Treasures in Trust A Scattered Responsibility

Turnbull Library Record, Volume 28, 1 January 1995, Page 7

Michael Bassett

Treasures in Trust A Scattered Responsibility

One of the highlights of the Friends ’programme each year is the Founder Lecture. Dr Michael Bassett, historian, former Minister of Arts and Culture and Minister of Internal Affairs, and a regular user of the Library, was invited to give this year’s Founder Lecture, and the following article is adapted from the text of his address.

.Alexander Horsburgh Turnbull died on 28 June 1918 in Bowen Street Hospital. Next door was the home which he had built into a grand personal research library. He was only 50 years old. Turnbull is painted by the late Eric McCormick as a recluse with a fondness for whisky and the cocaine to be found in a certain brand of throat lozenges; years later his housekeeper recorded that he could sometimes go for days without talking, so absorbed was he in his books.

In the years immediately before Turnbull’s death, his library had expanded exponentially because of erratic bursts of purchasing. Fortunately, Turnbull had drawn up a will. The library was left to ‘His Majesty the King’, probably because Turnbull lacked the money to leave an endowment large enough to enable the library to stand on its own feet. He simply took a punt on the Crown agreeing to provide the funds. The then Under-Secretary for Internal Affairs, James Hislop, described this as ‘the most notable public bequest of recent years’ at the time of Turnbull’s death. 1 It was

estimated in 1919 to be worth about £BO,OOO, and was intended by Turnbull to be the nucleus of a New Zealand National Research Collection. 2 At that time, only the General Assembly Library could be said to be its equal, although the Hocken Library possessed some of the characteristics of a major research library.

The Crown responded as Turnbull had hoped. A few months after Turnbull’s death, James Hislop purchased the Bowen St home for the nation for £913 3; the estate was eventually exempted death duties. The building was fireproofed, and cataloguing began under the supervision of Johannes Andersen, described by Alice Woodhouse as a tall man with a mane of hair and a craggy face. Andersen was a self-educated man with a penchant for chiropractors. 3 He became the first Alexander Turnbull Librarian, a role that he performed under the watchful eye of the Parliamentary Librarian, Charles Wilson, whom Andersen hoped to succeed.

Depending on the Government during a recession meant that the Library had little money for new purchases. It had to make do with £SOO per annum from the Consolidated Fund. It was decided early in the piece to limit the Library’s new purchasing to books and manuscripts relating to Australia, New Zealand, and the Pacific. Interestingly, literature from these places was not initially included. Bequests and donations supplemented the annual grant, however, and helped the Library to grow steadily. Fora while, the number of volumes increased rapidly. Until a separate archives unit was established in 1926, the building was also required to store a considerable number of musty departmental files. This influx overwhelmed the small staff, which consisted of three women plus Andersen. Cataloguing occupied the next 15 years.

The Library opened its doors on 28 June 1920. It was soon attracting visitors and students. There were more than 700 visitors per year by 1928. Andersen seems, rather unwisely, to have turned himself into a public relations agent. ‘Two or three hours, or a whole morning or afternoon, may often be given to one visitor or group of visitors’, he complained in his annual report at the end of 1930. In 1929, there were 61 new readers’ permits issued; several hundred regulars used the Library. 4 In 1935, a visiting Oxford scholar, Trevor Williams, wrote to the Under-Secretary for Internal Affairs after spending time in the Library. While mourning the fact that there were ‘insufficient facilities for the student who wants quiet’ a criticism that could be made today, especially when a batch of young, untrained researchers is in the Library

Williams emphatically declared his belief that the Turnbull could become the best library in New Zealand. ‘lt only needs the raw edges planed off, he told Joseph Heenan. 5

By the early 19305, Andersen had become a rather grumpy man. He nursed a deep resentment for Dr Guy Scholefield, who succeeded Wilson as Parliamentary Librarian in 1926. Scholefield’s role entitled him to a £2OO per annum salary top-up for looking after the archives. He also enjoyed what the Speaker of the House, Sir Charles Statham, called a £SO per annum ‘sinecure’ paid for supervision of Andersen.

No-one was happier than Andersen when the National Economy Committee decided in February 1931 to claw back Scholefield’s bonuses. Scholefield’s relationship with the Library ceased at that point. 6

In 1933, Andersen turned 60; a deputy, C.R.H. Taylor, was appointed. Four years later, Taylor took over from Andersen as Chief Librarian, holding the post until 1963. In 1934, the Alexander Turnbull Library Endowment Trust was established, and within a few years the Labour Government had commissioned the writing of a number of centennial surveys, which increased the Library’s number of researchers. The Annual Report of the Department of Internal Affairs in 1938 spoke of a ‘decided increase’ in the number of Library users, the figure reaching 3000 per annum. 7 In 1939, The Friends of the Turnbull Library held their first meeting. Alice Woodhouse, who was one of the category of ‘permanent temporary’ women employed in the Public Service in those days, recalled a new mood of optimism sweeping the Library.

The Library’s growth continued. By 1946, it contained more than 100,000 books and had a staff of 14, which had grown to 30 by 1966. Some reconstruction of the building took place in the mid-19505, but it was inadequate. By 1959, space in the Reading Room, according to the Annual Report, was ‘strained to the limit’. While the total number of users had risen only to 3525, the Chief Librarian noted, not altogether approvingly, that the introduction of stand-alone courses in New Zealand literature and history at Victoria University had greatly increased visits from senior university students. So crowded was the Library that more than half its collection was now stored in Ford’s Building in Courtenay Place. Shuffling backwards and forwards to Bowen St with books for eager readers was time-consuming. 8 This predicament forced the Library to vacate Turnbull’s old home for the Free Lance building in The Terrace in 1973. It, however, was threatened with destruction by 1985, before the long-promised joint building with the National Library was ready to open its doors. By 1987, a library that had 55,000 items in 1918 had grown to 800,000 items with a staff of 53. There were now more than 14,000 readers per annum. 9

After 75 years, we can reflect on Turnbull’s ‘fascinating folly’, as McCormick once called it. Since Turnbull’s death, his legacy has appreciated like a well-managed investment. While there will always be debate about whether all Trevor Williams’s ‘raw edges’ have been planed off, the Library has survived, grown, and without question become the principal national repository for New Zealand’s cultural heritage. It may not be the first port of call for those with an interest in the humanities, but a visit must be made if the project is serious. Physical locations have changed; librarians some very distinguished—have come and gone. Political responsibility shifted from Internal Affairs to Education in 1965, and the Library now enjoys standalone status. Linkages between the Turnbull and the National Library are now more intimate. Some did not like this, and fought the growing courtship. When the

partners began cohabiting in 1987, some close relatives publicly criticised the move. A few feared that the Turnbull’s essentially research purpose might be diluted, but it is a testament to the National Library and The Friends of the Turnbull Library, as well as to the Turnbull’s staff, that to date this has not occurred.

For myself, I must say that I find the Alexander Turnbull Library the most congenial of all the research libraries that I have worked in, here or overseas, and that’s a fair number. Whether Alexander Turnbull himself, fond as he was of shifting his chair around his stacks, sampling this and that, would find today ’ s Library to his liking must remain open to conjecture. But then he was a very conservative man, and might well have found disturbing many aspects of modem New Zealand.

In one important sense, the concept that Turnbull left us has been upheld, despite the suggestion from Treasury that those collections relating to early English literature be sold off. Turnbull bought eclectically. ‘Anything whatever relating to this Colony, on its history, flora, fauna, geology and inhabitants, will be fish for my net, from as early a date as possible until now’, he wrote enthusiastically in 1893. 10 Everything about the settlers who travelled the longest-ever immigrant route to what Rollo Arnold calls ‘The Farthest Promised Land’ was gathered up from agents around the world. 11 Turnbull went further; his was the broadest concept of what it was to be a New Zealander. Milton featured in profusion, as did Piers Plowman and the works of Moliere. He bought maps, catalogues of manuscripts and of exhibitions

of paintings, books about botany and genealogy, portraits as well as cartoons. Perhaps, as Eric McCormick surmises in the address he gave 25 years ago on the 50th anniversary of the Library’s opening, this was because such works ‘fitted into Turnbull’s conception of a gentleman’s library’? 12 Yet, if a research library for future generations was in Turnbull’s mind, did it not make sense to purchase books about all aspects of the culture known to New Zealanders? Aren’t we all influenced by the learning and culture brought here by our ancestors, no matter whether they came from the Pacific, from Europe, or from Asia? When some of our contemporaries talk of ‘biculturalism’ rather than ‘multiculturalism’, and then go on to lay particular stress on things Maori, it is worth remembering the fact that, like it or not, the impact of European culture on New Zealand has been, and always will be, profound. Moreover, the influence of Asia is growing. In his enthusiasm to collect material about Maori and Pacific Islanders, Turnbull remained proud of the rich inheritance from his European side. He was the original multiculturalist New Zealander, a term that is under-used, but accurately describes the world in which we live.

The passage of three-quarters of a century since Alexander Turnbull left us his rich collection enables us also to reflect on the ways in which New Zealand’s national identity and its culture have developed, thanks often to information to be found in the Library. In his book A Destiny Apart: New Zealand’s Search for National Identity , Keith Sinclair portrays our early forebears progressing erratically towards a sense of what it was to be a New Zealander. 13 A high peak in the 1890 s was followed by a revival of colonial dependence in the years after World War One. It was the countdown to New Zealand’s Centenary that brought renewed enthusiasm to what was variously described as ‘a march to nationhood’ or a ‘coming of age’. Between 1936 and 1940, the Under-Secretary for Internal Affairs, Joseph Heenan, worked on his ministers and on local government leaders to produce celebrations, exhibitions, performances, and publications worthy of a young independent nation. A Country Library Service emerged in 1936. In 1940, there were literary and art competitions; a centennial orchestra was set up; a world-class performance of Faust with Isobel Baillie and Heddle Nash was staged; and there were local music and drama festivals. 14

Heenan sustained the cultural momentum into the postwar years. He took up the request from a PEN delegation to the Minister of Internal Affairs in November 1944 for a literary fund. Within 18 months, he’d convinced Peter Fraser to put £2OOO on the Internal Affairs vote for the purpose. 15 He then went a step further. Having first consulted his friend and confidant, J. C. Beaglehole, from whom he received enthusiastic support, Heenan put up to the Prime Minister and the Minister of Internal Affairs a proposal to cream off profits from the national lotteries for cultural purposes. On 3 May 1946, a few months before the general election, Heenan told his ministers:

I have watched the growth of the accumulated surplus [in the Art Union account] with great concern over the past two years and at various times have mentioned it to both of you. The question now arises as to how it may best be utilized. In my considered opinion it would be a shocking waste to hand it out in large sums either for general relief which is adequately cared for at present, or by increased sums in our two halfyearly distributions .... lam firmly convinced that the time has arrived when you, as trustees, should consider some other means of disposing of the surplus. I have thought ever since the Government spent such large sums on cultural matters at the time of the Centennial that these surplus Art Union profits could be used to continue the work then so notably begun, and think that £70,000 of the £BO,OOO now in hand could be utilised in the creation of three funds .. .. 16

He went on to suggest a Cultural and General Arts Fund, a Special Fund to enable young New Zealanders to study abroad, and a fund to supplement the Department of Internal Affairs’ work in physical welfare and recreation. In retrospect, this is a letter of vast significance for the cultural life of this country, so much so that much of the

rest of the story is modern history; while the State began voting funds from the Consolidated Fund for the arts in the same year, lottery funding for a wide range of cultural activities also developed and has been a part of our lives ever since. Heenan’s equally enthusiastic support for having the New Zealand Broadcasting Service take the National Orchestra under its wing rounded out a vital phase in our development. The Literary Fund, which helped with the writing and publication of many books, the Federation of Chamber Music Societies, the Community Arts Service, the New Zealand Players, and an opera company evolved over the next few years. In 1948, the Alexander Turnbull Library received from lottery profits a substantial grant of £3950 to buy books and to help with publications on art history. Another such grant was made to the Library, this one of £5150 for historical research. 17 All the activity that resulted from such beneficence subsided somewhat in the 19505, picked up at the end of the decade, then subsided once more, with theatre, opera, and ballet receding for a time after an overly-optimistic beginning.

If the cultural highlight of the 1960 s belonged more to the stage, that of recent times probably belongs to the book. It is worth noting, perhaps, that the Literary Fund, which Heenan saw as the jewel in the cultural crown, remained in existence until 1988, when a certain Minister of Internal Affairs, I still think wisely, persuaded the fund to join the Arts Council.

The results of the Fund’s half-century of encouragement to writing are there for all to see. J. C. Beaglehole was created an Order of Merit. Janet Frame hovers on the brink of a Nobel Prize, Keri Hulme won the Booker Prize, Allen Cumow the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry. Maurice Gee, who first received assistance in 1960, seems to have gathered up most of the domestic prizes for his Plumb trilogy and other novels about New Zealand life, and his children’s books, while C. K. Stead has shone in the categories of fiction, criticism, and poetry. Margaret Mahy enjoys an even higher reputation overseas for her children’s work than she does at home. Maori writers such as Hulme, Patricia Grace, Witi Ihimaera, and Alan Duff have added new dimensions to our literature, greatly expanding the Maori component of our multicultural existence.

Central to the emergence of New Zealand’s cultural identity has been the role of the State. It was not always so. When Alexander Turnbull was collecting vigorously, all that governments did was to help occasionally with bricks and mortar; ‘Coronation Halls’ sprang up around the country during the celebrations of 1902 and 1911. Large subsidies towards the National Art Gallery, the Dominion Museum, regional museums, and the National Library were not forthcoming until the 19205, when communities everywhere decided to commemorate those who had died in the War. Public support for libraries grew. Assistance to the Library from the Department of Internal Affairs, and several substantial acts of private philanthropy from home and abroad, signified the development of a wider public interest in culture, and in libraries in particular. Nevertheless, it was not until the late 1930 s that the Government, by

commissioning the centennial surveys, and then a series of war histories under the supervision of Major-General Kippenberger, began contributing in a big way.

That remarkable historian, man of letters, and aesthete, J. C. Beaglehole, wrote in 1961 that ‘all art, visual, literary, musical, interpretive as well as creative, needs a patron or a financier’.' 8 In the world before banks, breweries, and businessmen saw merit in sponsorship of the arts, little happened without help from the State. Joe Heenan’s idea of topping up the State’s role after 1946 with lottery profits seemed distasteful to some people. When I was Minister of the Arts, there were constant grumbles about it. For my own part, I hold to the American contention that a dollar is a dollar. I doubt whether any of the thousands of artists who have benefited over half a century from lottery profits feels one whit worse because of the source of the money.

From time to time, the State itself has increased direct funding from the taxpayer. There was a substantial increase in funding in 1963, when the Queen signalled that she would prefer the emphasis of her Royal Tour to be on things cultural. A decision was also made that year to draw the many advisory committees together into the Queen Elizabeth the Second Arts Council, which began its work on 1 April 1964. The name was eventually dropped in 1994, but the concept of a body at arms’ length from Government, yet distributing funds gathered up from public sources by the Minister, has been retained. In the meantime, private sponsorship has also grown dramatically. Today, more goes to culture from private sources than from public funds. Joe Heenan’s State-assisted efforts did what he hoped; they sustained cultural endeavour and enabled many branches of arts and culture to secure considerable public mana, and ultimately private patronage, because of that fact. There are few places in the world where the arts manage to survive solely from private sources, but it is equally true that those relying solely on the State are usually in dire straits, especially in the latter part of the twentieth century, when all around the globe budgets are groaning from decades of carelessly-monitored, poorly-targeted government spending.

Where do the cultural developments of modem times place Alexander Turnbull’s legacy? Some members of the Friends worry about the future of the Library. There has been more than one Founder Lecture in recent years railing against economic reform as though it were some easily-avoidable illness visited on the country, like hydatids or bovine tuberculosis. What such cries of bewilderment reveal is that not enough time has been spent reading and thinking in this Library. The economic prospects of this country are a great deal more promising than when the National Library and the Turnbull decided to share digs. Moreover, the notion that the State alone can maintain and advance this library or any other for that matter —to the standards of its most ambitious proponents flies in the face of what we know about the Library’s history. The Library exists because of an act of substantial private philanthropy. It grew with help from donations from Beauchamp, Kinsey, Shirtcliffe, and others. It has been sustained by hundreds, probably thousands, of donations in

cash and in kind. It will continue to do better than others if those who promote its excellence refuse to accept that the days of private philanthropy are over. This Library has great public esteem, and constant efforts to tap that esteem should be a part of its everyday existence.

This is not to advocate any reduction in the State’s role in the cultural field far from it. It is, however, a plea to be realistic. While educational, cultural, and environmental changes have taken place since 1918, most of them for the better, the world in which the Library operates and competes for resources is now infinitely more complex than when the doors first opened. The history of government activity in all areas of our economy, social services, and the arts has been one of haphazard development. New initiatives are clipped on to old; elderly systems are face-lifted, and sometimes permanently contorted in the process; things that may be publicly unpalatable, but are deemed necessary for the wider good, have often been hidden from view. Such has sometimes been the case with the State’s developing interest in arts and culture. Being at the more popular end of the cultural spectrum, libraries have usually been funded directly, albeit inadequately. The Symphony Orchestra was parthidden within Broadcasting for decades, while a raft of other activities received money from lotteries or the Minister of Internal Affairs’ discretionary fund. Some government departments simply began their own artistic service delivery. Efforts to establish a comprehensive, overall policy touching on all parts of our heritage have so far come to nothing. Even the current studies involving National Archives and the National Library are, it appears, being conducted, like so many studies before them, outside any national cultural policy. This lack continues to worry me. Until a national cultural policy is evolved, all component parts of the cultural scene, this Library included, will to an extent be flying blind.

There have been occasional efforts from the centre to bring about an element of cohesion in our arts and cultural policy. Th eArts 2000 conference of November 1986 attempted cross-sectoral discussion between literature, crafts, and the visual and musical arts, with a view to facilitating a more comprehensive approach to cultural matters and the development of policies that were more responsive to artists and the audiences they shared. From the conference came suggestions for the establishment of a Ministry of Arts and Culture. 19 As the first and so far only Minister of Arts and Culture, I set in motion wide-ranging discussions that were held during 1988 with government departments, statutory bodies, national associations, and community organisations. These resulted in a discussion paper on the establishment of a ministry that was released in April 1989.

What was interesting about that document was the detail it provided about the sheer complexity of governmental involvement with arts and culture that had developed in New Zealand over the previous 40 years. At least ten Government departments were involved in some kind of funding for arts and cultural activity, the

most substantial, of course, being Internal Affairs. The discussion paper identified several weaknesses in the current situation: lack of coordination in arts and cultural activities, poor policy-advice flows, and a lack of coordinated advice to Government. 20 The paper drew attention to the Australian, Swedish, and Canadian models, in which one agency combined responsibility for arts, sport, and in a couple of cases the country ’ s national library as well. In Canada, surveillance over Broadcasting was also included in the Ministry. Several countries also accommodated heritage and conservation matters under this one umbrella agency.

The responses in 1989 to the New Zealand discussion paper were interesting; perhaps ‘distressing’ would be a more accurate word. A few voices were heard in support of an umbrella Ministry, but only a handful took a broad view; most dealt, according to the analysts, with the ‘specific needs of their own organisation’. The Hillary Commission wanted to stay outside the proposed Ministry, and Broadcasting adopted a ‘feet off my grass’ approach; the National Library and the New Zealand Library Association wanted the National Library outside the proposed Ministry, an opinion advanced also by the New Zealand Book Council. The Music Federation and the Auckland Philharmonia wanted a Ministry with a funding role only. There was an awful lot of what might be called a New Zealand disease: ‘you-give-me-the-money-but-keep-at-arms’-length’. 21 The exercise told us little more than that all change, however well-intentioned and however necessary, will always be opposed by existing bureaucracies who are uncertain about their role in any new dispensation, and are therefore reluctant to exercise their imaginations for the wider good.

Enthusiasm for the initial proposal waned. A Ministry of Cultural Affairs with a rather vague brief was established in 1991. The Symphony Orchestra, the Film Commission, and the Film Archive were brought under its aegis, and the Ministry was given an important role in the construction of the Museum of New Zealand. A structure with potential but still rather empty in my view now exists within which a comprehensive approach to arts and culture could be built. In 1991, however, the new Minister resiled from any comprehensive approach to arts and culture. What complicated matters, and almost certainly influenced him, was that, for the first time in New Zealand history, the Minister of Arts and the Minister of Internal Affairs who by statute is Chairman of the New Zealand Lottery Board were two different people. This separation has caused even more diffuse artistic links to develop; most importantly, there has been less access by those with an interest in culture to the honeypot that has drawn so many bees around it since Joe Heenan’s time.

Some effort at reform persisted, however. A new review was announced in 1991 and a discussion paper released. This one focused only on the Queen Elizabeth the Second Arts Council. A new Act the Arts Council of New Zealand Act was finally passed in June 1994. It fined down the former structure. The Literary Fund was formally brought into the Arts Council (or Creative New Zealand, as someone curiously seems to have dubbed it recently). It has taken over responsibility for the

Authors Fund as well. 22 Nevertheless, to someone like myself who was hoping for a more comprehensive approach to New Zealand culture and to the setting of priorities, it seems that everything has changed but only some things have changed. The same confused and confusing overall policy advice to Government on arts and culture continues.

I may seem to have moved away from a discussion of the Alexander Turnbull Library. Yet, when Turnbull left his library to the Crown to look after, little did he realise how many others would soon be seeking government favours. His library now competes with many other deserving bodies. The complex system by which today’s largesse and policy advice is scattered among institutions and individuals was simply unimaginable in 1918. A user of today’s Library like myself enters the doors of a library that is funded by the Minister of Education. I can be working alongside recipients of money from the New Zealand History Trust, which was funded by the New Zealand Lottery Grants Board but which is administered by a branch of the Department of Internal Affairs. A user might well look at a cartoon collection funded initially from the Minister of Internal Affairs ’ discretionary fund and then move down the road to National Archives, where the staff are all on Internal Affairs’ payroll. And here one strikes problems. Many of the rules, the computer ordering system, and other matters making for easy research differ between the two institutions. The only policy they seem to have in common is that there is a woeful lack of security at both of them! Links between them may be close, yet policy formulation for each is jealously guarded by the keepers of the two institutions, and there is no administering body with an overall eye to the roles which each plays in the cultural development of the country. Similar comments to those I’ve made about our libraries could probably be made about any other sector within today’s arts and cultural scene.

I remain convinced that, if there was a structure with a wide brief that was strong enough to assemble the rival arts and cultural condottieri, then a policy could be evolved that would enhance our cultural development. Such a policy could more effectively utilise the large public investment that has grown up since Turnbull’s day. The sort of organisation which I have in mind once existed in embryo during Turnbull’s last years. In 1913, a Board of Science and Art was established. Representatives of the Dominion Museum, the Art Gallery, and the then National Library met regularly with the Minister. Priorities were hammered out and policy arrived at, most of it in those days relating to buildings. An expanded structure with direct ministerial involvement could work today with a high-powered advisory group. The Government’s support for arts and culture is, in one sense, like its role in the provision of health and welfare. The Government is there for the public, for the consumers first, and not primarily to satisfy the providers. Certainly our librarians are important, just like our doctors, nurses, and dare I say it social workers; but policy must first be determined with the customer’s best interests at 17.

heart before provider convenience is taken into account. The public interest must remain paramount when State assistance to institutions or to individual artists is contemplated, be they writers, painters, potters, or musicians.

While a comprehensive Ministry of Arts and Culture may lie dormant at present, I feel certain that it will awaken in due course. Next year, being the sixtieth anniversary of Joe Heenan’s first moves towards the centenary and the fiftieth of his successful efforts to get permanent arts money from the Government and Lottery Board, might be a good year to begin. Among his many characteristics, Alexander Turnbull was a tidy man with an eye to systems. Perhaps, in the next few years, these attributes will be brought to bear on the environment in which, to date, his library has survived so well.

Turnbull Library Record 28 (1995), 7 —22

References 1. Report of the Department of Internal Affairs, Appendices to the Journals of the House of Representatives [AJHR], 1919, H-22, p. 11. 2. E. H. McCormick, Alexander Turnbull: His Life, His Circle, His Collections (Wellington, 1974), pp. 277-91. See also E. H. McCormick, The Fascinating Folly: Dr Hocken and his Fellow Collectors (Dunedin, 1961); AJHR, 1919 and 1920, H-22; A. G. Bagnall, 'A Troubled Childhood: The Nucleus of a National Collection', Turnbull Library Record 3 (n.s.) (1970), 92-111. Turnbull's housekeeper's remarks are to be found in the New Zealand Listener (27 October 1944), 17. 3. Alice Woodhouse, 'Early Days in the Turnbull Library', Turnbull Library Record 3 (n.s.) (1970), 112-20. 4. Report of the Department of Internal Affairs, AJHR, 1928, H-22, p. 6, and 1929, H-22, p. 7. Also 'Resume of Work', 1929-30, National Archives, lA/1/4/9/5. 5. C. Trevor Williams to J. W. Heenan, 6 December 1935, Alexander Turnbull Library, Heenan Papers, MS 1132/6. 6. Bagnall, 'A Troubled Childhood'. Scholefield's salary problems are dealt with in his personal file, National Archives, SSC/5. See also Andersen's file, National Archives, lA/38. 7. AJHR, 1938, H-22, p. 22. 8. AJHR, 1960, H-22, pp. 39^10. 9. Dominion, 16 January 1990, p. 6. 10. Quoted in McCormick, Alexander Turnbull, p. 122. 11. See Rollo Arnold, The Farthest Promised Land: English Villagers, New Zealand Immigrants of the 1870 s (Wellington, 1981). 12. E. H. McCormick, 'Alexander Turnbull Some Biographical Reflections', address delivered 16 July 1970. 13. Keith Sinclair, A Destiny Apart: New Zealand's Search for National Identity (Wellington, 1986), p. 241. 14. See Rachel Barrowman, A Popular Vision: The Arts and the Left in New Zealand, 1930-1950 (Wellington, 1991), pp. 3^l. 15. See file on the Literary Fund, National Archives, lA/1/86, parts 1 and 2. 16. J. W. Heenan to Prime Minister Peter Fraser and Minister of Internal Affairs W. E. Parry, 3 May 1946, National Archives, lA/57/1, W 2541.

17. David Grant, On a Roll: A History ofGambling and Lotteries in New Zealand (Wellington, 1994), p. 212. 18. J. C. Beaglehole, 'New Zealand since the War: Politics and Culture',Landfall 58 (June 1961), 145. 19. Arts Branch of Internal Affairs, 'Arts 2000: Final Report' (Wellington, 1987). 20. Department of Internal Affairs, 'A Proposed Ministry of Arts and Culture: Discussion Paper' (Wellington, 1989). 21. Department of Internal Affairs, 'Responses to the Discussion Paper on the Ministry of Arts and Culture' (Wellington, 1989). 22. The Authors Fund was set up by the Kirk Labour Government in 1973 to pay authors a sum to compensate them for royalties foregone by multiple readings of library copies.