loved this book, especially the chapter about the public service.” In this book, everybody picks out something different that interests them. The book’s most recent review ends up commenting that “if you buy the book – which you must – then don’t plan to be up early the next morning.” That was the best thing I could possibly hear. I was thrilled with that.

With many reactions to my first book, I gathered anecdotes for my second. After Letters to My Daughter was published, a message came to me about the wedding of Jeff Bates and Zara Holt. Here’s some of it:

Smith Kline Animal Health released treatment for calf scars in 1966 with the slogan: “Relieve Calf Scours Within Hours!”, with full media coverage for this ambitious claim. Our Victorian manager reported he got an urgent call from the chief veterinary officer to deliver a box of Nefton tablets to an address in South Yarra, urgently, as Jeff Bate had given a calf to Zara and it had violent diarrhoea all over the place. The wedding could be off!”

My father recounts the episode of the calf and the Bates’ wedding on page 203 of the book. But it was a real bonus to get that little addition. Another came from a man called John Hamilton – you’ll find it on page 227 – which is the account of an interview my father gave to a young man named Hamilton: 

I still remember the occasion well, myself petrified at being sent to interview a figure having the reputation of not suffering fools, particularly fools from the press, gladly. But, instead, being utterly charmed by your father who was kindness itself, and gave me a long and happy interview which was widely used around Australia. 

When I contacted John Hamilton, I received another bonus for my recent book:

I was much amused to read your enclosure; it reminded me of another story. I began my career as a cadet reporter on the West Australian in 1959. One of my mentors was an Englishman called Frank Harvey, who’d worked on the London Daily Telegraph before migrating to Western Australia and was very good at the craft indeed. He was even reputed to be able to write shorthand on a pad with his hands behind his back. Again, Harvey drew the short straw to interview the PM at Perth airport and had been told that he wouldn’t get very far. So Harvey tried another approach. He wrote a short letter which he managed to hand to one of the PM’s staff on arrival. Harvey told us cadets that it went along the lines of “Dear Prime Minister, I’m a recently arrived English journalist working for the West Australian. My Australian colleagues tell me that you do not normally grant interviews to the press. However I would be immensely glad if we could share a couple of minutes of your time to have a chat about a) cricket b) tennis or c) Betty Grable’s legs. Yours sincerely Frank Harvey.” The result was that the note was handed to your father who roared with laughter at this impudence, called Harvey over and granted him a short interview.

I think they may have settled on cricket. Another great letter I received was from a man called Mario Perrone. I have also put this in the book. Here’s part of what he wrote:

My family were Italian migrants and we came from Egypt where my father was an accountant in a bank in Alexandria. In the sixties I worked in Tahiti for Qantas, your father, then retired, was travelling to the USA via Tahiti. His office sent specific instructions that he did not wish to be met in transit. I was the duty officer in the early hours of that morning and I did exactly what your father requested anyone not do. I met him at the foot of the aircraft. He greeted me with, “Young man you should be in bed.” I assured him that it was an honour to be there. I took him to a private office and had a long chat with this amazing man who said to me that the best Italian migrants came from Egypt. I’m sure he was not being political as he didn’t have to say it. An experience I never did forget, but a year or so later I saw Sir Robert walking down Collins Street. I went to him and said, “Hello Sir Robert, my name is Mario Perrone. We met at the Papeete Airport.” I thought I’d made a real gaffe, but I was wrong. With that wonderful smile of his he replied, “Of course, I remember you. You’re the young man from Italian parents who lived in Egypt that was very naughty to meet me in transit.”

It says something for Dad’s memory doesn’t it? It was pretty good, even then.

Another anecdote I received just the other day. It was an email from someone who had been an Air Force pilot. He flew VIP planes for 34 Squadron. When he was the co-pilot, and planes were small in those days, they were coming in to land somewhere, with awful turbulence so they were all over the place, bumping, rattling, and it took the entire runway to stop, with a reverse thrust of the engines and so on. The engines, the noise and shuddering was dreadful. They pulled up in the end and my father got out, went into the cockpit and said, “A safe landing pilot, in spite of your efforts.”

My parents travelled a lot, of course. Once they were coming back from overseas, after boarding the plane in America. Flying across America, there was a young couple with a baby; the baby was crying, if not screaming. Apparently, he had been crying for the earlier leg of the trip and the parents were exhausted. So there they were, on the plane with their crying child. Once they’d taken off, my mother went over and said, “Give the child to me.” I can just see her saying that. My mother walked up and down the plane with the screaming baby, patting him on the back until he stopped crying. She then sat down with the “wet bundle”, as she called it, on her knee. She told us, “I was terrified to move in case it woke up.” So there she sat for about two hours while the parents were sound asleep. Later, we discovered who the people were, because they were in Foreign Affairs. That child is now the official secretary at Government House. So he’s grown up and all is well.

My mother was fanatical about babies; she loved babies and small children. It didn’t matter if they were nice or awful. I admit that I’m more discriminating. But my mother loved them all and, at The Lodge, was always welcoming with children. Only recently I heard about Eddie Ward’s wife who was invited to a lunch at The Lodge with other MPs’ wives. Mrs Ward had said to my mother, “I’m sorry. I can’t come because I have a ten year old child.” And my mother said, “Oh bring the child, I’ll look after him.” That child is now an adult and remembers the story clearly and her mother talking about it. They’ve never forgotten my mother’s kindness.

Just the other day, my hairdresser’s husband told me how he went to The Lodge on one occasion with his parents. My mother took his young brother off and walked round the garden with him, and looked after him. She was always happy to look after children. In the neighbourhood, at the Lodge, they came in and out at will. Always welcome.

But mentioning Eddie Ward takes me to parliament. Labor’s Eddie Ward was always asking questions and was very anti-Menzies. But it has to be said for Ward that he had a good sense of humour. One day, he was sitting there next to Arthur Calwell and my father was making a speech about someone who had died. Apparently he did it very well and very nicely. Eddie turned to Arthur Calwell and said, “When I die, all I want is for Bob to get up and say ‘he was loved by all’.” Well, Eddie Ward died and my father got up and made a very generous speech about him. On the way out of the house, Jim Killen stopped him and said, “How could you say such nice things about Ward when he said such dreadful things about you?” My father looked at him and said, “Killen, there’s something good to be said about every human being in this world. Who knows, the day might come when we can even think of something good to say about you.”

Another MP with a great sense of humour was Jim Cope. He was a Labor member who eventually became Speaker of the House. When my father died, Jim Cope wrote to my mother and this is part of what he said:

Prior to my entering the federal parliament in May 1955 I imagined Mr Menzies, as he was then, to be a supercilious, arrogant person. However, in a short time I discovered, to the contrary, that Bob, as he was more fondly known to me, possessed a warm and friendly personality, plus a very keen sense of humour.  I recall with pride that whenever we met by chance in the lobbies, he always spared a few minutes for a little chat.

That’s a good thing to hear from somebody on the other side of politics. And that was part of the way it was in those days. They could be friends as human beings, but opponents in the House. Everyone noticed this. They could be in the House, they could argue. They could certainly criticise forcefully, but once they walked out they could be friends. I remember Dad talking about Ben Chifley sitting opposite him across the table in the House and rowdy noises going around, everyone yelling or interjecting. “Chif” or Dad would sort of look at each other. Then they would go casually behind the Speaker’s chair. “Ben, can’t you control your boys?” Dad would say. Or, Chifley something similar. They would have a quiet chat and then go back into the House and sit there looking innocent. They were friends. Sadly, I’m not sure that that happens now.

One day, Alan Fraser, the Member for Eden Monaro which is now known as the bellwether seat, asked a question of the prime minister. He said:

You went to the St Andrews night dinner, then you complained that they didn’t pronounce your name correctly; it should be Mingies not Menzies. But do you know what people really call you in this country?

So my father got up and said:

I do indeed. At that same Saint Andrews night dinner, when I arrived, there were people yelling in stentorian tones, “Pig Iron”. But often, when I’m in my car and I’m stopped, a truck pulls up next to me, the driver will look across to me and say, “Good on you Bob.”

To which, Jim Cope replied, “Should have been pinched for drunken driving.” Well, Dad loved that so much he beckoned to Jim after question time. Jim went around to the office and my father gave him a drink.

There was one night when my father was working late, as he usually was, and he wanted to talk to his press secretary. He went out to the corridor and opened the door to the press secretary’s office. The press secretary was not there but his secretary was there, typing away, and my father said, “You’re working very late.” She answered that it was alright, that she wanted to finish some work. Then the PM asked if she had had any dinner and she said, “No, no, I’ll get something later.” My father disappeared and came back with a tray of food for her. He wasn’t the ogre that some people think. And it was the girl herself who told me that story.

We now have a big new Parliament House. Old Parliament House was small and everyone knew each other and they mingled. Personal staff members were limited so if MPs or ministers wanted something typed up they went to the typing pool. MPs were not surrounded by people of the same political views, so much of my parents’ lives were lived in Canberra. My father thought the development of Canberra was one of his real achievements. I know it’s hard for people in Sydney to get a grip on this, but Canberra is the national capital. That’s where government should be. And, Canberra includes the Lodge and my parents were there for a long time. So, it was home. It was home to them for sixteen years straight. They had no other home. My mother was a very domesticated person, at the same time, she became adept at doing all the things that she felt were the duties of a prime minister’s wife. She became very good at making speeches, and travelled around Australia speaking to people. Her speeches were not political but she talked about what she’d been doing, and what her life was like. People responded to her and enjoyed it.

At home, my mother was always ready to move because they did a lot of travelling. She always had a suitcase sitting open in her bedroom. She had to entertain people, to go out and be nice to people. I don’t think she found it all that hard to be nice to people. But she liked to be in the kitchen. On occasions, she actually did the cooking because there was no cook. She had an AGA stove. One Saturday, when she had people for dinner, the AGA wouldn’t work.  She rang the man who had the Auger franchise, but when  he turned up he said he knew nothing about them. Eventually, the two of them were lying on the kitchen floor, and peering into the innards of the AGA to try to make it work. And they got it working. I don’t know what they would have had otherwise. The guests would have had to eat scrambled eggs I suppose.

For a time, there was a problem at the Lodge with insects; my mother was very allergic to insect bites and there were hornets around the Lodge. The department neglected to do anything – in spite of my mother ringing them. Eventually, she was bitten by a hornet and immediately her face and neck blew up so that she looked as if she had mumps. My mother tied a scarf round her head, drove to the department and found the appropriate person. She then took off the scarf and said, “And now will you do something about it.” It was done.

By the time Tammie Fraser was the PM’s wife at The Lodge there was a wall round it and guards the gate. On one occasion, Tammie wanted to go out to the hairdresser. She tied a scarf round her head and drove to the gate where the guard came over and said, “Yes?” The PM’s wife said, “I am Tammie Fraser and I want to get out.” Another day, after a visit to our house, Tammie Fraser had left her sunglasses behind, so I took them back to The Lodge. I was on my bicycle, so I didn’t look too flash I suppose. But when I got to the gate and told the guard that I had sunglasses belonging to Mrs Fraser, he got out his walkie talkie and I heard him say, “There is a person here who has an object that she wishes to give to someone in the house. Over.” For some time this conversation went on, all for a pair of sunglasses!

Then there were the currawongs. My mother hated the currawongs because they attacked the baby birds. So she kept a shanghai tucked in the wisteria. My parents used to sit outside for a quiet drink or cup of coffee and every now and then my mother would grab the shanghai, get up and have a shot at the currawongs. One day my father said, “Pat, for goodness sake, sit down. One day you’re going to hit a passing pedestrian and then we’ll be in real trouble.”  Of course, it would have been impossible to reach a passing pedestrian.

I could go on for a long time about The Lodge, my mother and everything else. My father always said that one should never stand up without knowing how a speech will finish. And he had sat through many meetings and gatherings where the local mayor or the chairman or whoever was speaking had gone on and on because he didn’t know how to stop. Today I might have sinned for the first time I think. I have not thought of any way to finish. So all I can think of is my brother Ian saying, “If you make a speech, stand up so you can be seen, speak up so you can heard and shut up so you can be appreciated.

Q & A

Gerard Henderson: Tell us a bit more about your father. You were talking about him as a person, but he’s also the man who, when he was prime minister the first time around, lost the support of his colleagues and felt the need to step down. So then he comes back and stays as long as he wants, and he could have stayed longer if he’d wanted to stay longer. So, did he change his personality in the period between 1941 and 1949 or did he just manufacture a different personality to appeal more to his colleagues?

Heather Henderson: Does anyone ever change their personality? I don’t think so. Certainly, there was nothing phony about it. He wouldn’t have manufactured something like that. I was a schoolgirl in 1939-41 and I was an adult when he came back in 1949. And it’s very hard to answer that question because he was just Dad. Maybe he changed the way he handled people, certainly he became better at that, at getting on with the people who worked with him.

Question: What are some of your memories as Robert Menzies’ daughter growing up in the Lodge.

Heather Henderson: Well, I didn’t grow up in The Lodge. I grew up in Melbourne. But I certainly lived in The Lodge for some years and I had a lot of time with my father. I travelled with him, I went on election tours sometimes and we knew each other pretty well. He was not a remote father at all. He was much more remote when I was young. When he was a lawyer he would be working all the time. In the early days, when he was a member of parliament, he would catch the train in Melbourne on Monday night and come back on Friday. He would be away the whole week. And half the time he was working at the weekend. So he was an absentee father for a lot of the time when I was young and growing up. My mother was really the mother and the father then.

In Melbourne, we lived in Howard Street, Kew. And I went to school at Ruyton for all my school years. My brothers went to Trinity Grammar and then they went to boarding school at Geelong College. So they were away from home quite a lot of the time when I was still at home. And we had a young Scottish woman called Cathie who was with us for many years. She was, in a way, almost my mother because when my parents were in Canberra, Cathie was always there. And when I was a boarder, while my parents were in Canberra, Cathie would walk up with the dog after school to see me. I was by no means abandoned, and I was well looked after.

Question: I’ve heard first hand accounts of your father’s circumstances in the 1940s while the Liberal Party was forming. It was said that when he moved around, at that time, he wasn’t provided with any transport. Does that sound right?

Heather Henderson: Yes it does, because he was doing something political and not something to do with his job as leader of the opposition. So he would not have used the official car or anything related to his job as opposition leader. And there was another thing he did. His driver in Melbourne was someone called Peter Pearson who was a government driver. My father needed to him do something that was not political at all, certainly not to do with the job. So Peter drove him in somebody else’s car. It was nothing to do with work so I suspect Peter did it because he was very fond of my father. I have a chapter in the book called Stingy With Public Money. That would have come under that heading if I had thought of it.

Question: You’ve spoken of your father’s quoting Shakespeare to people and friends. I’m wondering if he talked about poetry at home or recite poetry or encourage you to like poetry or music or songs?

Heather Henderson: Oh yes he did. When we were younger, he did occasionally recite poetry, which I always found a bit embarrassing as a child. He loved poetry; it was part of his life. And he had a good ear for music. His brother was a very good singer and his own father made them all read out loud, so he was accustomed to it. He was very at ease doing that sort of thing. It came out in his speeches. He never made a speech or talked without having a quote somewhere.

Question: I wondered what your mother’s reaction was when the 12 metre America’s Cup challenger was named “Dame Pattie”. Was that exciting for her? Did it get you interested in yachting at the time?

Heather Henderson:  She was very excited about that; she loved it. My parents went to watch it sail at Newport. My mother was very proud of that. She was always proud of the ships she’d launched too. But that one was special because it was named after her.

Anne Henderson: Judith Brett has theorised that Robert Menzies and his father were rather distant because his father was very strict. But, in his letters to Ken Menzies and in your stories, the Menzies family seems to have been a very close clan. Could you tell us a bit more about Bob Menzies, his parents and his siblings and what kind of a family they were?

Heather Henderson: Yes, they were a very close family. My father was particularly close to his mother who had the same sense of humour that he had. He always loved her sense of humour. Grandpa was not a humourist in any way. He would lay down the law about everything. But my father got some of his ability to speak to public meetings and be able to cope with the heckling from his father. His father was a politician as well, and he was very strong, very forceful and, as I said before, made the family read out loud. With my cousin Douglas, who had a stammer, Grandpa simply said, “Don’t stammer boy, don’t stammer.” And, believe it or not, Douglas stopped stammering. People did what Grandpa said, and he was a bit scary. He was an artist and used to paint, although when I knew him he was slightly shaky. He seemed to me to be an old man. He was not someone who was cosy at all. Grandma was easier, although she could also be unbending. I didn’t find either of them very warm. But my father did. He was devoted to his parents and to his siblings. Les died when he was fairly young, but Frank, Belle and Syd were all extraordinarily close to their brother, and all for different reasons. There was a huge bond between them, and one that was fairly unusual in a family.

Gerard Henderson: As a final question, why did you decide to write these books? When I spoke to you 20 years ago when I was doing Menzies Child you vowed and declared that you wouldn’t write about your family. I walked away thinking this wasn’t going to happen. And then it happened, not only once with the letters but now with this personal account. So, why did you do it?

Heather Henderson: The Letters were not really my book; that was Dad’s book, his writing. I just did bits in between. This is my book. I don’t think I’m a writer really. I can only write as I talk. I did it because I was nagged at – by so many people.