Now that our blessed Sovereign has gone to God after a lifetime of selfless service, the true story of the part I played in the early days of her glorious reign can be told. Until now, I have resisted the vulgar material blandishments of the media to tell my story. But a publication has finally emerged, The Spectator Australia, whom I can trust to present my story in a respectful and accurate manner, so that future generations can draw nourishment from the historic events I am about to recount and share in the honour and glory that they will evoke. This is my story.

Our glorious Sovereign King George V1 had been taken from us suddenly and sadly on 6 February 1952, shortly before my 12th birthday, but it was not until the 2nd June 1953 that the coronation of our new Queen took place. Naturally, we followed the service on the wireless and, if the truth were known, on what we called a crystal set that we had at home and which I had assembled with my own young hands. In fact, despite my tender years, I had already emerged as a more than competent builder of these early crackling radios, laying the foundations for my renowned career as minister for communications, decades before Malcolm Turnbull invented the internet. But even with my crystal set, the media coverage of the coronation was necessarily halting and limited and we were therefore thrilled to find that a coloured film of the event had been made and would be shown at selected cinemas. Thus, a Saturday or two later at the Regent theatre in Essendon, between Coast Guard and The Prisoner of Zenda, the coronation newsreel came on and laid out before us the spectacle of a lifetime. Not only was this amazing ritual being performed before our very eyes, but there was our representative on this historic occasion, Bob Menzies, drawn up to his full width and proceeding steadily down the aisle at Westminster Abbey, both the Queen and he symbols of imperial stability and strength. So breathtaking was this spectacle that I put aside the latest issue of Cahiers du Cinema and started to clap and, before I knew what had happened, the whole theatre rose like one man and sang God Save the Queen! Some contemporary observers noted that the example I set in encouraging that burst of patriotic fervour, which they equated with General Gordon at Khartoum, was no small contribution to getting the new reign off to an encouraging start. I think they were exaggerating, but there it is.

On the following Monday, I returned to school, where we continued with the royal project by drawing the sacred symbols that were used in the ceremony.  And my coloured drawings of the Orb and Sceptre, not to mention the Imperial State Crown, were regarded as pivotal in creating the loyal atmosphere in which the coronation was celebrated at the Moonee Ponds Central School.

But, strong as were the bonds I had forged between Australia and Her Majesty by these endeavours, she was still a distant figure and we yearned to see her in person. Then the good news came that Her Majesty was embarking on a tour of the Commonwealth and that her progress would, naturally, include a visit to Melbourne. She was to arrive by royal Skymaster at Essendon Airport the day after my 14th birthday, 22 February 1954 and then proceed along Mt Alexander Road into Melbourne. I instantly realised that this would bring her very close to where we lived and past the Moonee Ponds Court of Petty Sessions with which I was intimately familiar in view of my inevitable future as attorney-general, leading to my appointment as Chief Justice of the High Court. (This of course was during those far-off days when judicial appointments were made on merit, rather than on whether you could say ‘Gunnai Gunditjmara and Djab Wurrung woman’ without laughing, or discover implied terms and vibes in the law that are simply not there; so you can see I was still very naive.) But what those planning the royal progress obviously did not know or wilfully ignored, was that the courthouse had been standing or, more accurately, leaning on its corner site for a hundred years and that the picket fence surrounding it was a picture of utter decay and ruin. It was quite simply a mass of broken pickets and peeling paint. I instantly realised that the Queen would see this as she was driven past and would be understandably appalled at this complete abandonment of civic pride. I could just imagine her saying to the Duke of Edinburgh, quite rightly, ‘Look at that picket fence! What a disgrace’. It could ruin the whole royal tour. Accordingly, I took things into my own hands and, even if I say so myself, forced the civic fathers to show some respect and have the courthouse fence repaired, painted and generally put into a state suitable for a royal visit. I am pleased to say that I have no doubt that as the Queen’s Daimler passed the courthouse, Her Majesty would have observed ‘Look at that picket fence and quaint old courthouse. Such civic pride!’ As a result, the royal visit was a monumental success and laid the foundations for the long and happy association that Australia enjoyed with the Crown throughout the glorious second Elizabethan era.

But being a contemplative teenager, I wondered if Australians knew how lucky they were to have a constitutional monarchy with its dignity, stability and security. Would they ever throw it away, and sell out to a republic where idiots would behave like pirates in red bandanas acting out a school production of Treasure Island? No, they could never be so stupid. It was beyond comprehension that any rational Australian could ever abandon a proud constitutional history with the monarchy for the uncharted waters of a tinpot republic.