As the years roll by, the question: ‘Where were you on the day of The Dismissal?’ becomes less frequent every year.
Not surprising on its 50th anniversary.
I remember quite vividly my day. It was the day of my last examination at Sydney University in Jurisprudence for my Law degree.
The examination itself was conducted on the main campus in a lecture hall just east of No. 2 oval and adjacent to Parramatta Road and Glebe Point Road intersection. Most of the students I knew well, as we had been together for four-six years studying Arts and/or Law. The exam went from 9-12 and when it was finished, a number of us like-minded individuals scurried up to the Forest Lodge Hotel in Glebe for a few cleansing ales and a celebratory lunch.
What unfolded on the television screen that afternoon enchanted me.
It was riveting stuff and completely took our focus away from reaching the end of our university studies. Having been awarded credits in both Constitutional Law 1 and 2 in my Law degree, I had been fascinated with events building up to The Dismissal and the whole process, including whether the Governor-General had the power to dismiss the Prime Minister.
Rightly or wrongly, I was of the view that if the government could not guarantee supply, then the Governor-General had the right to have a double dissolution of both houses and a new election as soon as possible. Sir John Kerr had been an eminent High Court Judge and that is the exact course he took.
Interestingly, despite all of the ALP’s rhetoric of ‘maintain the rage’, Fraser and the conservatives won the ensuing election at a canter.
Kerr’s Private Secretary finished the dismissal proclamation and appointment of Malcolm Fraser as caretaker Prime Minister with the words, ‘God save the Queen!’
Then came Gough’s brilliant response, ‘Well may you say, God save the Queen! for nobody will save the Governor-General.’ He polished it off with, ‘November the eleventh 1975 will go down in history as the day Malcolm Fraser became Kerr’s cur.’
During the early 70s, I had become a huge fan of the Aunty Jack show and its chief reporter Norman Gunston, the man with the, ‘I’ve got the walkin’ talkin’ what’s up in Wollongong Blues.’ So, I was pleasantly surprised to see Norman turn up on the steps of Parliament House with his camera crew attempting to host interviews with the pollies. I thought it hilarious and the highlight of my day, particularly when none of the pollies would talk to him, that he turned to the crowd and, with his trademark sincerity, and asked, ‘Is this an affront to the Constitution of this country or … just a stroke of good luck for Mr Fraser?’
The question befuddled the assembled crowd but had me rolling in the aisles of the Forest Lodge.
