Visions of bygone characters as M.P.s go to new quarters

Press, 12 July 1988, Page 13

Visions of bygone characters as M.P.s go to new quarters

IN SYDNEY

Judy O'Connor

A visitor to Canberra’s Federal Parliament, unaware of local news, would have had an astounding tale to tell the folks back home if he or she recounted an event that happened recently. At the close of a long debate on the formation of, appropriately, a Civil Aviation Authority, parliamentarians began flinging dozens of paper aeroplanes, made from the day’s notice papers, around the chamber. Members of both sides of the House were equally enthusiasticand some even became emotional and, believe it or not, tearful. Our visitor would have been further puzzled to then see them join hands in an uncharacteristic gesture of solidarity, and spontaneously lift their voices in a poignant, if off-key, rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.” The reason? Not, as a stranger might expect, to demonstrate a quaint version of democracy Aussie-style, but to mark the start of a long night to farewell Canberra’s old Parliament House, built as a temporary measure in 1927, 25 years after Australia’s first Federal Parliament sat in Melbourne. The next time the 3600 inhabitants of the House meet, it will be in the ultra-prestigious, spacious palace of the new Parliament House, built at a staggering cost of $l.l billion (original estimate eight years ago was $220 million). Concrete used on the new, spreadeagled building, with its gigantic flagmast — said to be the largest stainless steel construction in the world — equals that required for 25 opera houses. It also contains half as much steel as the Sydney Harbour Bridge and enough plaster board for 2000 houses. A gigantic tapestry, 20 x 9 metres, which took 12 weavers two years to make, hangs dramatically in the Great Hall. V

Catering and recreational facilities for' members are impressive: the reception hall can accommodate 1500, and the kitchen is capable of producing 8000 meals a day. There is a diverse range of physical outlets to stave off members’ frustrations — two billiard rooms, two squash courts, indoor swimming pool, spa, sauna, eight tennis courts, walking tracks — and even a meditation room.

Sir Robert Menzies is probably the Prime Minister most Australians and New Zealanders associate with the old Parliament House. He made his famous war time announcement there ("... Great Britain has declared war... and... as a result Australia is also at war”) and, in Canberra, made his widely quoted, and often ridiculed remark of Queen Elizabeth II: “I did but see her passing by and yet I love her ‘til I die.” Parliament House’s first Prime Minister was Stanley Melbourne Bruce, then James Scullin, Joseph Lyons (Menzies), John Curtin, Ben Chifley, Menzies

again, Harold Holt, John Gorton, William McMahon, Gough Whitlam, Malcolm Fraser and, now Bob Hawke. Mr Hawke will be the first Prime Minister to speak in the new building which has been designed to fulfil requirements for the next 200 years. Old-time journalists are already reminiscing about the quaintness of the old building

which was totally symmetrical in design, both on a north-south axis and east-west axis. Rooms and corridors were duplicated front and back and on either side so that it took regular users some months, even years, to find their way around. As the number of parliamentarians and staff outpaced the housing capacity of the squared-off brick stucco building, politicians and journalists constantly bustled along the same corridors.

Only the Prime Minister’s office, the cabinet room and the members’ dining rooms were closed to the news media who had open access to about 95 per cent of the place — allowing few opportunities for politicians to escape journalists’ questions. Also, the familiar sight of a Prime Minister or politician being baled up by a television crew on the steps of Parliament House — almost as much a part of the evening news as the weather — is now a thing of the past. In the new building, security is stricter and these interviews will not be possible.

Members Of the early parliaments, had an array of legendary characters, including, according to press reports, a murderer. Thomas John Ley, an unsavoury lawyer who had been Minister of Justice in New South Wales, was associated with the disappearance of an opponent who had disputed a vote count involving Ley.

After filing his complaint, the man disappeared and was never seen again. According to the story, this was not the first time someone around Ley had vanished. When he wap defeated at the next elections, Ley migrated to England, where, in 1947, he was found guilty of murdering a man out of sexual jealousy.

The old Parliament House was the place where Australia was governed from during the Depression, World War 11, the Korean and Vietnam wars, and the centre of intrigue during the sacking of the Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam, by the then Governor-General, Sir John Kerr.

The opening of the new Parliament House by the Queen last month was not without its humorous moments. Two senior Government Ministers used their prime seating spots to bob up and down with their home video cameras, and a former Prime Minister, Malcolm Fraser, was seen happily snapping away on his camera. But perhaps the funniest moment was when a welldressed elderly man and an equally elegant woman accidentally walked into a pool. The pool, known as the pool of reflection, is a cleverly designed patch of water in the middle of the members’ hall, reflecting the flagpole on top of the building. Unfortunately, it proved to be a deceptive trap for the couple who tried to walk straight across it. They emerged, red faced, drenched to the knees, minus most of their dignity.