Early in the 1970s I acquired a property among the mountains in the Yaouk Valley. It was to give me a river, which was its western boundary, for trout fishing, a longstanding passion. It was also to provide an escape at weekends from the demands of someone who has figured in this narrative (and remains a friend to the present day)—the then Defence Minister, Malcolm Fraser. Progressing from primitive camping expeditions, using hazardous tracks in bad mountain weather, we erected a durable log cabin with facilities. It was delivered to the site in a ‘knocked-down’ condition, despite numerous obstacles, by an intrepid local carrier. Thereafter its erection was undertaken by family, friends and a remarkable local, German-born carpenter. We laid the concrete base on a hurried weekend visit from Russell. My daughter carted gravel, others tended a diesel-driven concrete mixer, my wife shared the smoothing and finishing of the concrete, while I carted water. My carpenter later completed the roofing and the interior, assisted by more weekend visits by me. When working alone, he reached the site by crossing the river in an old vehicle that I left permanently parked by the river for his use. When the river was impassable for a vehicle, he removed his boots, forded the river and made his way on foot. I raised a large granite fireplace and chimney to provide a sole source of heating. Various civilised amenities were later added.

Relevant to this story of my Defence associations, I was now able to invite overseas visitors, such as New Zealand’s military Chiefs and Britain’s Permanent Under-Secretary of the Ministry of Defence, Sir ‘Ned’ Dunnett, for fishing excursions. Likewise my Chiefs of Staff colleagues came from Canberra on day visits, and when General Sir Francis Hassett had a minor breakdown in health I cared for him there over several days of a holiday period.

Once beyond the ranges separating the Australian Capital Territory and the Yaouk Valley, rank and orders of precedence dissolve. Personalities with rank, when encountered by the locals, are judged on local terms. I saw this lesson learned by the then Chief of Naval Staff, Vice Admiral Sir David Stevenson, who was berated by a fierce woman on horseback for closing a gate through which she was mustering cattle on their way to her property adjoining mine. On another occasion it was appropriate in local terms that I remained seated in my vehicle while my passenger, General Sir Arthur MacDonald, dealt with gates and waded waist-deep in a swollen rivulet, replacing sleepers in a washed-out culvert, when he came to spend a day in the country. My genial road makers, who often came with their bulldozers, liked to address their city-bound employer and his wife as ‘young Arthur and young Mrs Arthur’.

Later in the 1970s, when the incumbent Governor-General—first Sir Paul Hasluck and later Sir Ninian Stephen—came to escape the formalities of Yarralumla, I telephoned neighbours to ask that these dignitaries not be obstructed in any way en route through their properties. None objected and I sensed that they did not see the point of the request. There was a potentially more serious obstacle when Malcolm Fraser with his security guard came to visit to fish in the late 1970s. I rang around similarly. I informed a down-stream neighbour that I intended to put the Prime Minister on the river on the property between us, the owner of which I knew was away but who was sure to approve. But the neighbour I consulted was on guard, having promised to eject intruding fishermen. He was unmoved by my protest that the Prime Minister of the nation was entitled to some deference. More out of consideration of me as a neighbour than of the visitor, he proposed a somewhat Irish solution: ‘All right! Just tell him to keep his head down so I can’t see him near my place’. Given Fraser’s great height this was a bizarre request that I thought it best not to pass on to him.

The ability to escape to ‘Koonaroo’ was not irrelevant to my being willing to carry on at Russell. Persistent resistance to reforms and sniping from Coalition backbenchers against civilians in the Defence Department caused me bouts of nervous tension from which I needed relief.

Despite the absence of a telephone, I could always be reached with some ingenuity. As recorded earlier, when Cyclone Tracy struck Darwin in 1974 a neighbour was roused by telephone and shouted across the river over the noise of the rapids that I was to interrupt my holiday and return to Canberra.

Years later, when Chinese forces crossed the border into Vietnam, Fraser demanded my presence at a meeting to be held in the Cabinet room on a Sunday to assess the situation. While my wife and I were clearing obstacles along a track through the mountain at the back of Koonaroo, we were startled by the sudden appearance of a police car. Fraser, never to be denied, had ordered that the Cooma police be sent out to bring me in. After a circuitous consultation by the Constable’s two-way radio via Cooma as to how long it would take me to drive back to Canberra, compared with the despatch of an Air Force helicopter to try to find my property, return by air was decided on. My wife was left to make her way to Canberra by 4WD while I answered the Prime Minister’s call and attended the Parliament House meeting. It was an occasion when some hosing down proved desirable. I was able to support our Joint Intelligence Organisation analyst (Brigadier John Baker, in later years to become a much respected Chief of the Defence Force)^[8] in arguing that a full-scale invasion was unlikely and that the Chinese move should be treated as a blunt warning to the Vietnamese. Subsequent events supported this judgement.

I turn now to some selected areas of reform that were different from questions of strategy and the administration of the three Services. They were the application of science and of advanced education, each in its own way vital aids to a modern fighting force.