by Ron McCallum
However, another reason for seeking overseas postgraduate qualifications was my desire to travel and to have my own adult rite of passage. I wanted to escape from a rather conservative country that had been governed by the Liberal Party and Country Party coalition since 1949. However, there was also the desire to listen to new sounds, to smell exotic smells and to meet different people.
The Faculty of Law at Queen’s University in Canada specialised in labour law. Its Master of Laws program was usually limited to a half-dozen students, who were given careful supervision. In Australian parlance, we would call it a sandstone university. In 1971 a Canadian labour law professor named Bernie Adell said the Queen’s University Law School would welcome a graduate student in labour law like me. He added that he was sure I could find enough people to read me legal material. Given this opening, how would I find the money to go to Canada? I would need to obtain my Bachelor of Laws degree with the highest possible marks, and then apply for postgraduate overseas scholarships.
My final year in 1971 was not my happiest at the Monash Law School. I desperately wanted to study overseas and so worked frantically, seven days a week. In retrospect, I think that I worked too hard and got rather stale with the law and with myself, certainly in the final months of the year. When the end-of-year exam results were published, I found that I had come fourth in my year, earning a Bachelor of Laws degree with Second Class Division A Honours. I remember feeling rather flat that afternoon. It was all over—but had I done well enough to secure a scholarship?
I tried out for many postgraduate scholarships, without success. Then, in early 1972, on the brink of giving up, I learned that I had been granted one.
One Saturday morning in March 1972, when Mum and I came back from shopping, we found a telegram that informed me that I had obtained a Canadian Award under the Commonwealth Scholarship and Fellowship Plan. This scholarship would pay for my return flights to Canada, together with any tuition fees for two academic years, as well as a monthly living allowance. All of my dreams had come true. Mum was pleased of course, but perhaps she was also a little wistful.
Realising that I would be free until I flew to Canada in August, the Monash Law Faculty gave me some part-time teaching for the first semester of 1972. This was a great opportunity for me. I would give four tutorials in the Company Law course the Law School taught to third-year students who were enrolled in Bachelor of Economics degrees in the Faculty of Economics and Politics. I had all of the relevant legal cases and materials on tape, so this tutoring wasn’t a burden.
I well remember Tuesday, 21 March 1972, when I walked down to my first Company Law tutorial just before 4.15 p.m. These classes were conducted in smallish rooms, where we all sat around a long table. I had brailled out the names of the students so that I could refer to each by name when asking or answering questions. At first I was rather nervous, but after five minutes or so everything dropped into place. I could hardly contain my excitement, for I was now a law academic and I actually knew the legal principles that the students were required to master. Interestingly, there wasn’t much of an age gap between me and most of the students; but they asked and answered questions and were courteous to their young and rather green teacher.
The relevant lectures were from 5.15 to 6.15 on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. I took one-hour small-group tutorials immediately before and after the lectures. I also attended the lectures each Tuesday and Thursday. This left me tired, and on some of the wintry evenings Mum drove across to Ormond and met my bus from Monash.
The Dean was kind enough to give me a room on a corridor of the third level of the Law School, which meant that I was surrounded by academics who regarded me as one of them. At first it was a little strange to be with my former teachers, to have coffee with them and to call them by their first name. However, it didn’t take long to get used to things.
I had read onto tape the latest Canadian labour law textbook, to which I avidly listened. For me, no learning about another country is complete until I gain some knowledge of its history, so I also read Canadian history. I remember particularly one Saturday afternoon in late autumn, when Mum and I drove down to Brighton Beach, which was not far from our home. We were in the front seat of the car with the windows a little open so I could smell the saltiness of the sea and feel the breeze on my skin. As we sat there close to one another, Mum continued reading me more Canadian history. There was her voice, her breathing, and I felt so safe and secure.
A young law graduate named Susan Millard took up a position at the Monash Law School as a research assistant at the beginning of 1972. Not only were Susan and I the same age, there were no other people on staff who were as young as we were. Susan found accommodation in a house with other young people, and this seemed to me to be so exotic and grown up. We did not regard ourselves as girlfriend and boyfriend; rather, we were thrown together as the two babies of the staff. Susan and I often drank coffee, chatted a lot, and went out on a few occasions. We shared a quiet hug and a gentle kiss after a few outings, but it was all rather innocent.
As the months flew past, I became increasingly nervous about going to Canada. Susan reassured me and even said that she thought I would go on to achieve great things. She always treated me as an independent adult and she gave me confidence, which stood me in good stead over the next two years.
The Queen’s University Master of Laws degree program, known as the LLM program for short, was primarily designed to produce future academics. It was intended to be completed by students in one calendar year. However, as my Canadian Award under the Commonwealth Scholarship and Fellowship Plan enabled me to study for two academic years, I had already decided, in consultation with Harry Glasbeek, to complete my course work in the first academic year and then to write my thesis over the summer break and the second academic year. Bernie Adell agreed that this was a wise course of action.
I flew from Melbourne to Canada on Saturday, 12 August 1972. As my initial flight was from Melbourne to Sydney at 7.00 a.m., Mum and I decided to stay at one of the airport hotels. I had only stayed in a hotel on one previous occasion—on a cricket tour to Brisbane when I was sixteen. Going to a dining room for dinner was so new to me. I had of course had many pub meals with fellow students, but to me this hotel seemed very, very swish. Mum and I clung to each other that night. I was both excited and nervous, and found it hard to settle. I remember putting my arms around Mum and thanking her for everything. For her part, I think that Mum was rather tense.
This was the first occasion on which I had flown in an aeroplane and I didn’t know what to expect. After flying to Sydney, I then flew to Vancouver via Fiji and Hawaii. After staying in Vancouver for a few hours, I caught the final five-hour flight to Toronto. In those days, it was not possible to do long-haul flights like today’s direct flight from Melbourne to Los Angeles. There was no in-flight entertainment. I had nothing to occupy me, so I simply sat there, listened, smelt and felt everything all around me. It really was, for me at least, a very long and tiring journey.
One memory that sticks in my mind is of our first stop, in Fiji, when, as we walked off the plane, I felt a rush of tropical heat envelop me. Another memory is making my way through Canadian immigration in Vancouver. The official there didn’t really believe that I was a Canadian Commonwealth Scholar and he asked me whether I was coming to Canada for the welfare. I said definitely not. He gave me a visa for a week or two, and told me to find someone at Queen’s University who could vouch for me and then go to the local immigration office. Of course, once I got to Queen’s University I received a full student visa.
I arrived in Toronto on Saturday evening, 12 August, and I took a cab to the headquarters of the Canadian National Institute for the Blind (CNIB). I stayed there for a couple of days, and then took the early train to Kingston, the city in eastern Ontario where the university was located. The Toronto Union Station was big and grand, but a guy from the CNIB found me a seat on the train and put my big suitcase in the rack near the
door. I had a three-hour train journey ahead of me.
I couldn’t see out the window but I certainly could feel the sway and rush of the big train as we moved along. I remember being so excited when the announcement came over the loudspeakers that Kingston was only ten minutes away. I was met on the platform by the head of the Queen’s University International Centre, and by his young secretary Heather Jonas.
Nothing in Kingston is far away from anywhere else, so the drive to the university took no more than ten minutes. I was given a room in the Graduate Residence, which was on top of the university’s union building. My new room was on the fourth floor and close to the lift. As well as my bed, there was a big desk and, more importantly, I had my own toilet, shower and telephone. In Australia at that time, to have a telephone of one’s own in a student residence was rare. I hadn’t lived in anything like this type of luxury in my life.
The next afternoon I found myself sitting in the Queen’s University International Centre chatting with Heather. She told me that her boss was a little nervous about me, and especially about what needed to be done. Heather was only twenty, but she didn’t seem at all fazed by my presence. I said to Heather that we should take it one step at a time. First, I wished her to help me to practise getting from my Graduate Residence room down to the union dining room where I would have breakfast, lunch and dinner. Second, I wanted to be able to get to the International Centre, which was at the other end of the union building, by myself. Finally, I asked Heather if, once I had mastered these steps, we could go outside so she could please teach me the walk to the Law School, which thankfully was only a couple of blocks away.
Heather was a super mobility teacher and she helped me to work out each route using my white cane. I strode along with Heather nearby but not touching me. With her gentle commands I learned all of my travel routes. It was simply a matter of hearing the sound bouncing off walls, of feeling different surfaces with my feet and through my cane, and of always listening very carefully. I soon got the hang of walking to all of these places.
At some point during the first ten days, I also spent some time with Gordon Simmons from the CNIB office in Kingston. Gordon had lost his sight owing to an explosion on a Canadian naval vessel during the Second World War. He was very gentle; he had a very special way of communicating with animals and children, and his small dog, Andy, was never ever far away from him. Gordon and I became good friends, and in a way he was a father figure for me.
My big concern at this time was having sufficient readers and reading material to enable me to successfully complete my Master of Laws degree. The CNIB centre in Toronto had already had read onto tape the major Canadian labour law casebook, and Gordon said that, if needed, he could help me find more readers.
Friday, 25 August was a red-letter day for me: I had two meetings that altered the course of my Canadian life. Heather Jonas took me to the Kingston Yacht Club to have lunch with her mother, Rosemary, who was warm, welcoming and caring. Rosemary was very used to assisting international students and she immediately took me under her wing, even occasionally taking me shopping—for toothpaste, to renew my socks and underwear supplies and, most importantly, to help me buy a thick winter coat.
In the afternoon, Professor Bernie Adell came over to the International Law Centre to meet me, and we walked back to the Law School and had a cup of tea. Bernie was in his early thirties and already he was one of Canada’s more prominent labour law scholars. In relation to me finding enough readers, Bernie suggested that we should put a notice on the bulletin board asking if students would be prepared to read to me.
He also showed me a room, called a carrel, in the basement of the library, and it was to become my scholastic home over the next two years. As it was right inside the law library, it was pervaded by that beautiful and comforting smell of books, which always makes me feel whole and secure. The carrel contained a lockable door, so I could store there my tape recorder, reels and reels of tape and of course books. Bernie went on to become my Master of Laws major thesis supervisor and a lifelong friend.
The following Monday at 10.30 a.m. I was to have my first class at Queen’s, which was Labour Law 1. Beforehand, I walked to the Law School, went down to the basement of the library and sat in my little room waiting nervously. I didn’t quite know what to do, but as soon as the hands of my braille watch came close to 10.30, I walked out of my room and took the staircase down to the low basement, which housed the lecture theatres. I found a seat and other students filed in.
Then Professor Don Carter walked in and began the class. He was twenty-nine and clearly very enthusiastic. Although it was Canadian labour law, for me it was just another labour law flavour and I felt very much at home. A little while after the class, I nervously went up to Don’s office to meet him.
We shook hands, and he said that when he walked in to begin the class he instantly picked me out. I am still a little unsure how he did that, but perhaps he knew most of the other students, or perhaps I stood out a little because I sat in the front row—and of course I had my white cane with me. Don and I became close friends, and later his wife, Cathie, volunteered to be one of my readers. Cathie would read on a tape recorder at their home, mainly when their toddler son was asleep.
In the first week of classes, I received a note from a student named Geri saying she would be happy to read to me. I’m always an early riser, so I waited until 7.30 a.m. and then phoned her. Later that day she told me she couldn’t believe that anyone would phone her so early. Geri was in final-year law, but her husband had also just begun his LLM studies and was part of our small postgraduate group. Geri read me copious amounts of labour law material, even though she wasn’t exactly interested in that aspect of law. Later, Geri’s younger sister Barbara, who was in first-year law, read to me.
Perhaps the most extraordinary member of our postgraduate group was Nuwe Amanya Mushega (universally known as Amanya) from Uganda. We had library carrels close to one another. He has an ingenious sense of humour, and he and I would play tricks on one another. For example, one evening in the middle of winter when he had slipped out for a few minutes, I went into his carrel, turned off the lights and also his heating and opened the window to let the snow blow in. In retaliation he put library stools and other obstacles in my way, making it difficult for me to get into my carrel. Amanya became Minister for Education in Uganda and he still plays a special role in Ugandan politics.
Another student who read to me was Eric Facey, who came from the island province of Newfoundland. He was in his second year of a Bachelor of Laws degree and in his late twenties. He was slightly older than most of us and became an unofficial member of our postgraduate group. Actually, Eric, Amanya and I became a sort of trio, going out to dinner, and going for drinks in the bars of Kingston. Eric had an apartment and he began to teach me all about cooking. He showed me how to use a fork to feel the texture of meat when it is cooking.
Telephone calls to Australia were rather expensive in those days, and were made only at Christmas or for other family events. The only way I could communicate with Mum and with friends was by airmail letters. These days I communicate by email. Using a synthetic speech program, I can listen to emails sent by friends and colleagues. It’s all very private, because I don’t need to ask anyone to read these emails to me. However, almost fifty years ago things were very different.
Of course, I depended on mail from home. Heather agreed to read me my mail each morning. After she moved on, Mrs Fran Dexter continued to read me my mail until I returned to Australia. Reading a person’s mail is a rather intimate task, but Heather and Fran were happy to do this for me. They learned about my family and friends, about my brothers Max, who was already married, and Ted, who married in April 1973. Reading this type of mail is a bit like perusing episodes of a long-running serial. Inevitably, both Heather and Fran came to know a great deal about my family and friends, and I guess about me as well, but they gently read my letters and were very professional about everyth
ing.
Another issue for me was doing my laundry. I knew that it was essential for me to be well dressed and clean at all times. I couldn’t afford to dress down too much, or people would say that I couldn’t help it because I was blind. Thankfully, the office at the Graduate Residence had a good arrangement with a laundry. I realised that it made excellent sense for me to have my collared shirts laundered and ironed. As for socks, underpants, pyjamas, jeans and T-shirts—well, I had to learn to wash them.
One evening, a fellow Australian student in the Graduate Residence—I think he was a theoretical physicist—agreed to show me how to use the coin-operated washer and dryer in the laundry room on the third floor. Each week the staff put up a sheet with ninety-minute time slots; if you wanted to book the laundry, you had to put your name in a vacant slot. Of course there was a rush for the good spots, but I could usually find an evening or Saturday afternoon time that suited me well enough. I wasn’t at all good with darks and lights; but, as my underwear, jeans and pyjamas were dark, and as my collared shirts were washed elsewhere, I didn’t really worry too much about separating my washing.
About two months after I arrived in Canada, I received tragic news from home. Dear Susan, the lovely young researcher at Monash University, had been killed in a car accident. I was devastated. I had never been so close to a girl as I was to Susan, and I never achieved that type of camaraderie until I met Mary some thirteen years later. Bless you, Susan, for so gently beginning my awakenings.
I found Canada to be a very refreshing country. Canada had not been involved in the Vietnam War. Although it shares a very long border with the United States, it did not blindly follow every aspect of US foreign policy. The Canadian armed forces had primarily been used as peacekeepers in the 1950s and 1960s, and all of this seemed so different from the rather rigid and static Australia in which I had grown up. I found Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau’s Liberal federal government to be open and innovative. Women, Indigenous Canadians, various minority groups and persons with disabilities were shown greater latitude and respect than I was used to in my home country.